Maya had waited until the patrols thinned—two hours before dawn, when even wolves were slow to stir. I clung to her shoulder, my steps uncertain, every limb quivering with fatigue. The crude bandages beneath my cloak were soaked. Maya had drained me one last time, just enough to trick Rodriguez into thinking I was still too weak to walk. It nearly cost me consciousness.

“This way,” she whispered, guiding me through a narrow tunnel that veined beneath the den. The stone was slick, the air sharp with mildew. Old roots broke through the walls like clawed fingers, groping at us as we passed.

Maya’s scent was masked with ash and wolfsbane. Mine, she’d smeared with mud, pine sap, and a salve of crushed garlic and bloodroot—bitter herbs that burned my skin and made my eyes water, but dulled my scent trail. She’d learned the trick during the War of Broken Packs.

“They’ll kill you for this,” I murmured.

“They’ll do worse to you,” she replied.

We emerged into the fringe forest. Moonlight slipped through the boughs like ghostlight. I felt the shift before I heard it—the snap of twigs not far behind us.

Maya turned. “Run.”

But it was too late.

Rodriguez dropped from the trees like death in motion. Beside him, Elisa stepped out from shadow, teeth bared, her mouth already smeared with blood.

“You always did have a bleeding heart, Maya,” Rodriguez said. “It’s about time we carved it out.”

Maya stood in front of me, blocking his path. “She’s carrying your children.”

“And she’s defiled the bloodline doing it,” he snarled. “A mistake I intend to bury before it spreads.”

He moved too fast for me to scream. Maya tried to shift, but his claws tore through her chest mid-transformation. Her body hit the ground with a sickening crunch.

“No!” I crawled to her, pressing trembling hands to the wound, but she was already gone. Her eyes stared, glassy with the last of her courage.

Rodriguez wrenched me away by the hair.

“You think you’re special?” he hissed. “You’re meat, Anna. A mistake dressed in a womb.”

Elisa leaned in, licking the blood from my cheek. “Maya’s death will be your last comfort.”

They dragged me back like a carcass.

The pack prison was a pit carved into the mountain’s roots—wet stone, rusted bars, the stink of old madness. They threw me onto the floor. The stone bit my knees. Chains, already stained with old blood, snapped around my wrists.

Rodriguez crouched before me, eyes glowing like wildfire.

“You should’ve died during the last bleed. You’re not strong—you’re stubborn. There’s a difference.”

I spat blood at his feet. “You’re not Alpha. You’re a parasite wearing a crown.”

He backhanded me so hard the world spun. When it stopped, Elisa was kneeling beside me, one hand on my belly.

“These little parasites?” she whispered. “I’ll watch them choke on their first breath. Then I’ll eat their hearts. Slowly.”

Tears burned down my cheeks—not from fear, but fury. Maya had died for this. For me.

“You’ll choke on me first,” I whispered.

Elisa laughed. “You still think you’re the heroine in this story. You’re not. You’re just the warning.”

Rodriguez turned to go. “Let her rot.”

The door slammed shut. Darkness returned, thick and suffocating. But I lay there, hand cradling my belly, and whispered Maya’s name like a promise. There was no sun in the prison pit—only damp air, the slow drip of water, and the steady decay of time. Hunger gnawed at me, but not as viciously as the questions. Why was I still alive? Why feed me just enough to keep me breathing, but not strong? Why not end me, as Rodriguez had promised with his eyes?

The answer never came. Only footsteps.

Tonight, they returned.

Rodriguez stepped into the cell with the same silent authority he always wore, as if he were descending from a throne. Elisa followed, wrapped in white fur like a queen preparing for a coronation. Her eyes glittered with contempt, her lips curled just enough to show a hint of fang.

“Elisa wanted to see how you’re doing,” Rodriguez said flatly, crouching beside me. “I told her you weren’t worth the breath.”

“Still breathing,” I rasped.

“Barely,” Elisa replied. Her hand drifted over my stomach, featherlight, possessive. “You’re clinging to life like a tick. Is it pain you fear… or the truth?”

I met her gaze. “There’s nothing true about you.”

Her fingers twitched, claws itching beneath skin. “You know nothing about me.”

“Then tell me. Why not kill me? Why all this—this theatre?”

Rodriguez chuckled, low and sharp. “You think you matter that much? That this is some grand game with you at the center?”

“Isn’t it?” I pushed myself upright, even as the chains bit deep. “I see the way you both look at me. Not with hatred. With hesitation.”

A flicker—barely noticeable—passed between them.

Elisa turned away first. “She’s guessing. She knows nothing.”

“But she’s right about one thing,” Rodriguez murmured. He stepped closer, crouching until we were eye-level. His voice dropped to a whisper. “If it were up to me, I’d have fed you to Elisa in pieces. Heart first. But I’m not the one keeping you breathing.”

I blinked. “Then who?”

He smiled—but it didn’t touch his eyes. “That’s the question, isn’t it?”

Elisa hissed, snapping her teeth. “We’ve given you too much already. The next time I drain you, it won’t be for healing. It’ll be for pleasure.”

“Then why wait?” I whispered.

She turned to leave, her silence more chilling than threats. Rodriguez lingered.

“You should be grateful, Anna,” he said. “You were born to be nothing. Forgotten. An orphan raised by pity. And yet here you are—alive because someone above you decided you were still useful. Not worthy. Useful.”

He stood and walked to the door. “But when that usefulness ends…”

The metal creaked shut behind them. I was alone again.

My pulse thundered in my ears. Not from fear. From something colder.

They were lying. About everything.

The moon hung heavy that night, casting an eerie blue sheen over the Alpha's quarters. Elisa sat by the window, brushing her pale hair with slow, deliberate strokes. She looked like a statue carved from ice, silent and still, her reflection warping in the glass. Rodriguez stood behind her, arms folded, his gaze locked on nothing and everything.

“She’s not dying fast enough,” Elisa said without turning.

Rodriguez didn’t respond immediately. He walked toward the fire, poking the embers until they flared up. The scent of burning pine filled the room.

“I’ve been thinking,” he said, voice low, almost careful.

“That’s always dangerous,” she muttered.

He ignored the jab. “Anna’s not just some orphan we picked up. Her bloodline isn’t random.”

Elisa turned. “What are you talking about?”

“I found something in the old records,” Rodriguez said, pacing now, his voice taut with controlled fury. “She was adopted by the former Alpha, yes. But that wasn’t just a gesture of kindness. It was a concealment.”

Elisa stood, tension vibrating beneath her skin. “Concealment?”

Rodriguez looked at her. “Her parents were from the Bloodborne line. You know the name.”

Elisa’s breath hitched. “That’s impossible. They were all slaughtered during the purge.”

“Apparently not all.”

“Why wasn’t I told?” Her voice cracked, half fury, half fear.

Rodriguez’s jaw tightened. “Because no one was supposed to know. Not even the Council. My father made a pact—unwritten, buried. If any child of the Bloodborne survived, we were to keep them close until the right moment.”

Elisa scoffed. “So you mated her out of duty? Is that it?”

“I mated her,” he said coldly, “because my father ordered it. To keep her in check. To bind her to us.”

“And I had to watch while you put a pup in her,” Elisa snapped. “While you pretended she mattered.”

His eyes narrowed. “I never pretended. That was never about her. It was about control. About making sure her blood didn’t turn against us.”

She moved to him, close enough to feel the heat of his body. “Then why is she still alive?”

“Because someone outside the pack is watching,” he said. “I don’t know who, but I can feel it. Killing her now would trigger something worse.”

Elisa growled, low and guttural. “Let it. I’m tired of her scent. Of her pathetic eyes. She mated you before I did, Rodriguez. That humiliation doesn’t vanish just because you tell me she’s a pawn.”

He didn’t flinch. “I didn’t ask for your forgiveness.”

“Good,” she hissed. “Because I’ve already planned her last breath. You won’t even have to touch her. Just say when.”

Rodriguez turned back to the fire. “Not yet. We need to know who’s watching. And why they’ve waited this long.”

Elisa sneered. “Fine. But when it’s over—when the last drop of her cursed blood is wrung out—I want her to know. I want her to see that she was never loved. Just... tolerated.”

He gave no reply.

The cell reeked of urine and old blood. Damp stone walls pressed in from every side, swallowing light, swallowing time. Days blurred—hours lost meaning. Anna no longer counted them. Instead, she watched her belly swell beneath the torn fabric of her dress, watched the tiny life inside her stretch and kick and grow while the rest of her withered.

Her mind unraveled in quiet threads.

The whispers started softly—murmurs in the back of her skull. At first, they were hers: echoes of memories, of pain, of Maya’s voice, Rodriguez’s betrayals. But then they changed. Became other. Male and female, childlike and ancient. They murmured truths, or maybe lies. Sometimes they just laughed.

The walls pulsed with them.

Anna scratched symbols into the grime with her nails—curved lines, jagged hooks, spirals that meant nothing but made her feel less hollow. She talked to them. Talked to herself. Sang lullabies. Cursed the moon. When sleep came, it came in gasps, fractured and sweating.

Her stomach grew heavy with life, but her eyes turned wild.

She was no longer afraid. She was something else now. Something feral.

Footsteps echoed down the hall—slow, sure, a predator’s rhythm. The voices inside her went still. Anna straightened, her back aching, her mind coiled.

Rodriguez appeared at the bars. His shadow fell across her like poison.

“You’re looking more beast than mother,” he said with a smirk. “Fitting.”

Anna tilted her head, eyes too bright, smile brittle. “And you’re looking more like your father every day. Does the taste of rot please you?”

He didn’t flinch. “Your mind’s slipping.”

“It’s leaping,” she whispered. “Higher than yours ever could.”

Rodriguez glanced at her belly and scoffed. “You shouldn’t be alive. That thing inside you shouldn’t be alive.”

Anna laughed, and it was wrong—sharp, fragmented, almost songlike. “Yet here we are. I bleed. I breathe. And they grow.”

His face darkened. “Your parents owed us more than blood. What you carry now—”

“—is the last weapon I have,” she finished, grinning wider. “And you’re too much of a coward to take it.”

Rodriguez slammed the bars. “Don’t think your madness will protect you.”

“No,” she murmured. “But it makes me harder to break.”

He growled, turning sharply and vanishing into the dark.

The red moon hung low, casting its cold silver glow over the clearing where the pack had assembled. Wolves stood shoulder to shoulder, their fur bristling with unease. Tension laced the air like a drawn bowstring—Anna hadn’t been seen in days, and the whispers had grown claws.

Rodriguez stood at the head of the gathering, posture regal, chin lifted. A flicker of something dangerous shimmered behind his golden eyes. When he finally spoke, the weight of his voice silenced the murmurs.

"You all deserve the truth," he began, voice low and deceptively calm. "Anna is gone. She left the pack."

A ripple of disbelief swept through the crowd.

"Left?" someone echoed. "Why would she leave without a word?"

Rodriguez narrowed his eyes. "Because she was caught with another. A rogue wolf, from the eastern fringe. I confronted them, and she fled like the coward she is."

Gasps scattered like startled birds. A few wolves snarled, their muzzles curling in revulsion.

"She betrayed you?" barked Corren, one of the senior warriors. "While carrying your child?"