Page 102

I need space. Time to think, to process, to decide what I truly want. And I won’t get that here, surrounded by alpha pheromones, pack obligations, and the constant buzz of supernatural danger.

I wait, feigning sleep, when Kane checks on me, accepting the gentle kiss he places on my forehead with closed eyes. I eatthe dinner Jace brings me, forcing down each bite despite my churning stomach. I shower under Finn’s watchful gaze, his eyes tracking every movement as if memorizing my body.

And I wait. I wait until the house settles into the deep, quiet rhythms of the night. I wait until Kane’s arm grows heavy across my waist, his breathing deep and even. I wait until I can slip from beneath his embrace, replacing my body with a pillow. He instinctively pulls closer.

The new phone that Kane bought me after I moved in has the taxi app already installed. I order a car, setting the pickup location a quarter mile down the driveway, away from the house. Then, I quickly dress in the darkness, choosing practical clothes: jeans, sneakers, and a hoodie that will hide my face. I stuff a few essentials into a small backpack, along with the emergency cash Kane keeps in his dresser drawer.

The alphas sleep soundly, exhausted from a week of satisfying my heat-driven demands. Even so, I move with extreme caution, avoiding the creaky floorboard outside the bedroom and easing the front door closed with painful slowness. The night air is cool against my skin, and crickets chirp a steady rhythm as I slip down the porch steps and onto the gravel driveway.

Each step takes me further from the only security I’ve known in weeks, from men who, for all their faults, have protected me, cared for me, and claimed me as their own. My hand drifts to my belly, to the life growing there—a life that ties me to them in ways I’m only beginning to understand.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper to the night. “I need to figure this out on my own.”

The gravel crunches beneath my feet as I walk away from what is becoming home toward an uncertain future of my choosing. The app pings, signaling that the car is approaching my pickup spot.

I don’t look back. I can’t do it. Because if I see thehouse, I might lose my nerve. I might run back to the nest, to the arms of men who would kill for me, die for me, but who still don’t respect me enough to let me make my own choices.

So I keep walking, one foot in front of the other, tears streaming silently down my face as I leave behind everything I’ve come to know about myself and my place in this new and terrifying world. Toward what, I’m not certain.

But at least the choice, for once, is mine alone.

Kane

I reach for her in my sleep, fingers seeking the warm curve of her hip, the soft expanse of her belly where our pup grows. Instead, my hand finds only cold sheets—emptiness where my omega should be. The wrongness of it jolts me awake, my eyes snapping open to confirm what my body already knows- Mia is gone.

Her scent lingers in the nest, honey-sweet and fading, but the space beside me is vacant, her warmth long dissipated. Something dark and primal roars to life inside me; my wolf is immediately alert, snarling at this empty feeling.

“Mia?” I call out, my voice rough with sleep and growing alarm. The silence that answers sends a chill down my spine.

I sit up, scanning the bedroom with desperation. Her clothes from yesterday are no longer on the chair where she draped them. The bathroom door stands open, revealing empty darkness. There’s no sound of the shower running, no humming as she brushes her teeth—nothing but the hollow echo of absence.

“Mia!” I call again, louder this time, throwing off the covers and surging to my feet. Her scent trail is hours old.My wolf whines, anxious and confused, as I stalk around the room, searching for any sign of where she might have gone.

My phone on the nightstand lights up with a notification, and I lunge for it, my heart hammering against my ribs. There was one new message from Mia, time-stamped 3:42 AM, which was hours ago. The sight of her name on my screen momentarily calms the rising panic, only for dread to take its place as I unlock the phone with trembling fingers.

By the time you read this, I’ll be gone. I need space. I need time to think. I overheard your conversation with Finn and Jace on the porch yesterday—about the pregnancy. MY pregnancy. The one you all knew about but didn’t bother to tell me.

How could you keep something like this from me? How could you discuss moving me to another state, uprooting my entire life, without even asking what I want? After everything we’ve been through, I thought we were past the lies and secrets. I thought I could trust you. I was wrong.

I no longer feel safe in your world. Please don’t follow me. Please respect this one choice, at least.

The phone slips from my fingers, clattering to the floor as the room spins around me. She’s gone. My omega. My mate. Carrying my pup. Gone.

I can’t breathe. Can’t think. The wolf inside me howls in agony, clawing at my insides, demanding I shift, hunt, and find what belongs to me. My vision blurs, edges darkening as I struggle to process the magnitude of this loss.

“No,” I rasp, sinking to my knees beside the nest that still smells of her, of us, of the week we spent locked together in the throes of her heat. “No, no, no.”

With shaking hands, I retrieve my phone and dial her number, pressing it to my ear as if it were a lifeline. It rings once, twice, three times, and then goes to voicemail. She’s turned it off, blocked me, or the battery’s dead.

I decide to leave a voicemail.

“Mia, baby, please. Please come back. I’m sorry. So fucking sorry. You’re right. I should have told you about the pregnancy. I should have included you in the planning. I was trying to protect you, to give you time to adjust to one change before throwing another at you, but I was wrong. I should have asked what you wanted instead of deciding for you. I understand why you’re upset and why you felt you had to leave. But please, Mia, don’t shut me out. Our pup needs you safe. I need to know you’re safe. Call me. Text me. Anything. I’m dying here without you. Without your scent, your touch, your voice. Please come back to me. I’ll do better, I swear it.”

My voice breaks as the voicemail cuts me off, my desperate plea incomplete, floating in digital limbo where she may never hear it. I redial immediately, my fingers trembling so violently that I nearly drop the phone.

This time, it goes straight to voicemail. She’s turned off her phone.

The realization hits me like a physical blow, driving the air from my lungs. The wolf inside me snarls, demanding action, demanding I track her, hunt her, and bring her back to our den where she belongs. I press my forehead against the cool floor, struggling to breathe through the panic clawing at my chest.