Tears burned at the back of my eyes, but I kept them at bay. I refused to give Clinton the satisfaction of seeing me broken. Not here, not in front of all these people.

I opened my mouth, ready to shout at him, to call him out for the coward he was, but before I could make a sound, he stepped forward again. His voice rang out, smooth and full of authority, like he thought he was untouchable.

"From this day forward," Clinton said, his cold eyes scanning the pack, "Dahlia is your Luna. My son is the future of this pack. And Lalaine..." He turned his gaze back to me, that sharp, empty look cutting through me. "Lalaine will no longer be part of this family. She’s weak. She failed me, but she can still prove her loyalty..."

I froze. I didn't know what he meant by "prove her loyalty," but a sinking feeling in my gut told me it wouldn’t be anything good.

He motioned for someone behind him. And then—there it was. The dagger.

Clinton handed it to me like it was some sort of twisted gift. The sharp blade caught the light, gleaming under the chandeliers. My stomach twisted into a knot.

"Prove your loyalty," he said, his voice soft but deadly. "Get rid of Ayla."

The words hit me like a slap. I didn’t even have time to process it. I couldn’t even breathe for a second. My heart skipped in my chest, my hands shaking as I held Ayla closer to me, her cries still echoing in my ears.

Gasps rippled through the crowd. I heard some mutters, whispers of disbelief. But no one moved. No one spoke up. They all just stood there, watching. Waiting.

I could feel their eyes on me, the pressure, the judgment. They all knew what Clinton was asking. They all knew it wasn’t just about proving loyalty. It was a test. A test to see how far I was willing to go to obey him.

I couldn't do it. I wouldn't.

I took a deep breath, my chest tight with fear and fury. "I won’t do it." My voice came out hoarse, but strong. I wasn't backing down. Not this time.

Clinton’s eyes darkened, his lip curling in disgust. The room went cold. There was no hesitation, no remorse in his face. He was just waiting.

"Refusal is treason," he said, his voice low, dangerous. "You think you can defy me? After everything I’ve done for you?"

I stood there, shaking, my daughter held tight in my arms. Ayla’s little hands were clutching at me, her cries growing louder, more frantic. She didn’t understand any of this. All she knew was that her mom was about to be forced to make the worst decision of her life.

And it wasn’t just Clinton’s words that terrified me. It was the look in his eyes. The way he was looking at me like I was a problem to be solved, a thorn in his side that he was ready to remove.

"Clinton, please," I whispered, my voice cracking as I tried to reason with him. "She’s just a baby. Please—"

But before I could finish, he lunged forward. His hand shot out, grabbing me by the wrist, yanking me to the side. Ayla’s terrified wail pierced through the tense air as I stumbled while my heart racing.

He was about to make his move. I knew it. I could see it in his eyes. He was ready to end me.

I could feel him coming closer. His breath on my neck, his rage like a storm crashing down on me. But then something inside me snapped. Something primal. Something fierce.

Instinct kicked in. Without thinking, I yanked the dagger from his hand, the blade cold and sharp in my grip.

In one swift motion, I turned and slashed at him. His arm.

The sound of the blade slicing through his flesh was sickening. He screamed out in pain, stepping back in shock as blood started to pour from the gash.

Murmurs erupted.

"Did she—? She actually cut him!"

"She's lost it, she's really gone mad!"

"The Alpha’s hurt. He’s hurt badly!"

"She's gonna pay for this…”

I didn’t wait. I didn’t think. I just turned and ran.

I held Ayla tighter, clutching her to my chest as I sprinted toward the door. My breath came in ragged gasps, my heart pounding in my ears. No one moved to stop me.

Clinton was still cursing behind me, his rage echoing off the walls, but I didn’t care. I couldn’t care.

I needed to get out. I needed to protect my daughter.

The dagger still clutched in my hand, my mind racing. There was no going back now. I'd crossed a line. But I would fight to my last breath before I let him take Ayla.

My feet hit the ground, bare and cold against the rough earth. The forest loomed ahead, dark and thick, but I didn’t care. I didn’t think. I just ran.

Ayla was still crying in my arms, her tiny body shaking as I clutched her to my chest. Her fear mixed with mine, and I could feel her little hands gripping me, her tears soaking into my skin. It made my heart ache, but I couldn't slow down. Not now.

Behind me, Clinton's voice rang out, seething with fury. "Find her!" he bellowed. "Track her down! The traitor will not escape!"

I didn’t need to hear more. The pack warriors were already on their way. They were fast, efficient, and loyal to Clinton. They’d catch me, and they’d drag me back—if I didn’t get far enough, fast enough.

The forest was tearing me apart—branches slapping at my face, sharp roots stabbing into my feet—but I couldn’t stop running. Ayla’s tiny cries were muffled against my chest as I clutched her tighter, trying to shield her from the chaos around us.

Behind me, Clinton’s furious roars echoed, his voice carrying through the trees like a death sentence.

“Don’t let her escape!”

The sound of boots and snapping branches grew closer. They were hunting me like prey, and I had no idea where I was going—only that I had to keep moving.

“Mommy’s here, baby,” I whispered, choking back my own sobs. “I’ve got you. We’re gonna be okay.”

I stumbled, my legs screaming in pain, but I forced myself to keep going. Ayla’s soft whimpers broke me more than the fear pounding in my chest. She deserved better than this.

Up ahead, the trees started to thin, and I saw an open clearing. Relief flooded me for a second, until I spotted the figures waiting there.

Men. Humans. Hunters.

They had rifles slung over their shoulders, their eyes scanning the treeline like they were expecting trouble. And then they saw me.

“Stop right there!” one of them shouted, raising his gun.

My knees buckled, and I fell hard to the ground, clutching Ayla like my life depended on it—because it did.

“Please!” I cried out, my voice cracking. “Please, help us! Don’t hurt her!”

The man who’d spoken stepped forward. He was big—broad shoulders, sharp jawline, eyes like ice. His gun was steady, trained on me like I was a threat.

“You’re a wolf,” he said, his tone flat.

“Yes,” I admitted, tears streaking down my face. “But I’m not here to hurt you. I just need help. My daughter… she’s just a baby. Please, they’re coming for us.”

The hunters exchanged uneasy glances. One of them spat on the ground, his glare cutting into me.

“Why should we believe you?”

“I swear I’m not lying!” I begged. “They’ll kill her. You can’t let them take her.”

The leader’s eyes flicked to Ayla, who was sobbing quietly now, her tiny fists gripping my torn shirt. Something shifted in his expression—hesitation, maybe even pity—but he didn’t lower his gun.

Then the howls came.

Low, guttural, and way too close. My blood ran cold. Clinton’s men had caught up.

“Hand her over!” a voice boomed from the woods.

The hunters stiffened, rifles snapping into position as Clinton’s warriors emerged. Five wolves, eyes glowing even in human form.

“She’s ours,” the biggest one snarled, pointing at me. “Hand her over, and we’ll leave your territory in peace.”

The hunters didn’t move. Tension thickened, suffocating.

“She’s under my protection now,” he said, his voice steady. “If you want her, you’ll go through us.”

The wolves snarled, eyes burning with fury.

“Wrong choice, human,” one spat.

Chaos erupted.

Tiverius didn’t hesitate. He fired a shot into the air. The deafening crack cut through the madness.

The wolves froze, eyes darting to the barrel of his gun.

“I don’t think you heard me,” Tiverius said, low but firm. “Explosive rounds. Poisoned bullets. They’ll tear you apart.”

The wolves hesitated, their pride battling fear. One by one, they backed off, eyes never leaving Tiverius.

Clinton’s warriors melted into the shadows, their growls fading. For now, they’d back down.

“Retreat!” one barked, and they vanished.

Tiverius lowered his rifle, his gaze softening just a fraction. He held out his hand. I reached for it without thinking, trembling as I took it.

The moment our hands met, warmth flooded me. He wasn’t just strong—he was steady.

“You’re safe now,” he murmured.

But Ayla’s cries broke the moment, and my own tears threatened to spill.

“I… I don’t know what to do,” I whispered, my voice cracking. “I just wanted to protect her.”

Tiverius squeezed my hand. “You don’t have to do it alone anymore.”

His men glared, anger and distrust in their eyes. But they said nothing. They knew better than to challenge Tiverius. He was their leader, their rock.

Ayla cried louder, and my chest tightened. She was terrified. So was I. I was shaking, drenched in sweat, my hands slick with fear.

Tiverius seemed to sense it. “What happened?” he asked, voice low but demanding. “Why were they after you and your child?”

I took a shaky breath, struggling to speak.

“They wanted her dead,” I said, bitter. “Clinton, the Alpha—he…” I couldn’t finish.

“Clinton,” Tiverius repeated, eyes narrowing. “Your Alpha?”

I nodded. “He said I failed him. Couldn’t give him the son he wanted. Now… now he wants her gone. Wants us both gone.”

Tiverius studied me for a long moment. Then, he nodded. “I’ll help you.”

***

Tiverius led me into the camp, a tight circle of tents and flickering campfires. Guards were posted at every angle, their eyes sharp, weapons ready. For the moment, the wolves chasing us were gone, and I could finally breathe.

“Drink,” Tiverius said, handing me a water bottle. His tone left no room for argument. “You’ll need it.”

I took it, gulping the water greedily. Only then did I realize how parched I was.

Ayla was still asleep in my arms, her tiny body curled against mine. The sight of her calmed me, but only slightly. My relief was short-lived.

I set the bottle down and flexed my hands, my fingers trembling. My entire body felt... off. The cuts and bruises from running, the rawness of my palms from clutching Ayla—they weren’t healing. My wolf should’ve taken care of it by now, but I felt nothing.

A sickening hollowness filled me, a deep, aching void where my wolf should’ve been. She was silent, locked away.

Without Clinton—without my mate—I was nothing. My strength had always been tied to him, bound by the curse that chained me to his power. Now that he’d rejected me, that connection was gone. My wolf was gone.

I clenched my fists, pain sparking in my palms. No magic. No spark of life. Just emptiness.

“You’re quiet.” Tiverius’s voice cut through my spiraling thoughts. His gaze was sharp, dissecting me.

“I can’t heal,” I said quietly, the words burning my throat. “I’m useless without him. My wolf… she’s gone.”

Tiverius didn’t speak right away. He crouched in front of me, studying me like he was trying to piece together a puzzle. Then, to my shock, he reached out, brushing a strand of hair from my face.

I flinched, but he didn’t pull back.

“You’re not useless,” he said firmly. “You’ll figure this out. And you’ll protect her.”

I wanted to believe him, but the weight of everything crushed me. Protect Ayla? How? I couldn’t even protect myself.

Before I could respond, the sharp snap of a twig shattered the air.

Tiverius was on his feet in an instant, rifle drawn. His men stiffened, their eyes scanning the dark forest.

Then it came—a low, guttural growl that sent a chill down my spine.

“That’s not a wolf,” one of the men muttered, fear creeping into his voice.

Another growl echoed, closer this time, deeper, darker.

Tiverius didn’t look back at me as he spoke. “Stay here. Don’t move. And don’t let go of her.”

I clutched Ayla tighter, my heart pounding. The shadows around us shifted, and then I saw them.

Red eyes. Dozens of them.