The Royal Gala blazed ahead like a beacon in the darkness, its golden light spilling across the Capital Pack's grand estate. But I never made it to the gates.

We're being followed, my wolf growled.

I glanced in the rearview mirror and felt my blood turn to ice. A black SUV with tinted windows had been maintaining the same distance behind me for the last ten miles, its headlights cutting through the forest darkness.

"Maybe it's just someone else heading to the gala," I whispered, but my wolf's snarl told me what I already knew in my bones.

No. Enemy.

The scent hit me then, even through the closed windows of my car—something metallic and cold, like steel and winter mornings. It was a scent I didn't recognize, but my wolf recoiled from it instinctively. Whoever was in that SUV wasn't from our pack, and they definitely weren't heading to any party.

I pressed harder on the accelerator, taking the next curve faster than was safe on these winding forest roads. The SUV matched my speed effortlessly, its powerful engine purring like a satisfied predator.

Turn off, my wolf urged. Take the old mining road.

I yanked the wheel right, tires squealing as I took the barely visible turnoff that led deeper into the forest. The narrow dirt road wound through dense pines, branches scraping against my windows like skeletal fingers. This route would take me away from the gala, but at least I could lose whoever was following me.

The headlights in my mirror disappeared for a moment, and hope flared in my chest. But then they were back, closer now, the SUV handling the rough terrain with an ease that spoke of modification and preparation.

They know these roads, my wolf realized, her fear bleeding into mine. This isn't random.

The moonlight filtered through the canopy above, casting everything in silver and shadow. The forest pressed in on both sides, and I realized with growing horror that I was being herded—pushed deeper into territory where no one would hear me scream.

My hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles went white. The mate bond in my chest flickered again, weak and distant. Where was Marcus? Why couldn't I feel him?

The black SUV surged closer, close enough that I could see the outline of multiple figures inside. I pressed my foot to the pedal, desperately trying to outrun the inevitable.

That's when I realized the brake pedal had gone soft.

No, no, no…

I pumped the brakes frantically, but my foot sank to the floor with each press, meeting no resistance. The steering wheel felt loose in my hands, the car's response sluggish and unnatural.

Danger, my wolf howled.

Time seemed to slow as understanding crashed over me. The casual way Marcus had left his jacket where I could find the invitation. His convenient absence tonight. The SUV that had found me so easily on these isolated roads.

Someone had tampered with my car.

Someone wanted me dead.

The speedometer climbed past sixty on the narrow dirt road, and I could see the sharp curve ahead—the one that bordered the ravine. At this speed, with no brakes and failing steering, there was only one possible outcome.

I yanked the wheel hard left, fighting the car's momentum, but it was like trying to redirect a boulder mid-fall. The vehicle barely responded, and I could smell the acrid scent of overheated metal and burning brake fluid.

The baby, my wolf whimpered, and I instinctively wrapped my arms around my stomach even as I fought for control.

"I'm sorry," I whispered to the life growing inside me. "I'm so sorry."

The car hit a slope and rolled. Glass exploded inward as my window shattered, and I felt the sharp bite of fragments against my face and arms. The taste of blood filled my mouth as my head snapped forward, then back.

The steering wheel crushed against my ribs with each roll, and I felt something crack inside my chest. But my arms stayed locked around my stomach, even as my body was thrown around like a ragdoll.

The car's frame was twisted, as the metal rubbed against rocks as we tumbled down the ravine. My vision blurred, but I could still perceive the smell of gasoline.

Finally, we stopped.

I hung upside down, held in place by my seatbelt, blood dripping from my scalp to pool on the ceiling below. My breathing was becoming heavy and my left arm hung unusually. But I was alive.

The baby? my wolf whispered weakly.

I pressed my hands to my stomach, searching for any sign of injury there. No immediate pain or wetness that might indicate internal bleeding. But I needed a hospital to be sure.

Through the windshield, I could see headlights approaching the edge of the ravine above. The black SUV had stopped, and dark figures were emerging from it like shadows given form.

They stood there for long minutes, silhouetted against the moonlight, and I held my breath in the wreckage below.

One of them raised something to his face—binoculars or a scope—and I caught a glimpse of silver embroidery on his jacket. A pack insignia I couldn't quite make out from this distance, but the pattern seemed familiar in a way that made me scared.

Blood traitors, I snarled weakly. They smell like pack, but wrong.

After some minutes, the figures went to their vehicle. The engine roared to life, and I watched the headlights disappear back toward the main road, leaving me broken and bleeding in the darkness.

They hadn't come down to check on me. They hadn't called for help.

They'd simply verified that their job was done and left me to die.

As consciousness began to slip away at the edges, one last terrible thought crystallized in my mind: Marcus had known exactly what route I would take to find him.

Pain dragged me back to consciousness like claws through velvet.

My wolf stirred first, as if wrapped in thick fog. Where am I? I whispered.

I tried to open my eyes, but the fluorescent lights above were too bright. My nostrils searching for familiar scents, but found only the sharp smell of bleach and something else... something metallic that made my wolf recoil.

Silver, I realized with growing alarm. They've put silver in my system.

I attempted to sit up, and immediately regretted it. Fire shot through my left shoulder where it had been dislocated in the crash. But my hands moved instinctively to my stomach, pressing gently against the flat plane beneath the thin hospital gown someone had dressed me in.

The baby. I needed to know about the baby.

Nothing immediately obvious, but the persistent ache low in my abdomen made my heart race.

"You're awake." The voice came from behind me.

I turned my head slowly, a woman in scrubs stood in the doorway, her wolf scent masked but not completely hidden.

"Where am I?" My voice came out as a rasp.

"Safe," she replied, which wasn't an answer at all. "You were in a terrible accident. We're taking excellent care of you."

But her scent told a different story.

Over the next few hours, a parade of medical staff filtered through my room. They checked my vitals, adjusted IV lines, and administered medications I didn't recognize. Each time I asked about my condition, about the baby, I was met with deflection.

"Let's focus on getting you stabilized first," the sandy-haired doctor would say while avoiding my gaze.

"All in good time," the nurse with the foreign accent would murmur, injecting something clear into my IV that made my wolf whimper and retreat further into the recesses of my mind.

I tried to resist, but whatever they were giving me made my thoughts sluggish, my body heavy and unresponsive. The worst part was how it dimmed my connection to the mate bond. The steady warmth that had always told me Marcus was my mate was almost gone.

The guards changed every four hours, but they weren't pack wolves in the traditional sense. These were mercenaries.

Days later, the pattern became clear. My phone had been confiscated "for my recovery." The medical staff deflected every question about contacting my pack, my family, anyone who might wonder where I was.

I began testing the boundaries of my captivity. The door was locked from the outside. The windows were reinforced glass that wouldn't break, even for a wolf. My room was monitored by cameras disguised as smoke detectors.

But I was still alive, which meant someone needed me that way. The question was why.

Moments later, a young nurse entered my room. She was different from the others, her movements nervous, her scent tinged with guilt instead of cold professionalism.

"I shouldn't be doing this," she whispered, glancing toward the door before pulling something from her pocket.

It was a newspaper, yesterday's date, and the headline made my world collapse:

"ALPHA MARCUS BLACKWOOD ANNOUNCES ENGAGEMENT TO CAPITAL PACK HEIRESS"

But it was the photo that destroyed me.

Marcus stood in formal attire, his arm around a radiant Serena Caldwell. They were at the Royal Gala, the very party I'd been racing toward when my brakes failed. She was wearing a stunning white gown, her hand displaying an enormous diamond ring, and they were both smiling like the happiest couple in the world.

I'd never seen him look at me the way he was looking at her in that photograph. Like she was the sun and he was a planet finally finding his proper orbit.

The gala was three nights ago, my wolf snarled, doing the math I was too devastated to process. The same night we were meant to tell him about the baby.

The same night I'd sat in our house, surrounded by candles and flowers and hope, waiting for a man who was already pledging his future to someone else.

The article detailed their "romantic reunion" after years apart, their "destined love that overcame political obstacles," and their plans for a "spring ceremony that will unite two of the most powerful packs in the territory."

Not a single mention of his current mate. No reference to the wife he'd already pledged his life to. I'd been erased from his story as if I'd never existed at all.

I set the newspaper aside with hands that no longer shook, my mind suddenly crystal clear despite the drugs in my system.

I was held hostage until I was no longer important.

As I stared at the photograph of my mate with his arms around another woman, something shifted inside me. The part of me that had loved him, trusted him, believed in our forever—that part died as surely as if it had been buried six feet under.

I was no longer Marcus Blackwood's mate waiting to be rescued.

I was a pregnant she-wolf trapped by enemies who thought they could eliminate me quietly, and every instinct I possessed was now focused on one simple truth: they had made the last mistake they would ever make.

The young nurse returned an hour later to collect my tray, and when she leaned close enough, I whispered two words that made her eyes widen in understanding:

"Help me."