The Summit venue was everything I'd imagined wealth and power would look like—marble floors so polished I could see my reflection, crystal chandeliers that threw rainbows across the walls, and Alphas everywhere. Their auras pressed against my skin like invisible hands, each one trying to dominate the space, to prove they were the strongest in the room.

I kept my head down and my scent-masking cloak pulled tight. Marcus had positioned me near the service entrance with the other attendants, mostly Omegas from various packs who'd been brought along to serve. We didn't speak to each other. We didn't need to. We all knew our place.

"Champagne," a server hissed at me, shoving a tray into my hands.

I took it and moved through the crowd like a ghost. Invisible. That's what I'd learned to be. The conversations around me blurred into background noise—territory disputes, trade agreements, challenges to authority. Then I heard Wylder's name.

"Montgomery's position is weakening." The voice belonged to a broad-shouldered Alpha with a scar across his jaw. "Three years and still no marked mate. No heir. The Obsidian Pack will fracture without a successor."

"He should've chosen a proper Luna," another Alpha agreed. "Not whatever arrangement he's hiding."

I moved past them quickly, my cheeks burning. They were talking about me. About my failure to give Wylder what he needed.

I glanced across the room and found him standing near the main podium, his posture rigid, his expression carved from stone. But his eyes—they were scanning the crowd. Searching. When they landed on me, something in his jaw tightened. He looked away first.

I refilled glasses on autopilot, my mind elsewhere. Two more days of this. Two more days of pretending I didn't hear the whispers, didn't feel the weight of my own inadequacy pressing down on my shoulders.

Then the breeze came.

It swept through the open balcony doors, carrying with it the scent of the night—and something else. Something that made my entire body go still.

Cedar and pine.

The tray slipped from my hands. Crystal shattered against marble, champagne spreading across the floor in a golden pool. Heads turned. Someone cursed. But I couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't do anything but follow that scent.

It can't be.

My feet carried me toward the VIP balcony, my heart slamming against my ribs so hard it hurt. The scent grew stronger with every step, wrapping around me like a memory I'd buried three years ago. I pushed through a velvet curtain, my hands shaking.

And there he was.

Christian Morris. Alive. Healthy. Laughing.

He stood with his arm around a woman—tall, elegant, radiating the kind of power that could only belong to an Alpha. Her dark hair cascaded down her back, and when she turned her head, I saw it. The mating mark on her neck. Fresh. Possessive.

The spot where Christian had promised to mark me.

My knees threatened to give out. This isn't real. It can't be real.

But it was. He was right there, his fingers trailing down her arm, his lips brushing her temple. The same lips that had whispered promises to me. The same hands that had held mine and sworn we'd have forever.

"You were right, Estelle," Christian said, his voice carrying across the balcony. "Getting rid of the dead weight was the smartest thing I ever did."

The woman—Estelle—laughed, low and satisfied. "I told you a wolfless Omega would only hold you back. You're meant for greater things, darling."

"God, I can't believe I wasted so much time on her." Christian's voice dripped with contempt. "Naomi was so pathetic. Always clinging to me, always needing reassurance. I couldn't stand it."

Each word was a knife between my ribs.

"And your father's plan worked perfectly," Estelle purred. "Faking your death, selling her to Montgomery to clear your debts—brilliant, really. The money from that transaction bought your way into my pack. Into my bed."

Christian grinned. "She probably still thinks I'm some kind of hero. Dying to save her from Rogues." He laughed, sharp and cruel. "As if I'd ever risk my life for someone so weak. She didn't even have a wolf. What kind of mate is that?"

"A burden," Estelle said simply.

"Exactly. A burden I'm glad to be rid of."

The world tilted. My vision blurred at the edges, darkness creeping in. Three years. Three years of guilt, of believing I owed him everything, of giving my body to another man because I thought I was honoring Christian's sacrifice.

And it was all a lie.

He sold me. He sold me like I was nothing.

I stumbled into the nearest restroom, my hands gripping the marble sink so hard my knuckles went white. The face staring back at me in the mirror looked like a stranger—pale, hollow-eyed, broken.

Three years. Three years of guilt. Three years of believing I owed him everything.

My breath came in short, sharp gasps. The room spun. I pressed my forehead against the cool mirror, trying to ground myself, but all I could hear was Christian's voice echoing in my head.

*She was so pathetic.*

*A burden I'm glad to be rid of.*

The amber bottle was in my pocket. I pulled it out with shaking hands, staring at the two capsules I was supposed to take this morning. Vitamins. Beta Morris had given them to me the day I'd signed the blood oath, his expression so solemn, so concerned.

"To keep you healthy for the Alpha's heir."

But Christian had been there too. Standing in the shadows. Watching.

My stomach twisted. The mental fog I'd lived in for three years—the exhaustion, the weakness, the constant feeling that I was barely holding myself together—it wasn't just grief. It wasn't just the weight of my sacrifice.

It was poison.

I threw the bottle into the trash with enough force that it cracked against the metal bin. The sound echoed in the empty restroom, final and absolute.

No more.

The sickness hit almost immediately. My hands started trembling, sweat breaking out across my forehead. My body knew what I'd just done, knew I'd broken the routine it had come to depend on. But underneath the nausea, underneath the shaking, something else stirred.

Anger.

It burned in my chest, small but fierce, like a ember that had been smothered for too long finally catching flame.

I splashed cold water on my face and forced myself to stand upright. I had to get back. Had to serve. Had to pretend everything was fine.

But nothing was fine.

I made it halfway down the service corridor before my legs gave out. The world tilted sideways, and I hit the floor hard, my vision going dark at the edges. The nausea was different now—deeper, more insistent. Not just withdrawal.

Something else.

"Naomi!" Footsteps rushed toward me. Hands—gentle, professional—turned me onto my side. "Don't move. Just breathe."

Dr. Elena Hartwell. I recognized her voice even through the haze. She was Wylder's pack healer, one of the few people who'd ever looked at me with something other than contempt or pity.

"I'm fine," I managed, but even I didn't believe it.

"You're not." Her fingers pressed against my wrist, checking my pulse. "When did you last eat?"

"This morning."

"Your vitamins?"

I hesitated. "I... I stopped taking them."

Her hand stilled. When I forced my eyes open, she was staring at me with an expression I couldn't read. "How long ago?"

"An hour. Maybe two."

She muttered something under her breath and helped me sit up, supporting my weight. "We need to get you somewhere private. Can you walk?"

I nodded, though I wasn't sure it was true. She half-carried me to a small storage room off the main corridor and locked the door behind us. The space was cramped, filled with linens and cleaning supplies, but it was quiet. Private.

Elena pulled a small medical kit from her bag and began examining me with quick, efficient movements. She checked my eyes, my pulse, pressed her fingers against my abdomen.

Then she went very still.

"Naomi," she said slowly. "When was your last cycle?"

The question didn't make sense. "I... I don't know. Six weeks? Seven?"

"And you didn't think that was unusual?"

"My cycles have never been regular. The stress, the—" I stopped. Looked at her face. "Why?"

She sat back on her heels, her expression carefully neutral. "You're pregnant."

The words didn't land at first. They just hung in the air between us, impossible and surreal.

"That's not—I can't be—"

"You are." Her voice was gentle but firm. "I'd estimate about six weeks along. Maybe seven."

Wylder's child. I was carrying Wylder's child.

The room spun again, but this time it wasn't from the withdrawal. This time it was from the weight of what that meant. A child. A pup. Growing inside me.

A pup that would be raised in the Obsidian Pack. Under Wylder's control. In a world where Christian existed, where Beta Morris could manipulate and lie, where I was nothing but a transaction.

No.

The word formed in my mind with absolute clarity.

No.

"I need to leave," I whispered.

Elena's eyes widened. "Naomi—"

"I can't stay here. I can't—" My voice cracked. "I can't let my child grow up like this."

She was quiet for a long moment. Then she reached into her bag and pulled out a small vial. "Scent-masking oil. It's stronger than what you're wearing now. If you're serious about this, you'll need it."

I stared at her. "Why are you helping me?"

"Because I've watched you suffer for three years, and I'm tired of pretending I don't see it." She pressed the vial into my hand. "The pack run is tomorrow night. Every Alpha will shift and run the perimeter. It's tradition. If you're going to move, that's your window."

Tomorrow night. Less than twenty-four hours.

I could do this. I had to do this.

I spent the rest of the day moving through the Summit like a ghost, my mind racing. The hotel kitchen was massive, industrial, and understaffed during the evening events. I slipped in during a shift change and found what I needed—wolfsbane root, carefully stored in a locked cabinet. Dried mugwort. Sage. Ingredients that would amplify Elena's scent-masking oil into something powerful enough to hide me from even an Alpha's nose.

I worked in the shadows of my assigned quarters, grinding herbs with a mortar I'd stolen from the kitchen, mixing them with the oil Elena had given me. My hands were steady now. Purposeful.

Through the window, I could see the Alphas gathering on the lawn below, their voices carrying on the night air. Wylder stood among them, his posture rigid, his expression unreadable. He was deep in conversation with two other Alphas, their body language tense.

A high-stakes negotiation. Marcus had mentioned it earlier. Something about territory disputes that could take hours to resolve.

Perfect.

I finished the poultice and sealed it in a small jar, then packed my duffel bag with the few things I owned. The silver locket went into my pocket. Everything else—the gray uniforms, the cycle tracking app, the life I'd lived for three years—I left behind.

Tomorrow night, during the pack run, I would disappear.

And I would never look back.

The howls started at dusk.

I stood at my window, watching the Alphas gather on the lawn below. One by one, they stripped off their formal clothes and shifted—bones cracking, fur rippling across skin, power radiating in waves that made the air itself feel heavy. Wylder was among them, his massive gray wolf larger than the rest, his presence commanding even in animal form.

They took off into the forest, a pack of predators running the perimeter. Tradition. Territory. Power.

I waited until the last howl faded into the distance.

Then I moved.

My duffel bag was already packed, hidden under the bed. I pulled it out, slung it over my shoulder, and applied Elena's scent-masking oil to every inch of exposed skin. The smell was sharp, medicinal, burning my nostrils. I didn't care. I rubbed it into my neck, my wrists, behind my ears—anywhere a wolf might catch my scent.

The tracking phone sat on the nightstand, its screen dark. Wylder had given it to me on my first day at the Pack House. "So I always know where you are," he'd said. Not a gift. A leash.

I picked it up, walked to the window, and threw it as hard as I could into the bushes below.

Gone.

The scent-masking cloak came next. I pulled it off and let it fall to the floor in a heap of gray fabric. For three years, I'd worn it like a second skin, hiding what I was—or what they thought I was. Worthless. Wolfless. Weak.

I left it there and walked out the door.

The hotel corridors were empty, everyone either at the run or attending the evening's festivities. My footsteps echoed against the marble, too loud, too exposed. Every shadow felt like it was watching me. Every corner hid an Alpha who would drag me back.

But no one came.

I slipped out a service exit and into the night. The forest loomed ahead, dark and endless, but I turned away from it. Away from the Alphas. Away from their territory and their rules.

Toward the neutral lands.

The first mile was easy. Adrenaline carried me, my legs moving faster than they had in years. But then the withdrawal hit.

My hands started shaking first. Then my legs. The nausea rolled through me in waves, and I had to stop, doubled over on the side of the road, dry-heaving into the grass. My body was screaming for the poison it had grown dependent on, the wolfsbane that had kept me weak and compliant.

I forced myself upright and kept walking.

Every step hurt. My muscles burned. My head pounded. But I thought about the life growing inside me, the tiny spark of something pure and innocent, and I pushed through the pain.

This child would not grow up in a cage.

This child would not be a transaction.

I walked until my feet bled, until the hotel lights were nothing but a distant glow behind me. The neutral territory border was marked by a line of stones, ancient and weathered. I crossed it and felt something shift—like stepping out of a cage I hadn't realized was locked.

Free.

I was free.

---

Wylder's wolf was restless.

The run should have calmed him, should have burned off the tension that had been building for days. But instead, it made everything worse. His wolf kept circling back toward the hotel, whining, agitated.

Something was wrong.

He shifted back to human form and dressed quickly, ignoring the other Alphas who were still running. Marcus met him at the entrance, his expression carefully neutral.

"The negotiations are still ongoing," Marcus said. "Alpha Gregor wants to discuss—"

"Later." Wylder's voice was clipped. His wolf was clawing at his insides, demanding he check on her. On Naomi.

He took the stairs two at a time, his heart pounding for reasons he didn't want to examine. Her room was on the third floor, tucked away in the servants' wing where she belonged.

Except she didn't belong there. His wolf had been trying to tell him that for months.

He knocked once. No answer.

He opened the door.

The room was empty. Her duffel bag—gone. Her phone—gone. The scent-masking cloak he'd given her lay crumpled on the floor, abandoned.

But her scent lingered. Fear. Determination. And underneath it all, something that made his wolf go absolutely feral.

She was pregnant.

She was carrying his pup.

And she had run.

"Marcus!" His roar shook the walls, rattled the windows. The Beta appeared in the doorway seconds later, his eyes wide.

"Find her," Wylder snarled, his wolf so close to the surface that his voice came out distorted, inhuman. "Find her NOW."

---

Christian stared at the drink in his hand, watching the ice melt into the amber liquid.

Three weeks. Three weeks since Estelle had brought him into her pack, and he still hadn't been given the Alpha title she'd promised. Instead, she paraded him around like a trophy, introduced him as her "consort," and dismissed him whenever actual pack business was discussed.

He was starting to realize he'd made a mistake.

"You're brooding again," Estelle said, sliding into the seat across from him. Her smile was sharp, predatory. "It's not attractive."

"You promised me a position," Christian said, trying to keep his voice steady. "You said—"

"I said a lot of things." She leaned back, studying him like he was a bug under glass. "But let's be honest, darling. You're not Alpha material. You're barely Beta material. You're here because you're pretty and you have a decent bloodline. That's it."

His jaw clenched. "I gave up everything for you."

"You gave up a wolfless Omega who was already sold to another Alpha." Estelle laughed, cold and dismissive. "Hardly a sacrifice."

Naomi's face flashed through his mind. The way she used to look at him, like he was her entire world. The way she'd believed every lie he'd told her.

She was still valuable. Still carrying the potential for a powerful bloodline. And she was still bound to him by their history, by the guilt he'd planted so carefully.

Maybe it was time to reclaim what was his.