The Apocalyptic Queen's Werewolf Journey (Thora and Darius) novel Chapter 2

**Shadows Hearts by Joseph King**
**Chapter 2: The Will to Survive**

**Thora’s POV:**

In this moment, nothing else mattered but the instinct to cling to life.

The condition of this new body was far worse than I had anticipated.

My left leg lay twisted and broken, a sharp reminder of my fragility. A concussion throbbed at my temples, sending waves of dizziness crashing over me, while bruises marred my skin like a patchwork of pain.

If only my wolf spirit, Amie, had been reborn alongside me. With her strength coursing through my veins, I could have healed at an astonishing rate, but now I was left to face the harsh reality alone.

Desperation clawed at my insides as I attempted to reach out through the mind-link. “Amic?” I whispered, my voice barely a breath.

Silence enveloped me, thick and suffocating. No response, no flicker of her presence.

I felt a profound emptiness where her power should have been, a void that echoed my despair.

With a deep breath, I shut my eyes and turned my focus inward.

Deep within the recesses of my being, I sought the soulstone that belonged to the original Thora.

Every werewolf was born with one, a shimmering gem of potential and power, but without the awakening of their wolf spirit, the stone remained dull and lifeless.

Mine appeared as nothing more than a gray, unremarkable rock, devoid of the brilliance I once took for granted.

A wave of disappointment crashed over me, heavy and relentless.

I opened my eyes, my gaze landing on two fallen branches nearby. A spark of determination ignited within me as I recalled the telekinesis I had once wielded during the apocalypse. If that gift had survived the transition, perhaps I still had a fighting chance.

I concentrated, willing the branches to move, but they remained stubbornly still.

It was true, then. Amie hadn’t been reborn. My powers had perished along with the explosion of the soulstone.

All that remained was me—fragile, broken, and alone.

Grinding my teeth against the agony radiating from my leg, I picked up a sturdy stick, using it to fashion a splint for my injury as best as I could manage.

The chill of the night air had already caused the other wounds to crust over, but I needed to do something. I tore strips from my clothing, wrapping them around the worst cuts, trying to stem the flow of blood that had already seeped into the ground beneath me.

I had lost too much blood already. The world around me swirled like a chaotic storm, and I knew I needed real medical help soon, or my time would run out.

That’s when I heard it—engines roaring through the night like a pack of wild beasts, tearing through the silence with a thunderous growl.

Racing.

It was perfect. If I wanted to escape this hell, I needed to flag down one of those cars.

Using the thick branch as a makeshift crutch, I limped out from the cover of the trees, my heart pounding in my chest.

From my vantage point, I could see the mountain road below, where sleek rally cars zipped past, their headlights slicing through the darkness like blades.

I listened intently, gauging the distance. One car would reach my location in about ten seconds.

Drawing in a sharp breath, I pushed through the stabbing pain in my leg and forced myself into the middle of the road.

With my arms spread wide, I made myself as visible as possible.

In an instant, blinding headlights locked onto me, illuminating the night as a black rally car barreled down the asphalt, a wild beast unleashed. The engine roared, a primal sound that seemed to vibrate through the very air around me.

Then something hit me—not the car, but a presence even more overwhelming. The scent of an Alpha washed over me, crashing into my senses like a tidal wave, both invisible and crushing.

Despite having survived countless life-and-death encounters during the apocalypse, my body instinctively stiffened under the weight of that dominance.

Whoever was behind the wheel was no ordinary werewolf; that aura radiated pure power.

But there was no turning back now.

I fought the instinct to flee, defying my body’s urge to dodge, and stood resolutely in the center of the road.

Beeeep!

The sharp blare of the horn sliced through the night, a warning that echoed in my ears.

150 feet!

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