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.
