Beyond The Sacrifice

Chapter thirteen

Clara's POV

3 months later.

I was humming softly, hands busy chopping herbs for dinner, when the door burst open. The sudden sound made me jump, and I turned around quickly, only to see Marcel storming in. His chest was heaving, eyes wide with panic, and before I could say anything, he wrapped his arms around me, pulling me into a tight embrace.

"Marcel?" I managed, still holding the knife in one hand, confusion swirling inside me. "What happened?"

He didn't answer right away, just buried his face into my neck, his breath hot and ragged against my skin. His grip was so strong, almost desperate, as if he was trying to convince himself I was really here, safe.

"Marcel," I repeated, softer this time, dropping the knife to the table and wrapping my arms around him. "Tell me what's going on."

He pulled back slightly, just enough so he could look at me. His dark eyes were wild, his brow furrowed in worry. "The wolves," he said, voice low and hoarse. "They're planning an attack. Darian called for me, but... something felt wrong. I had to make sure you were safe."

I blinked, trying to process his words. "You thought I was in danger?"

His breath was still heavy, and he nodded. "I couldn't—" He stopped, shaking his head, frustration clear in his eyes. "I had this feeling, Clara. Like something was off, like you—" His voice cracked, and I saw a flicker of vulnerability in him I hadn't seen before.

I cupped his face gently, brushing my thumb across his cheek. His skin was warm, flushed from the rush of panic and fear. "I'm fine, Marcel. I'm here," I whispered, trying to calm him down. "Nothing's happened."

He let out a shaky breath and leaned into my touch, his forehead resting against mine. I could feel his heart pounding against my chest, the tension radiating from his body. He was never like this—always so calm, so in control. But now, it was like he was unravelling, all because he thought I might've been hurt.

"You're fine," he repeated softly, almost as if he was trying to convince himself.

I nodded, my fingers tracing the line of his jaw. "I'm fine. You didn't have to worry."

He closed his eyes, taking in a deep breath as he buried his face in my neck again, holding me close. His arms tightened around me, and I could feel how scared he'd been, how much the thought of losing me had shaken him.

"You're the strongest," I whispered into his ear, trying to remind him of who he was. "They need you. You have to go."

"I can't leave you," he muttered, his voice muffled against my skin.

"You have to." I pulled back slightly, enough to look into his eyes again. "They need you, Marcel. No one else stands a chance against them, but you... you can protect everyone."

He shook his head, reluctance written all over his face. "I don't want to leave you."

"I'll be right here. I'll wait for you," I promised, my voice steady even though my heart was racing. I was terrified too, but I couldn't let him see that. Not now.

He exhaled slowly, still hesitating. His gaze searched mine, like he was trying to find a reason to stay, but I just smiled softly at him, trying to show him that I wasn't afraid.

"You're their only hope," I said quietly. "Go. I'll be here when you get back."

For a long moment, he didn't move. Then, finally, he nodded. His hand cupped my cheek, his thumb brushing against my skin one last time before he pressed a hard, desperate kiss to my lips. It was filled with all the fear, all the love, and all the unspoken promises he couldn't put into words.

"I'll come back to you," he whispered fiercely.

"I know you will," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

He pulled away slowly, his eyes lingering on mine for a moment longer before he finally stepped back. His breath was still heavy, his chest rising and falling rapidly, but there was a new determination in his eyes now.

And then, just like that, he was gone, the door closing behind him as he rushed off to face whatever danger lay ahead.

I stood there for a moment, staring at the door, my heart pounding in my chest. I was scared, more scared than I wanted to admit. But I believed in him. I always would.

Turning back to the kitchen, I tried to steady my breath. I had to believe that he would come back. He always did.

As I continued preparing the meal, the room suddenly felt emptier, colder without him. But I held onto the one thought that kept me grounded—Marcel would come back. He always did.

I stood by the fire, stirring the pot of stew, the silence around me unnerving. The cave felt too quiet, too empty without Marcel's presence. I kept trying to reassure myself, to keep calm, but every creak, every sound made me jump.

Then, I heard footsteps—soft, gentle, almost hesitant. For a second, my heart leapt with hope. Marcel?

But no. It couldn't be him. Marcel's footsteps were always heavier, more determined. These footsteps were too quiet, too careful, and a chill crept up my spine.

I backed away from the entrance, my heart hammering in my chest. Instinctively, I grabbed the sword Marcel had left by the table. I clutched it tight, my palms sweaty. Something wasn't right. My breathing grew shallow as I stepped toward the back of the cave, trying to stay as quiet as possible.

And then they appeared—three shadows, moving swiftly into the cave's entrance. My blood turned to ice. They were massive, tall figures with glowing eyes that glinted in the dim light. Werewolves. My worst fear, the ones Marcel had warned me about.

"No!" The scream tore from my throat before I could stop it.

I swung the sword wildly, catching one of them across the chest. He yelped in pain, staggering back as dark blood sprayed from the wound. But it wasn't enough. The other two were on me before I could react, transforming into their monstrous forms with terrifying speed.

I struggled, kicking and thrashing, but their strength was overwhelming. They grabbed my arms, holding me in place as I fought uselessly against their grip. Panic surged through me, my mind racing with fear.

"Let me go!" I screamed, my voice desperate.

But they didn't listen. One of them tied my wrists, their claws scratching my skin as they tightened the ropes painfully. Another silenced me, stuffing a gag into my mouth, muffling my cries for help. Tears of frustration and terror filled my eyes, but I couldn't stop them. I couldn't fight back. I was powerless.

They dragged me outside, my feet scraping against the rough ground. I looked around frantically, hoping—praying—for someone, for Marcel. But all I could see was the looming darkness of the forest, the battle in the distance where the wolves were attacking.

I couldn't escape. I was being taken straight into the heart of danger, and Marcel was nowhere near.

To be continued....