FREDERIC POV
Ella’s scent was disappearing.
That was what was making me insane.
Not the running. Not the blood drying on my hands from whatever I had hit on the way out of Fangar. Not the King’s patrol that had tried to stop me at the border and nearly ended up with three dead wolves because one of them had been stupid enough to put a hand on me.
The f*****g scent.
It kept thinning until there was almost nothing left, then catching again somewhere ahead on a branch, in churned mud, on a patch of bark where someone had brushed past carrying her.
Carrying her.
Every time I thought about that, Maddox went feral enough that I lost pieces of the run.
I remembered trees. Mud. The taste of blood where I’d bitten my own tongue shifting too fast. I remembered one of the King’s patrol wolves
