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.

The cave smelled like damp earth and old stone. I'd been here for three days—or maybe four. Time blurred when your body was tearing itself apart from the inside out.

The fever came in waves. One moment I was shivering so hard my teeth chattered, the next I was burning up, sweat soaking through my clothes. My muscles ached like I'd been beaten. My head pounded. Every breath felt like dragging glass through my lungs.

This was withdrawal. The wolfsbane leaving my system. Three years of poison, and my body didn't know how to function without it.

I curled tighter around myself, pressing my back against the cold cave wall. The duffel bag sat beside me, mostly empty now. I'd rationed the food Elena had slipped into my bag, but it was gone. The water bottle was down to the last few sips.

I should move. Find a stream. Find shelter that wasn't a hole in the ground.

But I couldn't. My legs wouldn't hold me.

The baby. I pressed my hand against my stomach, feeling for something, anything. Was it still there? Was it okay?

Please be okay.

Then I heard it.

*You're stronger than this.*

I jerked upright, my heart slamming against my ribs. The voice was inside my head—clear, distinct, furious.

"Who—" My voice came out as a croak.

*Me, you idiot. Your wolf.*

I stopped breathing. My wolf. I had a wolf.

*Of course you have a wolf. You've always had a wolf. He just kept me buried.*

Christian. She meant Christian.

The realization hit like a physical blow. All those years of believing I was broken, defective, worthless—it was a lie. He'd done this to me. Poisoned me. Suppressed the one thing that made me whole.

*He's coming,* my wolf said, her voice weak but urgent. *I can smell him. Cedar and pine. He's close.*

No. No, no, no.

I tried to stand, but my legs gave out. I hit the cave floor hard, my vision swimming. I couldn't run. Couldn't fight. Couldn't do anything but wait.

Footsteps crunched on gravel outside the cave entrance.

"Naomi?"

That voice. I knew that voice.

Christian stepped into the cave, his silhouette backlit by the fading daylight. He looked the same—sandy hair, easy smile, the kind of face that made people trust him. But now I saw what I'd been too blind to see before. The coldness in his eyes. The calculation.

"There you are." He crouched down, tilting his head like he was examining a wounded animal. "You look terrible."

I tried to speak, but my throat was too dry.

"I have to admit, I'm impressed." He settled onto his heels, making himself comfortable. "I didn't think you had it in you to run. Guess there's some fight in you after all."

"Stay away from me," I managed.

He laughed. "Or what? You'll collapse at me? You can barely sit up."

He was right. I hated that he was right.

"I've been thinking," Christian continued, his tone conversational. "Estelle turned out to be a disappointment. Rogue Queen, can you believe it? All that power, all those promises, and she was just using me." He shook his head, like it was a minor inconvenience. "But you—you're carrying Montgomery's pup. That's valuable. Very valuable."

My hand moved instinctively to my stomach.

"I could drag you back to Wylder myself. Claim a reward. Or—" His smile widened. "I could use the baby as leverage. Make my father pay for selling me out. Either way, I win."

*Don't let him touch you,* my wolf snarled.

Christian reached for me, his fingers closing around my wrist. His touch burned, wrong in every way.

"Come on, Naomi. Let's go home."

"No." The word came out stronger than I expected.

His expression darkened. "That wasn't a request." His voice shifted, taking on that commanding edge—the Alpha tone. "Submit."

The command slammed into me, trying to force my body to obey. For a moment, I felt myself starting to fold, starting to give in like I always had.

Then my wolf roared.

*NO.*

Something inside me snapped. Not broke—snapped into place. Like a lock finally turning, a door finally opening.

Christian's grip tightened. "You know, it was almost too easy. The wolfsbane in your vitamins. You took them every single day, never questioned it. God, you were so gullible."

He was laughing. Laughing at how he'd poisoned me, controlled me, destroyed three years of my life.

Laughing at the threat to my baby.

*Enough,* my wolf said.

And then she was there—not just a voice, but a presence. Power flooded through me, hot and fierce and absolutely furious. My vision sharpened. My muscles stopped shaking. The fever burned away, replaced by something else entirely.

Christian's smile faltered. "Naomi?"

I looked at him, and for the first time in three years, I wasn't afraid.

"Get your hands off me."

My voice didn't sound like mine anymore. It was deeper, stronger, carrying a weight that made Christian's eyes widen.

He didn't let go. "You don't have a wolf. You're—"

"Wrong." I grabbed his wrist and twisted. Hard.

He yelped, stumbling back. "What the—"

The shift started before I could stop it. My bones cracked, reshaping. My skin burned as fur erupted across my body. The pain was excruciating and exhilarating all at once.

And then I was standing on four legs, staring at Christian through eyes that saw everything differently now.

My wolf was white. Pure white, like fresh snow.

Christian's face went pale. "That's impossible."

*Nothing about me was ever impossible,* I thought. *You just made me believe I was.*

I took a step forward, and Christian scrambled backward, his confidence shattering.

"Naomi, wait—we can talk about this—"

I growled, low and threatening.

He ran.