Page 43

I don’t look back. I can’t do it. Because if I see the house, 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.

I surge to my feet, tearing through the room with desperate energy. Her dresser drawers are partially emptied—clothes are missing, but not many. Her toiletries are no longer in the bathroom. She planned this. While I slept beside her, sated and unaware, she was calculating her escape.

Where would she go? And how long before another alpha scents her, tracks her, and tries to claim what’s mine?

The thought sends a surge of primal rage through me, my claws extending unbidden, tearing into my palms as I clench my fists. Blood drips onto the hardwood floor, the scent momentarily cutting through her fading sweetness.

“Kane?” Jace’s voice, thick with sleep, comes from the doorway. “What’s going on? I smell blood.”

I turn to face him, not bothering to hide the raw agony etched across my face. His eyes widen, his amber gaze sharpening as he takes in my state, the empty nest, and the desperate energy vibrating from my skin.

“Where’s Mia?” he asks immediately.

I can’t bring myself to say the words aloud. Instead, I retrieve my phone from where I dropped it, scrolling to her message and wordlessly holding it out to him. Jace reads quickly, his expression shifting from confusion to understanding to alarm.

“Fuck,” he breathes, looking up at me. “How long has she been gone?”

“Hours,” I manage to choke out. “Her scent is cold. She left in the night while we were sleeping.”

Jace runs a hand through his tousled hair, his usual playfulness completely absent. “We need to find her. She doesn’t understand the danger she’s in. An unclaimed pregnant omega wandering alone?—”

A growl tears from my throat, silencing him. “Mia’s not unclaimed. She carries my mark. Our marks.”

“You know what I mean,” Jace says, softer now. “Without our physical presence, other alphas will see her as vulnerable. Available.”

The words send another surge of panic through me, and my wolf howls, demanding release, demanding we hunt now. Find her. Bring her back. Claim her again and again until she never thinks of leaving. I press the heels of my hands against my eyes, fighting for control.

“What happened?” Finn joins us, standing in the doorway behind Jace, already fully dressed and alert despite the early hour.

Jace hands him my phone silently. Finn reads the message, his expression unwavering, though I notice the slight tightening around his eyes and the almost imperceptible flaring of his nostrils.

“She overheard us yesterday,” Finn states, not asking a question but making a declaration. “About the pregnancy. About moving her.”

“Yes,” I confirm, the single word tasting like ash in my mouth.

“So she ran,” Finn continues, his tone maddeningly calm. “She made her own choice when she felt we had taken her choices away.”

“We need to find her,” I insist, stalking toward the door, toward action, toward anything that might ease the terrible hollow feeling in my chest. “Now. Before something happens to her.”

Finn’s hand on my chest stops me, his strength equal to mine despite his leaner frame. “And do what, Kane? Drag her back here against her will? Prove everything she said in that message, correct?”

His words land like blows, and I stagger back, my legs hitting the edge of the nest.

“I can’t just leave her out there,” I whisper, my voice breaking. “She’s carrying my pup. She’s my mate. My omega.”

“She was also raised as a human,” Finn reminds me, his green eyes steady on mine. “She doesn’t understand our kind.”

“She has no idea what she’s walking into!” I argue. “Other alphas will scent her pregnancy and try to claim her. She doesn’t know how to defend herself in our world!”

“I’ll find her,” Jace interjects, already pulling on jeans and a t-shirt. “I can track where she went and make sure she’s safe without letting her know we’re watching.”

I nod gratefully, the crushing pressure in my chest easing slightly. “Yes. Just make sure she’s safe. Don’t approach her unless she’s in danger.”

“And if she is in danger?” Jace asks the question, hanging heavy in the air between us.

“Then you bring her back,” I command, the alpha authority clear in my voice. “By any means necessary.”

Finn’s lips thin into a hard line. “You would override her choice if you deemed it necessary.”

It’s not a question, but I answer anyway. “To keep her alive? To protect our pup? Yes, I would.”

The room falls silent, the weight of my admission settling over us like a shadow.

I know what Finn is thinking—that I’m no better than the controlling human she fled from, that I’m proving her fears correct.

But he doesn’t understand. He can’t grasp the primal, visceral agony of having my pregnant mate out of my protection.

My wolf can barely think through the howling need to find her, to scent her, to ensure she’s safe.

“She’ll contact us,” Finn says after a long moment. “She’s bonded to us, whether she knows it or not. When she’s processed everything, she’ll call. This isn’t the end, Kane.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do,” he insists, surprising me with the certainty in his voice. “What we have with her is not something she can just walk away from. The bond doesn’t work that way. She’s angry, hurt, feeling betrayed. But she’ll come back.”

“We give her the space she’s asking for, but we keep her safe from a distance. We prove that we can respect her choice while still protecting her,” Jace adds .

I nod slowly. “Find her,” I tell Jace, trying to keep the desperation from my voice. “Make sure she’s safe. But don’t let her see you unless it’s absolutely necessary.”

“I’ll leave now,” Jace promises. “I’ll check transportation hubs first—bus stations, the train, the airport.”

“Take this,” I say, pulling a credit card from my wallet. “Book whatever flights, rooms, or cars you need. Just find her.”

Jace takes the card with a nod, his expression unusually solemn. “I will. And Kane... she’ll be okay. She’s stronger than you think.”

After Jace leaves, the bedroom feels even emptier, the silence pressing in from all sides. Finn watches me with those knowing green eyes, seeing too much, understanding too much.

“She won’t come back if you force her,” he says quietly. “You know that, right? She’ll only return if she chooses to. If she believes she has a real choice.”

“And what if she chooses not to return?” I say. “What if she decides to raise my pup away from me? Away from us? Without the protection of the pack?”

Finn’s jaw tightens, the only sign that this possibility affects him too. “Then we adapt. We find a way to ensure her safety without compromising her autonomy. We become whatever she needs us to be.”

I turn away, unable to bear the rational calm on his face while I’m being torn apart from the inside. My wolf still howls for action, for the hunt, for reclaiming what’s ours.

If I force her to return, I’ll lose her forever. If I track her down and drag her back to the den, I’ll prove every fear she expressed in that message correct.

“I can’t lose her,” I admit, the words barely a whisper. “I can’t lose either of them.”

Finn’s hand lands on my shoulder, a rare gesture of comfort from my most serious packmate. “This isn’t the end, Kane. I’m not giving up until she tells us to our faces that she wants nothing more to do with us.”

I nod, clinging to this sliver of hope despite the emptiness gnawing at my core. Finn is right—the bond between us isn’t easily broken. She’ll feel the pull just as I do, the hollow ache of separation that will only grow with time.