Cora's POV:

I didn’t move for hours.

The sobs shook me until my chest ached, tears soaking the pillow beneath my face. My room was too quiet, too small, too suffocating. The moonlight streamed through the window, pale and cold, casting long shadows across my walls, but I barely saw it. All I could feel was him—Cain—and the way he’d turned away, leaving the bond to scream through me in agony.

A knock at the door made me flinch.

“Seriously?” Aurora’s voice snapped before I could answer. She pushed the door open and leaned against the frame, arms crossed, eyes sharp. “You’re still crying?”

I swallowed hard, voice barely a whisper. “I… I can’t help it.”

She rolled her eyes. “Cry all you want. Doesn’t change anything. Cain’s not yours, and he never will be. So maybe get over it.”

I blinked at her, stunned. “That’s it?”

“That’s it.” She shrugged, casual and cruel. “I mean… come on. He’s my boyfriend. He belongs with me. You? You’re just… dramatic.” She smirked and left the room, the door clicking shut behind her, leaving me raw, furious, and completely hollow.

My mother knocked softly. “Sweetheart… I’m sorry,” she murmured, stepping inside. Her eyes were kind, but distant, as if she didn’t quite know how to comfort me. She rested her hand on my shoulder briefly, then left, leaving the warmth behind her like a memory.

Father didn’t come. I wasn’t surprised.

He, too, seemed to have already decided that Cain belonged with Aurora—that their union was better for the pack. The Beta’s house, the pack, even my own family—it all felt like it was against me now.

I lay there on the bed, heart pounding, wolf whining in my chest, desperate and angry. The bond burned hot, pain twisting through me, sharp and relentless, like a brand that refused to fade. I clenched the sheets, sobbing, wishing I could disappear.

I made a decision.

If this place wouldn’t accept me… if this pack, my family, the Alpha… if even Cain couldn’t see me… then I didn’t belong here. Not anymore.

I waited until the house was silent, until the rhythmic snores of my parents and sister told me they were asleep. I packed what I could carry—some clothes, a little food—and slung it over my shoulder. My wolf hummed, anxious but alert, ready to go.

I slipped out the back door. The night wrapped around me like a cloak. The familiar lights of Lincoln Pack faded behind me as I ran, paws pounding the earth, muscles straining, heart lurching with every step toward freedom.

For the first time in years, I felt… unrestrained.

And then I crossed the pack borders.

The woods changed. The scent of the familiar gave way to something raw, something alive, and very, very dangerous. I froze, ears pricking, senses screaming. Movement in the shadows—low, silent, predatory.

Five figures stepped out from the darkness, their eyes glinting in the moonlight, bodies tense and coiled. Human at first glance—but wrong. Too tall, too wide, too quiet. My heart hammered.

“You’re far from home, little wolf,” one of them said, voice rough and amused. “I like that. Brave, or stupid… we’ll see which.”

“Running alone?” another hissed, stepping closer. “Should’ve waited for backup. But maybe you’re tasty enough on your own.”

I swallowed, gripping the strap of my pack tighter, instincts screaming, wolf growling beneath my skin. “Stay back,” I warned, voice shaking more from fear than courage.

“Careful with that tone,” the first one snarled. “It’ll cost you.”

And then, as if on cue, all five shifted—muscles rippling, bones lengthening, fur sprouting over their limbs, eyes glowing feral. Wolves. Predators. Rogue wolves.

My wolf surged beneath my skin, claws itching to tear at the earth, teeth bared, instincts screaming: fight or die.

They lunged at me together. I twisted, narrowly dodging the first, teeth snapping inches from my shoulder.

Another slashed at my leg, claws digging into the dirt, and I felt a shock of pain spike up my spine. My wolf roared inside me, claws digging into the ground as I launched myself at one of the attackers, teeth bared, heart hammering with adrenaline and terror.

The other wolves circled, relentless. My chest burned, my lungs screamed, but I couldn’t stop. Every second was a fight for survival—every strike, every dodge, every leap mattered. I barely recognized myself, caught between human fear and wolf strength, my heartbeat pounding as I slashed and snapped, desperate to stay alive.

The night air was filled with snarls and the sound of claws tearing at earth. My wolf whimpered inside me, wild and furious, echoing the panic in my chest, and I realized that this—running, fighting, surviving—was what it really meant to be alone.

I had no pack here, no protection, no one to save me. Just me. My wolf. And five predators who didn’t care whether I lived or died.

Cora's POV:

I ran.

My lungs burned, legs screaming, but I couldn’t stop—not when five rogue wolves were snapping at my heels. My wolf surged beneath my skin, claws pressing into the earth, senses sharp, instincts screaming. I darted between trees, weaving through trunks, leaping over roots and rocks, trying to use the forest to my advantage.

One of them lunged, teeth grazing my arm. Pain lanced through me, sharp and immediate, and I stumbled—but then I felt it: the healing. My skin tingled, warmth spreading over the cut, stitching itself closed before my eyes.

I stumbled back, startled. “What…?” I whispered, heart still hammering. My wolf growled, curious, reveling in the new strength. I flexed my hands and flexed my legs. Everything hurt less. Everything moved faster. I could do this. I could survive.

The rogues snarled behind me, frustrated, circling, trying to cut me off. I knew the forest better than they did—or at least my wolf instincts did. I ducked low behind a fallen tree, holding my breath, listening. One circled past, teeth bared, eyes glowing in the moonlight. Another leapt for me—and I pushed off the log with all my weight, landing behind them and slashing with my claws instinctively.

A howl split the night. I didn’t stop. Not for a second. I zigzagged, climbed a steep embankment, and finally found a small stream. Water reflected the moonlight like a ribbon through the dark. I jumped in, letting the current hide my scent. The rogues slowed at the edge, sniffing the air, frustrated, unable to follow me in the water.

I sank to my knees, gasping, wolf still humming beneath my skin, heart racing so fast I thought it would explode. My body ached, but the healing was real.

Faster than it should be. Stronger. I could feel the wolf inside me stretching, flexing, learning, becoming something I hadn’t fully realized yet.

When the rogues finally gave up and disappeared into the shadows, I stayed in the water for a long moment, letting the forest absorb me, letting my wolf settle. Pain still pulsed from the bond. Cain. His refusal. His scent seared into me, warm and infuriating, and every time I inhaled, it was like a knife twisting in my chest.

I pulled myself onto the bank and limped a little, testing my legs. Bruises were forming, but the cuts were already closing. My wolf whimpered softly at the residual tension in my chest, restless and hungry.

I needed shelter. I needed food. I needed to survive.

I wandered deeper into the forest, senses stretched, hearing every rustle, smelling every creature. My stomach growled, reminding me I hadn’t eaten in hours. I found berries, not many, but enough to fill the emptiness, and drank from the stream, letting the cold water flush my lungs.

By the time the moon passed its apex, exhaustion settled over me, but my wolf refused to sleep. It prowled beneath my skin, restless, sensing everything: the wind, the shadows, the unknown predators that might still be out there. I curled into a hollow beneath an ancient tree, pulling the blanket I had brought around me. My human side shivered; my wolf side was awake and alert, stretching and flexing, learning, tasting the night air.

The bond in my chest screamed every second, a constant reminder of Cain.

Mine. Denied. Burning. Every pulse was fire, and I pressed my hands to it, pressing down against the ache, but nothing helped. I was learning what it really meant to carry a mate bond unfulfilled, to be alive and alone with it, and I hated it.

But survival… survival was possible.

I closed my eyes finally, wolf still alert beneath my skin, ears twitching, sensing movement, scents, life around me.

Tomorrow, I would hunt. I would move. I would survive. I would learn.

And maybe one day, I would be strong enough that Cain—or anyone else—would regret leaving me behind.

Sunlight filtered through the canopy, warm and golden, shaking me awake. My muscles ached slightly, but not as much as I expected. I sat up, stretching, and glanced down at my arms and legs.

The scratches from yesterday? Gone. Already. The bruises were fading before my eyes. My wolf hummed beneath my skin, curious and proud, flexing muscles that felt stronger than they had the day before.

I swallowed hard. I could heal. Faster than anyone else. Stronger. I could survive out here.

I reached for the small pack I had carried with me. Inside were a few scraps of bread, some dried meat, and a handful of nuts. I ate slowly, savoring every bite, letting my body wake fully. Each mouthful felt like fuel for something bigger than just hunger—fuel for survival, fuel for freedom.

The forest was alive around me. Birds called from the branches, the stream gurgled nearby, and the wind whispered across the leaves. No pack, no parents, no sister, no Cain. Just me. And my wolf.

I ran my fingers over my forearm, marveling at the smooth, unbroken skin.

The cuts from yesterday had vanished.

“That’s… incredible,” I whispered. My wolf purred, a soft vibration in my chest, as if agreeing. I tested it, scraping a fingernail along a fresh scratch I made on my palm. Already gone. Healed.

I leaned back against the trunk of a tree, letting the sun warm me, thinking. I could go back. I could try to beg, to apologize, to shrink myself to fit into the pack’s mold again…

But no.

Not anymore.

I was twenty. I had waited my whole life for my wolf, for this power, for a place in the world. And now I had it. Alone. Untethered. Free.

I looked at the forest stretching in every direction, felt the pulse of life beneath my feet, and made my decision.

I would live as a rogue.

No pack to control me. No Alpha or Beta dictating my life. No Cain, no Aurora. Just me, my wolf, and the forest.

The thought filled me with a strange kind of peace. My wolf shifted beneath my skin, stretching fully for the first time in human form, letting out a soft growl of approval.

I pushed myself to my feet and walked to the stream. The water was cool against my palms, refreshing, and I splashed it over my face. Each droplet felt like washing away the past—the pack, the betrayal, the heartbreak.

I could heal. I could fight. I could survive.

And I would.

My wolf whined softly in my chest, still echoing the bond I carried, still screaming Cain’s name in fire and ache.

But for the first time, I felt something else too: power. Independence. Control.

The forest was mine, and I would learn its rules. I would move silently, hunt cleverly, and test the limits of my body and my wolf.

For the first time, I wasn’t just a Beta’s daughter. I wasn’t a rejected girl. I was something new. Something dangerous. Something alive.

And I was never going back.

Cain's POV:

The sun had barely risen, but the Alpha’s mansion was already alive with movement. Guards patrolled the halls in precise rhythm, servants carried trays of breakfast down the marble corridors, and distant laughter and conversation drifted from the common rooms above. I walked through it all, but it felt unreal, disconnected, like I was moving through someone else’s life.

My father appeared before me suddenly, silent as a shadow, and I froze. The way he looked at me—the set of his jaw, the sharpness in his eyes—made my stomach turn.

“Cain,” he said, low and commanding, “your mother and I have received news…”

I sensed the weight behind his tone instantly. The air seemed to tighten, pressing against my chest.

“Cora has left the pack,” my father said flatly. His words hit me harder than I expected.

I staggered back. “What?”

“She left last night,” he repeated, tone final, unwavering. “While everyone slept. No warning. No note. No one knows where she went.”

The bond screamed in my chest. I could almost feel her there, beyond the borders, warm and alive, calling to me. Panic and guilt twisted inside me. I should have stopped her. I should have done something, anything.

I looked at my mother. Her expression was polite, distant, restrained sorrow barely flickering in her eyes. She didn’t speak. She just nodded, lightly, as if acknowledging that something important had happened… but not really caring enough to act.

Aurora, however, leaned against the ornate railing of the grand staircase, her posture perfect, one hip cocked, arms crossed. A faint, almost smug smile tugged at her lips. “Well,” she said, voice airy and condescending, “guess that solves things. Less… complication now.”

Her words landed like knives. My chest tightened. She couldn’t care less. The girl who had just run away, alone, possibly in danger… Aurora was completely indifferent. And worse, she looked pleased with herself, like she’d won without even trying.

“I… I should go after her,” I muttered, almost pleading to myself, the words raw, unpolished. My wolf stirred beneath the surface, restless, tense, desperate. I could almost taste the forest she had vanished into, feel her heartbeat as it echoed through the bond we shared.

“You will not,” my father snapped. His presence was rigid, immovable. The sheer authority in his voice silenced me instantly. “She made her choice. That is her responsibility. You have your duties to the pack—training, leadership, and most importantly, your future with Aurora.”

I wanted to argue, to yell, to throw myself out the doors of this golden cage and chase her through the forest—but I knew I couldn’t. I saw it in his eyes. I would never win.

“Focus on your training, Cain,” he continued. “Your marriage to Aurora must proceed without hesitation. The sooner you and she are publicly bonded, the stronger the pack will be. That is your duty. Do not fail it.”

I nodded, stiffly, trying to swallow the rising panic, the frustration, the guilt. Every word felt heavier than any burden I had ever carried. Duty. Responsibility. Control. All of it meant nothing compared to the thrum in my chest—the bond, alive and screaming, impossible to ignore.

I moved to the balcony overlooking the training yard. The pack warriors were already sparring, their movements precise, fast, disciplined. I should have been impressed by their skill, by the power radiating from every strike—but all I saw was emptiness. Every motion felt hollow. Every swing of the sword, every dodge, every clash of steel against steel reminded me of what I had refused, what I had left behind.

Aurora’s laugh drifted across the yard, light, careless, oblivious. My stomach twisted. I had chosen her. I had rejected Cora. I had done what was expected of me. And yet… it didn’t feel right.

I closed my eyes briefly, trying to breathe through the ache. The mansion’s gold-plated rails, polished floors, and immaculate gardens felt suffocating. I had a life of privilege, power, and control—but it was meaningless without the one thing I wanted and had denied myself.

I could almost see her—Cora—alone in the forest, the early morning mist curling around her, her wolf stirring beneath her skin, senses alive, body moving like it had been made for freedom. My wolf growled inside me, frustrated, restless, yearning. The bond pulsed painfully, each heartbeat echoing a truth I couldn’t escape: I had made the wrong choice.

I clenched my fists on the railing. My father’s orders, my obligations, my training—they all pressed down on me like iron bands. But beneath it, something far more primal whispered insistently: She is out there. And she is yours.

I wanted to move. To run. To defy my father and find her. To claim what had always belonged to me in the only way that mattered.

But I didn’t. Not yet.

Instead, I stayed on the balcony, watching the warriors below, listening to the distant laughter, feeling the bond scream in my chest, aching, demanding, reminding me that I had lost her—not to another, but to my own fear and obedience.

I had chosen duty. I had chosen Aurora.

And I didn’t know if I could ever forgive myself for it.