Midnight Howling Book 1

Chapter 3: The Chase

Lyra

Lyra pumped her arms and legs as fast as she could, her lungs burning with every breath. She couldn't afford to slow down—not yet. After breaking away from the house, she heard yelling behind her—it had to be her brothers. She knew they wouldn't stop; they were relentless, always eager to carry out their father's orders. Lyra couldn't keep running like this forever; at some point, she would run out of adrenaline, and they would catch her, like the obedient cronies they were.

She forced herself to stop for a moment, her chest heaving as she listened for how close they were and scanned her surroundings for a place to hide. Tall, thick pine trees loomed over her, their branches swaying slightly in the wind. There weren't many options. Then her eyes caught sight of the tree directly in front of her—its branches heavy with pine needles, thick enough to conceal her small body. It was her best chance.

Taking a deep breath, she began climbing, the rough bark scraping her skin as she pulled herself upward. Pain shot through her right shoulder, and she bit her lip to keep from crying out. A small whimper escaped her as she hoisted herself higher, each movement a reminder of her earlier injuries.

The voices grew closer. Lyra paused, clinging to the tree, her breath caught in her throat. Her brothers were near; she could hear their footsteps crunching against the forest floor, the rustling of branches as they pushed their way through. Andrew appeared below her first, followed closely by Anthony. Andrew looked around, his brow furrowed as if listening for any sign of her.

"I thought I heard her over here," he said, pointing to his left. "Go check over there and listen for anything."

Lyra's foot slipped slightly, causing a faint rustle of needles. Andrew's head snapped up, his eyes locking on her. For a moment, they simply stared at each other, Lyra's eyes wide with fear, his gaze unreadable. She pressed a finger to her lips, silently begging him not to say anything. Andrew hesitated, a conflicted look in his eyes. He had always been the more indifferent of her siblings—never kind, but never outright cruel like the others.

"I don't think she would have gone higher up the mountain," Anthony called out as he approached. "She probably took the path of least resistance."

Andrew scratched the back of his neck, his eyes flicking briefly back to Lyra before looking at his brother. "Yeah, I agree. Plus, it gets really cold at night in the mountains."

He sighed, and then—to Lyra's surprise—he took off his red hoodie and placed it on a branch in her tree. "I think we should check down by the falls," he said, turning to Anthony. "It's warmer there, and there's food and water. That's where I'd go."

Anthony nodded, shrugging off his own jacket. "Good idea. It'll be freezing by the time we get back, and we might get drenched by the falls."

Lyra watched, her heart pounding, as the two of them began to walk away. Just before leaving, Andrew looked up at her and mouthed, *wait five minutes after we leave, then run.* She nodded slightly, tears welling in her eyes. He gave her a barely perceptible nod before turning to follow his brother.

Once they were out of sight, Lyra allowed herself to relax slightly, her shoulders sagging from the loss of adrenaline. The pain in her body flared, her right shoulder throbbing intensely. She gently touched her shoulder blade, wincing at the sharp pain. She would need to be careful—there was no room for further injury.

After about five minutes, Lyra began her descent. Her palms were raw, bleeding from the hurried climb, and her bare feet thudded softly on the forest floor. She grabbed both jackets, grateful for any warmth, and headed in the opposite direction of her brothers. The harder path—the one Andrew said they wouldn't expect. She had to trust that he was right.

The mountain loomed ahead, its steep incline covered in smooth, cold rocks. Her feet were sore, her entire body aching, but she kept moving. The biting cold seeped through her bones, her steps slowing as exhaustion began to set in. She knew she couldn't stop—not yet. Not until she found a place to rest.

Hours seemed to pass, each step more painful than the last. Her hands were covered in dried blood, her feet nearly numb from the cold. She felt as if she was on the brink of collapse, her vision blurring slightly from fatigue. Just as she thought she might not make it, she spotted a small alcove tucked against the side of a ledge. It wasn't much, but it was enough—enough to shield her from the wind and give her a moment of rest.

Lyra dragged herself inside, pulling the red hoodie over her head and wrapping the other jacket around her as a makeshift blanket. She leaned her head against the rough stone, her body trembling from both the cold and the fear. She had escaped, but she wasn't safe—not yet. She needed to rest, needed her strength if she wanted any chance of survival.

She closed her eyes, her body succumbing to exhaustion almost immediately.

A loud howl jerked Lyra from her sleep. Her eyes shot open, her heart pounding as she tried to remember where she was. The forest. She had made it to the forest. She sat up slowly, her muscles protesting every movement. Her body was battered, bruised, and cold, but she was alive.

She moved to the front of the alcove, peering out cautiously. The forest was quiet—too quiet. There were no birds, no rustling of leaves—just an eerie silence that made the hair on her arms stand on end. She took a step forward, her bare feet brushing against the cold ground, when an earsplitting howl shattered the silence.

Fear flooded her entire body. She spun toward the direction of the howl, her eyes scanning the darkness between the trees. Nothing. She couldn't see anything, but she could feel it—something was out there, watching her.

She moved closer to the tree line, her eyes darting around frantically. Then she saw it—a dark figure, its outline barely visible against the shadows of the forest. It looked like a wolf, but larger, its eyes glowing a deep, menacing red. Realization struck her like a blow. This was real. This was danger.

Lyra began to backtrack, her eyes locked on the figure. She moved slowly, careful not to make any sudden movements. Her foot landed on a fallen branch, the loud *crack* echoing through the silence. Her eyes darted down, then back up—the wolf's eyes were now fixed on her, its lips pulling back in a snarl.

Panic surged through her, and without another thought, she turned and ran. The forest blurred around her, her feet pounding against the ground as she sprinted away from the creature. The sound of branches snapping behind her told her it was following, and she pushed herself harder, her legs burning with the effort.

She had to keep moving. She had to survive. There was no going back now—only forward, into the unknown, into whatever awaited her beyond the darkness of the forest.