Arden Mccall POV:
I woke up with a gasp, my head pounding.
For several seconds, I couldn't tell where I was. The last thing I remembered clearly was Darius's hand closing around my throat. Everything after that came back in broken, feverish flashes.
Bright elevator lights sliding above me as he carried me against his chest. The click of a hotel door locking behind us. My back sinking into a soft mattress.
His mouth covering mine, hard and possessive. One of his hands gripping the back of my neck while the other slid through the slit of my dress and closed around my bare thigh. His breath burned against the place between my neck and shoulder. I remembered the scrape of his teeth there—and the horrifying surge of heat that had answered inside me before darkness swallowed everything.
I didn't know how much of it had really happened or where the memory ended and the nightmare began.
The sheets beneath me were silk, softer than anything I had ever touched. My eyes flew open, taking in the room. Floor-to-ceiling windows revealed a sprawling city skyline, a glittering tapestry of lights fifty stories below. This wasn't a room; it was a cage made of glass and gold.
The memory hit me like a physical blow. The silver-gray eyes. The hand around my throat. The Alpha King.
My heart hammered against my ribs.
I scrambled up, my hands flying over my own body. The pearl-gray silk dress I'd worn for the mission was still on me, though it was badly wrinkled and twisted around my legs. I checked the fabric, then myself, searching frantically for any sign that those fractured memories had gone further than I could recall.
Nothing about my body suggested that he had taken more than those half-remembered kisses and touches.
My fingers frantically searched the side of my neck, the space between my neck and shoulder.
Nothing. No teeth marks. No searing pain of a claim.
A wave of relief so strong it made me dizzy washed over me. It was followed by the cold, hard certainty of my situation.
I was a prisoner.
The Alpha King had locked me in here.
I slid off the bed, my bare feet landing on the frigid marble floor. The silence of the suite was unnerving. I had to get out.
Tiptoeing across the vast living area, I reached the main door. I pulled the heavy handle. It didn't budge. A small red light glowed on the electronic lock, a single, malevolent eye watching me.
Locked. Of course.
I rushed to the windows, my palms pressing against the cold glass. Fifty floors. A sheer drop of shimmering glass and steel. No escape there.
Panic began to bubble in my chest. I forced it down. I was a Rogue. I was a survivor. I had escaped worse than this.
I began to search, my movements frantic but methodical. I checked for air vents, fire escapes, anything. The suite was a fortress.
Then, in a small storage closet off the main hallway, behind a stack of folded linens, I saw it. A faint seam in the wallpaper. A door designed to be invisible.
My fingers scrabbled at the edge, finding a small, recessed handle. It was a service door.
A wild, desperate joy surged through me. This was it. My chance.
Putting my shoulder into it, I pushed. The heavy door opened with a low groan. I froze, listening, but the suite remained silent.
The air that wafted out was stale, smelling of dust and disinfectant. It was the smell of freedom.
I gave the gilded cage one last look, then slipped into the darkness of the service corridor, pulling the door shut behind me.
It was narrow and dimly lit. I didn't care. I ran. My bare feet slapped against the rough concrete, the sharp grit scraping my soles, but I didn't feel the pain.
Down, down, down. The spiraling staircase felt endless.
Darius Blankenship POV:
I stood before a bank of monitors in the hotel's security center, watching the dark-haired woman run barefoot through the service corridor. My Beta, Gage Sullivan, waited beside me.
"Alpha King, everything is taken care of," Gage reported. "Guzman's death will be ruled a heart attack. No traces left."
I gave no response. My attention remained fixed on the screen showing Arden racing down another flight of stairs, one hand gripping the rail to keep from falling.
A faint, humorless smile touched my mouth.
"Let her run," I said.
Gage glanced at the monitor and then at me, confusion tightening his expression. "But, sir..."
"A newly caged bird needs to fly into the bars a few times." I watched Arden reach the next landing and shove through another service door. "Only then does it understand the futility of hope."
Arden Mccall POV:
I finally saw it. A heavy steel door with a push bar. An exit sign glowed red above it. The ground floor. The back alley.
Freedom was a single push away.
I slammed my body against the bar. The door flew open, and I stumbled out into the cold, driving rain.
The alley was empty, filled with overflowing dumpsters and dark puddles. I gasped in the frigid, wet air. It had never tasted so sweet.
I was about to sprint for the street, for the lights, for my life.
But a figure leaning against the alley wall at the far end made me freeze. A tall silhouette, the orange glow of a cigarette tip flaring in the darkness.
It was him. Darius Blankenship.
He was waiting for me. He had been waiting all along.
The blood in my veins turned to ice. The fragile flame of hope that had burned so brightly was doused in an instant, leaving nothing but cold, black dread.
He dropped the cigarette, crushing it under the heel of his expensive shoe. He walked toward me at an unhurried pace, as though there had never been the slightest possibility that I might escape him.
His powerful Alpha presence washed over me again, heavy and suffocating.
"Done running?" he asked. There was no heat in his voice, only a chilling flatness. But fury burned in his eyes, so fierce that my wolf recoiled inside me.
