Seraphina POV

Two days. That was how long it took for my body to heal enough to be discarded, and for my soul to bleed out completely.

Standing at the hospital billing counter, I stared at the sleek black card Kael had given me months ago. Stop the lies, Seraphina. I don't care about your games. You are dead to me. The text he sent two nights ago echoed in my hollow chest, a phantom blade twisting in my heart. Using his money meant accepting his narrative—that our murdered pup was just a trick.

I shoved the card back into my pocket and pulled out a thick envelope of cash, my entire life savings from my days as a Pack secretary. The human clerk's eyes widened in pity as I paid the astronomical bill in full. I was penniless, but I was free. The last chain binding me to Kael Blackwood was severed.

Walking out into the biting wind, the sterile hospital scent faded. I thought of the money, of the Pack House, of Genevieve Blackwood. The Moon Goddess never blesses a traitor's womb. Her venomous whisper before the attack played in my mind. It wasn't just a cruel taunt; it was a confession. Genevieve had orchestrated the Rogue attack. She murdered my baby to keep her precious Alpha bloodline pure. A dark, vicious hatred took root where my grief had been. I swore to the Goddess, I would make her pay.

By nightfall, my exhaustion was bone-deep. I dragged myself to the cheapest motels on the city's edge. The first two claimed they were full the second they saw my ID. At the third, a dingy place smelling of stale smoke, the manager didn't even pretend.

"Mr. Blackwood put the word out," he muttered, avoiding my eyes. "No legitimate business in this city will take you in. We don't want Pack trouble."

I was a wolfless Omega, exiled and now hunted by the very Alpha who was supposed to protect me.

With nowhere to go, I collapsed onto a freezing park bench. My fingers numb, I pulled out my phone and searched my name. The results were a tidal wave of filth. Rogue's whore. Wolfless parasite. Articles and Pack forums accused me of faking a pregnancy to trap the Alpha. My photos were plastered everywhere, drowning in vicious comments. Kael was letting them crucify me. His silence was his endorsement. My heart turned to absolute ice.

A muffled scream shattered the quiet night.

I bolted up, my instincts overriding my exhaustion. The sound came from a dark, trash-littered alley nearby. I crept closer and saw a massive man—reeking of the sour, metallic stench of a Rogue—trying to drag an elegantly dressed elderly woman toward a rusted sedan.

"Hey! Let her go!" I screamed, stepping into the dim streetlight.

The Rogue paused, sniffing the air. A cruel smirk twisted his scarred face as he registered my scent. "A wolfless little bitch. Go away, before I gut you too." He pulled a hunting knife, the blade glinting in the dark.

I had nothing left to lose. As he lunged, underestimating my desperate rage, I grabbed a heavy metal trash can lid. I swung it with every ounce of strength I possessed, smashing it directly into his face. He stumbled back, stunned. I shoved him hard. His head cracked sickeningly against the car door, and he crumpled to the asphalt, out cold.

Panting, I dropped the dented lid and rushed to the trembling woman. "Are you okay? We need to get out of here before he wakes up."

She didn't seem to hear me. Her wide, tear-filled eyes were locked on my face. Slowly, a trembling hand reached up, her soft fingers brushing my cold cheek. The sheer reverence in her gaze made my breath hitch.

"Agnes?" she breathed, her voice breaking with a miraculous, agonizing joy. "My beautiful girl... I knew you were alive."

Seraphina POV

"Agnes?" the woman breathed.

I froze. "Ma'am, I'm not—" I started, but she wasn't listening.

Her trembling hands cupped my face, her Lycan instincts latching onto some phantom scent she believed was mine. Behind us, tires screeched. The Rogue had regained just enough consciousness to scramble into his rusted sedan and peel out of the alley, leaving behind a thick cloud of exhaust and his sour, metallic stench.

Before I could pull the delirious woman to safety, the temperature in the alley plummeted.

A sleek black Porsche slid to a halt under the flickering streetlight. A man stepped out, and the sheer force of his aura drove the breath from my lungs. His scent—a potent mix of ancient leather and the heavy, ozone-rich soil right before a thunderstorm—flooded the narrow space. It was suffocating, a primal power that dwarfed any Alpha I had ever met. He was a Lycan.

He took in the scene in a fraction of a second: his weeping grandmother, the lingering stench of the Rogue, and me—a wolfless Omega standing over her.

His icy blue eyes locked onto mine, blazing with absolute disgust. "What did you do to her?"

His voice wasn't just an Alpha's Command; it was a crushing weight that rattled my bones.

"I didn't—he attacked her, I saved—"

"Save your breath," he snarled, stepping between us and shielding the old woman. "A wolfless stray reeking of Rogue. Don't insult my intelligence."

"Agnes! Don't leave Agnes!" the old woman sobbed, reaching out for me as he gently but firmly guided her into the passenger seat.

He ignored her pleas. He didn't even look back at me. The Porsche vanished into the night, leaving me shivering in the garbage-strewn alley, condemned for a crime I didn't commit.

The next twenty-four hours proved that Kael Blackwood's cruelty knew no bounds.

I dragged myself from one apartment complex to another. The moment the human landlords saw my ID, their polite smiles vanished, replaced by flimsy excuses. *Blacklisted.* Kael wasn't just exiling me from the Pack; he was using his billionaire influence to ensure I starved in the human world.

The last shred of my broken heart calcified. I didn't just hate Genevieve anymore. I hated Kael. I hated the entire Blackwood bloodline. My grief was gone, forged into a weapon of cold, hard hatred.

By nightfall, I finally found a dilapidated, unlisted motel on the city's absolute fringe. It smelled of black mold, cheap bleach, and despair. I paid in cash, locking the flimsy door of room 114 behind me. The room was barely larger than a closet, featuring a squeaking mattress and a wobbly desk, but it was a roof.

I had just sat on the edge of the bed when a heavy, deliberate knock echoed through the thin wood of the door.

My blood ran cold.

I crept forward, holding my breath, and pressed my eye to the peephole. Standing under the flickering neon light of the walkway was the Lycan from the alley. His broad shoulders filled the frame, his expression unreadable.

Panic seized my throat. Kael's ban was absolute—which meant this monster had tracked me down himself. He was either a hitman hired by the Blackwoods, or he had come to execute me for the "Rogue attack" on his grandmother.

I backed away slowly, my bare feet silent on the stained carpet, and curled my trembling fingers into tight fists.

Seraphina POV

My knuckles turned white as I gripped the doorknob, my eye still pressed to the peephole. The Lycan from the alley stood under the flickering neon light of the motel walkway. His massive frame seemed to swallow the narrow space, his scent of ancient leather and heavy ozone seeping through the cracks of the flimsy door.

I backed away, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. I looked around the tiny, mold-infested room for a weapon, my eyes landing on a rusted floor lamp.

"Seraphina," his voice bled through the thin wood. It wasn't an Alpha's Command, but a low, rumbling baritone that vibrated in my chest. "I know you're in there. I'm not here to hurt you."

I held my breath, my fingers wrapping around the cold metal pole of the lamp.

"I was wrong," he continued, the words sounding foreign on his tongue, as if he wasn't used to saying them. "The Rogue scent on you... my instincts blinded me to the truth of what happened in that alley. I apologize."

A Lycan? Apologizing to a wolfless Omega?

"My grandmother," his voice tightened, losing a fraction of its iron control. "She's refusing to eat. The Pack Healers can do nothing. Her mind is slipping, and she is convinced that you are Agnes. If she doesn't see you, she won't survive the night."

I hesitated. The memory of the frail old woman sobbing in the alley flashed in my mind. Slowly, I approached the door, leaving the chain lock engaged, and cracked it open just an inch.

His piercing blue eyes immediately locked onto mine. Up close, the sheer power radiating from him was suffocating.

"What do you want from me?" I whispered, my voice trembling.

"Let me in," he said softly. "Please."

Against my better judgment, I slid the chain free. He stepped into the cramped room, making the ceiling seem entirely too low. I immediately retreated to the far corner, putting the squeaky mattress between us.

"She thinks you're her daughter," he said, his gaze sweeping over my bruised, exhausted form. "Agnes died twenty years ago. But my grandmother's grief has fractured her reality. I need you to come live with me for one month. Pretend to be Agnes. Comfort her until she stabilizes."

I stared at him, disbelief momentarily overriding my fear. "You want me to play dress-up for a dying woman?"

"In exchange," he took a slow step forward, "I will offer you absolute protection. Kael Blackwood's blacklist won't mean a damn thing. You will be untouchable."

Anger, hot and sudden, flared in my chest. "I just escaped a Pack that used me and threw me away like garbage. I am not your mother, and I don't even know you! I won't be another family's pawn."

"I'm not asking you to be a pawn," he countered, his jaw clenching. The icy wall of his Lycan composure cracked, revealing a raw, bleeding desperation underneath. "She raised me when my mother died. She is the only family I have left. I cannot lose her."

The raw agony in his eyes struck a chord deep within my shattered soul. I knew that pain. I had lost my mother, and just days ago, I had lost my unborn pup. I knew what it was like to watch the only light in your world extinguish.

I looked at this terrifying, powerful creature, and for a fleeting second, I didn't see a monster. I saw a grieving grandson.

"One month," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

Relief washed over his harsh features.

"But I have a condition," I added, lifting my chin. "When the month is over, you use your resources to give me a completely new identity. A new name, new papers. I want to disappear where the Blackwoods can never find me."

He didn't hesitate. "Done."

He closed the distance between us, stopping just short of invading my personal space, and extended a large, calloused hand.

"Declan Kane," he said, his voice a solemn vow.

I reached out, my small hand disappearing into his. The moment our skin touched, a strange, electric warmth shot up my arm, but it was entirely eclipsed by the ringing in my ears.

*Kane.*

My breath hitched, my eyes widening in absolute horror as the name echoed in my mind. In the werewolf world, there were Alphas, there were Alpha Kings, and then there was the Kane bloodline. They were ancient, unfathomably wealthy, and possessed a ruthless Lycan power that bowed to no one.

I hadn't just made a deal with a powerful stranger. I had just sold a month of my life to a King.