Danette POV:
I settled my mother back into her corner, instructing her to lock the door and pretend to be asleep. Then I found the plainest, most worn-out dress in the small wardrobe and pulled it on.
I searched my new memories for a map of the territory. The Regent's manor, a fortress of black stone, sat in the northernmost part of the Pack lands—a forbidden zone. But I didn't plan to go there directly. I needed somewhere to hide, to gather my strength before I could figure out how to approach a man like Griffith Whitfield.
I peered through a crack in the window boards. A few Omegas huddled outside, pointing and whispering at my window. The news was already spreading. One of them glanced toward the main path, and I saw her lips move—"She's not dead?"—before she scurried away, likely to report.
I had to move before the Pack leadership reacted.
I found a loose board at the back of the room, pried it open, and slipped out into the cold evening air. I stuck to the shadows of the dilapidated buildings, moving as quickly as my weak body would allow.
Every step sent a wave of dizziness through me, a reminder of the poison still lingering in my system. I pushed on, but after a few dozen yards, my vision blurred and my knees buckled. I collapsed behind a rotting barrel, retching bile onto the dirt. My hands trembled violently. For a long, terrifying moment, I couldn't see—only hear the distant shouts of someone calling for guards. I forced myself to breathe, to crawl deeper into the shadows, and after what felt like an eternity, my sight returned. I had lost precious time, and the voices were closer now.
I rounded a corner and ran straight into someone.
I looked up into the sneering face of Cassandra Valerius, another of the Pack's cruel noblewomen and a distant niece of Seraphina. Beside her stood her hulking handmaiden, Bertha Riggs. Both looked at me as if I were something they'd scraped off their shoe.
"Well, look what we have here," Cassandra drawled, covering her nose with a silk fan. "The disgrace that didn't have the decency to stay dead. And dressed like a common beggar—did you steal that rag from a corpse?"
My stomach tightened. Cassandra was one of Seraphina's cronies, and her favorite pastime was tormenting me.
I had no time for this. I lowered my head and tried to sidestep them.
Cassandra stuck out her foot to trip me. I was expecting it, and I managed to stumble past, my body lurching awkwardly.
Her face flushed with anger at my audacity to dodge. "Stop right there! Who gave you permission to wander around, you wolfless freak? You think you can just walk away? I should have you chained up and sent back to the Omega pens—everyone would thank me for putting the dead girl where she belongs."
Bertha lunged, her thick fingers reaching for my hair.
My instincts, honed by a life of navigating corporate sharks, took over. Just as her hand was about to connect, I dropped into a low squat.
Bertha's hand swiped through empty air. Her momentum carried her forward, and she crashed directly into Cassandra.
"Agh!" Cassandra shrieked as they both went down in a tangle of limbs and expensive fabric.
I didn't wait to see the result. I ran.
"Get her! Don't let her get away!" Cassandra's furious screams echoed behind me, and I heard the pounding of more feet—she had called for backup.
I pushed myself harder, my lungs burning. I plunged into a small, dense patch of woods that served as a natural barrier to the northern territory.
The sounds of pursuit were close behind—two, maybe three sets of footsteps. They were faster, stronger, and gaining.
Ahead, the path forked. One way led to open ground, where they would catch me in seconds. The other led deeper into the forbidden northern woods—toward the Regent's territory. I had no choice. The open ground meant capture and certain death; the forbidden zone meant trespassing, but at least I could think.
Without hesitation, I chose the northern path. I half-ran, half-slid down the rocky incline, ignoring the branches that tore at my dress and scratched my arms. My hands were raw and bleeding by the time I reached the bottom.
From the top of the slope, I could hear Cassandra and Bertha shouting curses, but they didn't dare descend. One of the guards shouted, "That's Regent land! Let her go—she'll be dead by morning anyway."
I had shaken them. But their words hung in the air like a death sentence.
Leaning against a tree, gasping for breath, I looked up. Through the trees, I saw it. A massive structure, built entirely of black rock, radiating an aura of cold, brutal power. It loomed against the darkening sky like a monument to intimidation.
The Regent's manor.
I had made it. But in escaping my pursuers, I had just trespassed into the most dangerous place in the entire Dominion. A chill ran down my spine as I remembered the whispers: no one entered those gates uninvited and walked out again. The Regent had no mercy for intruders, and his beasts—they said—were always hungry.
I was standing at the threshold of my last chance—and my most likely grave.
