Elfrieda POV:
The first thing I felt was the burning in my chest. Then came the violent retching.
I was coughing up seawater, my body convulsing on a hard, metal surface. Voices surrounded me. Bright lights.
"We got a pulse! Female, mid-twenties. Head trauma."
Coast Guard.
I drifted in and out of consciousness. The ride to the hospital was a blur of sirens and pain. When I finally woke fully, I was in a hospital bed. But it wasn't a normal room.
The windows were barred. There was a guard at the door. A Tate Pack warrior.
The door banged open. Jaxon walked in. He was dry now, wearing fresh clothes, but his eyes were wild.
"You're alive," he said. It wasn't relief. It was an accusation.
"You left me," I rasped. My throat felt like it had been shredded with glass.
"You tried to murder my wife and unborn child," Jaxon said, his voice dripping with ice. "The Coast Guard fished you out before I could decide what to do with you."
"She jumped," I whispered. "She's a witch, Jaxon. She's controlling you."
"Silence!"
The Alpha Command slammed into me, pinning me to the mattress. My muscles locked up against my will. Tears of frustration leaked from my eyes.
"I am moving you," Jaxon stated. "You are under arrest by the Tate Pack internal tribunal. You will be taken to a secure facility until your trial."
He signaled to the guards. Two large men grabbed me, dragging me out of the bed. I was too weak to fight.
They threw me into the back of an armored van. No seatbelt. Just a metal bench.
As the van rumbled through the city, I closed my eyes, trying to reach my brother through the Mind-Link. But my head injury had scrambled my focus. The connection was static.
Suddenly, the van screeched to a halt. Gunshots rang out.
The back doors were blown open with explosives.
Smoke filled the small space. Coughing, I looked up to see two men standing there. They weren't Tate warriors. They were Rogues. Filthy, smelling of unwashed bodies and dried blood. Their eyes were yellow and crazed.
"Well, well," one of them sneered, revealing rotten teeth. "Janice said she was pretty."
"Janice?" I gasped.
"The future Luna pays well," the other Rogue laughed. He climbed in and grabbed me by the hair. "She said she doesn't want you making it to the trial. Said she wants you ruined first, then dead."
He pulled a syringe from his pocket.
"No!" I screamed.
He jammed the needle into my neck. Fire spread through my veins. Wolfsbane. It was meant to suppress my wolf, to make me weak.
But they made a mistake.
The pain didn't suppress me. It woke something else up.
Deep inside, beneath the layer of my dormant wolf, something ancient stirred. The White Wolf. It fed on pain. It fed on the silver poison that had scarred me, and now it fed on the wolfsbane.
"Get off her!"
The Rogue ripped my hospital gown.
A primal roar tore from my throat. It wasn't a human scream. It was the sound of a predator.
I slammed my forehead into the Rogue's nose. Bone crunched. He howled, falling back, blood spraying over my face.
The scent of blood acted like a trigger. My vision turned red. I lunged at the second Rogue, my fingers curling into claws even though I hadn't shifted.
"She's crazy!" the Rogue yelled, raising his gun.
Bang.
The Rogue's head snapped back. He fell out of the van.
Standing there, holding a smoking pistol, was my father. Behind him, Jamil was already shifted into his massive grey wolf form, tearing the first Rogue apart.
"Dad," I sobbed, the adrenaline crashing.
My father rushed forward, catching me before I hit the metal floor. "We saw the beacon, El. We've been tracking Jaxon's transport grid since you went to the yacht. We knew he wouldn't take you to a real prison."
Jamil shifted back to human form, naked and covered in Rogue blood. He looked at me, his eyes filled with tears.
"He gave you to them," Jamil growled. "He let Janice sell you to Rogues."
"We have to go," my father said, lifting me up. "The jet is waiting. If we stay, I will start a war, and we aren't ready for that yet."
I clung to my father's shirt. "Take me away. Please. Just take me away."
"We are going to the North," my father promised. "Where the Tate Pack cannot touch you."
As we sped away toward the private airfield, I looked back at the burning van. The old Elfrieda died in that metal box. The one who survived was something else entirely.
