Page 92 of Rejected By My Untamed Alpha Commander

Our eyes meet for just a moment. There’s something in her gaze—something I can’t quite read through my haze. Fear? Determination? Regret?

She steps aside from the open window, still holding Astra’s unconscious form.

My body moves toward them without my permission. My feet carry me past Daciana’s body, but I don’t look down. Can’t look down? Can’t face what I’ve done.

I reach the healer. She hands Astra to me, and my arms take her automatically, pulling her unconscious body to my chest. My friend is warm, breathing steadily despite whatever the healer did to her. Her head lolls against my shoulder.

The healer gestures sharply to the window.

My body climbs onto the sill. The drop is significant—we’re on the second floor. It should terrify me. Should make me hesitate.

But I don’t hesitate.

I jump.

The air rushes past me. My legs absorb the impact with a jarring thud that I barely feel, bending to cushion Astra’s weight. Then, I’m straightening, and then, I’m running.

The world feels wrong. So wrong. Like I’m moving through deep water, through something thick and heavy that slows everything down. The colors are all muted—the dark trees look gray, the moonlight dimmer than it should be. Sounds are distant and distorted, like I’m hearing them through a thick wall.

My thoughts are sluggish, disconnected. They drift through my mind like clouds, never quite forming into anything coherent.

Where am I going? Why am I running? Daciana is dead. I killed her. I need to go back. I need to—

But my feet don’t stop. They carry me through the dark woods, weaving between trees with practiced ease. My body knows where it’s going even if my mind doesn’t.

I try to stop. Try to plant my feet, to drop Astra, to turn back. Try with everything I have left.

My muscles don’t respond. They may as well belong to someone else.

Something flickers in my chest. A spike of panic that cuts through the numbness like a knife.

But the panic isn’t mine.

The realization hits me slowly, filtering through the fog. This fear, this sharp, immediate terror racing through my veins—it doesn’t belong to me. It’s too crisp, too clear. It’s someone else’s emotion, bleeding into my consciousness.

My wolf stirs. Finally. Just a whisper of presence, weak and confused, like she’s waking from a deep sleep.

Fight, she whimpers. Something’s wrong. Fight it.

I try. God, I try. I throw everything I have against the invisible chains holding me, every scrap of will, every desperate fragment of self.

Nothing changes. My feet keep moving, carrying me deeper intothe forest. Away from the palace. Away from Daciana’s body. Away from everything.

The trees thin gradually. The dense forest gives way to scattered groves, then to open ground. An estate house rises before me in the distance, all stone and sharp angles. Even through the fog, even with my thoughts scattered and slow, I recognize it.

I’ve seen this place before. In dreams. In nightmares.

No. No, anywhere but here. Please, not here.

But my feet don’t stop. They carry me across the open ground, up the stone steps. Closer. Closer.

My heart should be pounding. Should be racing with fear. But I can’t feel it. Can’t feel anything except that distant, foreign panic that isn’t mine.

The front door swings open before I reach it.

Zane stands there.

He’s immaculate as always, dressed in dark clothing that makes him look like a shadow given form. His hair is perfectly styled, his posture relaxed and confident. And his smile—that cold, satisfied smile that makes my skin crawl—spreads across his face as he looks at me.