h4Chapter 135: Getting Away/h4

strongElena’s POV/strong

I don’t know what the ifuck/i is wrong with Kane, but he is scaring the ishit/i out of me.

This isn’t him. This isn’t the man I trusted, the one who used to be gentle, soft—iloving/i. That Kane is igone/i, reced by something dark, something dangerous. Now, he’s possessive, obsessive, idominant/i in a way that makes my skin crawl. And if I wasn’t so terrified, I’d also add iasshole/i to the list.

He wasn’t just chasing me.

He was ihunting/i me.

Like this was some kind of sick, twisted game and I was the prey.

My heart pounded against my ribs as I pushed forward, feet barely touching the forest floor. The night air burned in my lungs, my legs ached, but I didn’t dare stop. Not when I could feel him closing in.

I wasn’t imagining it—I ifelt/i him. His presence was everywhere, thick and suffocating, like the darkness itself was bending to his will. The mate bond pulsed in my veins, screaming at me, warning me, ibinding/i me to him no matter how much I wanted to rip it away.

But I iwasn’t/i his.

Not like this.

Not when his touch made me shudder with something other than longing. Not when the warmth I once felt in his presence had turned into ice-cold terror.

A branch snapped somewhere behind me.

I bit down a whimper, shoving my panic down as I forced my legs to move faster. iDon’t look back. Don’t look back. Don’t—/i

I looked.

And I isaw/i him.

A shadow moving through the trees, fast, effortless, iunstoppable/i. His eyes glowed in the darkness, burning with something primal, something unhinged.

I’d seen Kane angry before. I’d seen him fight, seen his dominance re up when he needed to prove himself.

But this?

This wasn’t him.

This was isomething else/i.

Something iwrong/i.

I turned my focus forward, lungs burning, my mind racing for a n—any n. But what was I supposed to do? I was running blind, deeper into unfamiliar terrain, with ihim/i at my back, gaining on me.

Panic wed at my throat. I wasn’t fast enough. I iknew/i it.

And neither did he.

Because Kane iwasn’t/i in a hurry.

He was toying with me.

Drawing this out.

Like he iwanted/i me to think I had a chance. Like he iwanted/i to savor my fear before finally catching me.

A broken sob tore from my lips, but I didn’t stop. I icouldn’t/i stop.

Then—

A blur of movement.

A sh of silver.

And suddenly, Kane was igone/i.

I stumbled forward, nearly falling, my mind struggling to catch up. What—?

Then I heard ihim/i.

"Run, little wolf."

Dean.

I didn’t think. I didn’t hesitate. I iran/i.

My entire body screamed at me to keep going, to push past the exhaustion, the terror, everything—just irun/i.

Because I didn’t know what had happened.

I didn’t know why Dean had stepped in, or if he could even istop/i Kane in whatever monstrous state he had fallen into.

All I knew was that if Kane caught me...

I didn’t want to know what would happen next.

And I wasn’t about to find out.

I ran and ran, never daring to look back, but the snarls and feral growls behind me told me all I needed to know—Kane and Dean were fighting.

The sounds were brutal, raw, like two beasts ripping each other apart. And yet, I couldn’t stop, couldn’t turn around, no matter how much my heart clenched at the thought of what was happening behind me.

Zena, my wolf, hadpletely iretreated/i, vanishing deep within my mind like a petnt child throwing a tantrum.

She was ifurious/i with me.

Furious that I had hated Kane for marking us. Furious that I had fought against the mate bond she had craved for so long.

She ihated/i me for running away from him—iour/i mate, iher/i half.

And to punish me, she had retracted everything—her strength, her speed, her heightened senses. Every ability that could have aided me in my escape was igone/i because she was iagainst/i me leaving.

That was why I was stumbling like some helpless human in the darkness, my legs shaking, my vision too weak to properly adjust to the night. It was like she was staging a boycott against me, sulking in the depths of my mind while I struggled to survive.

I iunderstood/i her, in a way.

Zena was an ianimal/i, driven by instinct, by raw emotion.

She didn’t care about reason, about logic. She wasn’t thinking about the imonster/i Kane had be, about the darkness twisting through his soul like a poison.

All she cared about was the bond.

The connection.

Her half.

The imate/i that she had waited for, longed for, iached/i for.

And I was tearing it apart.

So, she had turned her back on me.

Abandoned me.

Left me ialone/i in the dark, with nothing but my own fear and exhaustion weighing me down.

And yet, despite it all—despite the distance I’d put between Kane and myself—something deep inside me iached/i.

Because I could ifeel/i him.

Through the mate bond.

Through the primal pull that connected us, no matter how much I wished I could sever it.

And what I felt wasn’t just rage.

It wasn’t just possessiveness, or darkness, or hunger.

It was ipain/i.

Twisting, searing pain.

And I didn’t know if it was his.

Or mine.

I got lucky.

One moment, I was tripping over roots, my breath ragged, my legs weak, the darkness swallowing me whole. The next—I tumbled forward, crashing onto solid ground.

I barely had time to register the sudden change when bright headlights cut through the night, blinding me.

A road.

A highway.

And a car wasing straight for me.

I scrambled to my feet, my heart pounding, my body trembling from exhaustion. This was it. iThis was my chance./i

If I could g them down, if I could just get in that car, I could disappear. I could get far, far away from Kane. iUnless he finds me. Unless he tracks me down./i

A shiver ran down my spine at the thought.

I knew he would.

I iknew/i he wouldn’t stop.

But I didn’t care.

I raised my arms, waving frantically as the vehicle sped closer, its tires screeching as the driver hit the brakes. The harsh glow of the headlights illuminated my bruised and dirt-covered form, and for a brief moment, I felt the weight of everything crashing down on me.

I had made it.

I had escaped.

Now I just had to pray that I could stay igone/i.