"You're not letting me go," she whispered, pulse hammering.

  The infuriating Alpha didn't waver. "I don't think so, no."

  Her fingers curled into fists, nails biting into her palms. Fight. Run. But what was the point? He had already decided. And Goddess help her, she felt it in the way he looked at her.

  Like she was his to command.

  How dare he? She should be furious. This was a sentence, not protection. He had trapped her here, leaving her with only one fate—to wait until her mate found her and dragged her back to the life she had bled to escape.

  But instead of terror, instead of disgust—

  Her traitorous body reacted.

  Because he was breathtaking when he took command, when that raw, untamed authority bled from his storm-gray eyes, pinning her in place, jaw clenched like he was barely restraining himself. The room felt smaller, suffocating, and yet—Goddess help her—she leaned in.

  "Not until I have his head on a spike."

  Rosie's breath stalled. Something in his tone sent a chill skittering down her spine—a quiet, lethal certainty.

  He wasn't making a threat. He was making a promise.

  "What—" she started, voice catching.

  But she wasn't sure she wanted the answer. "I—," she stumbled on her words, too shaken. "I don't want him dead."

  His eyes narrowed. Hers quivered.

  She should be furious. She should hate this. But her pulse betrayed her, hammering against her ribs, demanding something she refused to name.

  Luca's jaw tightened. A slow breath pushed through his nose, controlled but telling. "He almost killed you."

  He didn't move, didn't lean in, or reach for her. But he didn't need to. The weight of his gaze alone was enough to make her breath come too fast.

  "You would be dead if not for my pack."

  "It was an accident," she said bitterly. Even now, with everything they'd shared burned to ash, she remained loyal.

  "He never intended to open me up like that." Her voice softened against her will. As much as she hated it, she meant the words.

  Rosie had always been fast —on her legs, on her paws, through mud as through sand, she flew. And he had never been able to stand it. The tight smile when she outran him, the twitch of his jaw when she glanced back over her shoulder, the rough way he'd take her afterward—he was not a man who tolerated being bested. And later, he always made sure there was no doubt where the true power resided.

  But running with a torn her stomach was no simple task. He could have forced her into submission a hundred times before she reached the borders.

  He didn't.

  Because in that moment, he had known—had he caught her, she would have died in his arms.

  Only, he wanted her back. And alive.

  Luca's mouth twisted in disbelief. "How can you-"

  "Do you have a mate?"

  She was crossing a line. She knew it.

  But he had pushed her first.

  Luca's jaw tightened, his shoulders stiffening as if bracing against the pain her words inflicted.

  "Yes," he said, his voice dropping so low it was nearly a growl.

  Rosie latched onto his answer, her gaze locking onto his.

  "Then you understand," she said, urgency threading through her voice. "Why he would never take my life."

  The intensity of his burning gaze shot shivers through her spine.

  "I would never hurt her either."

  Low and raw, a certainty delivered as if the promise was hers to claim. Rosie blinked, startled by the force of his gaze, by the way something unbidden stirred within her. She forced herself to shake it off.

  "But that male doesn't seem to mind."

  His voice was cold again and the flushed air grazing her skin followed suit.

  "Yes well, mating a rogue isn't quite the same, is it?" The words tumbled out before she could stop them, an instinctive defense of the male she no longer called hers. "It's brutal."

  She spat the word, lacing it with all the disgust she had hoarded.

  Luca's gaze flickered down—to her chest. As if he could see right through the fabric, past flowers and lace, to the savage claim seared right onto the skin of her heart.

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  Gods. He had seen that too.

  She squared her shoulders, refusing to let the Alpha's intensity unnerve her. Her muscles, already strained from sitting too long, began to protest, but she tried not to show it.

  His expression hardened, his breathing slowed, but his voice remained controlled. "Brutal or not, a mate should never leave scars like that."

  She scoffed through closed lips, the sound barely escaping her. "Don't mistake me." She closed her eyes, letting out a blow, before plunging into his world again. "I don't want to go back. I didn't choose this life." She met his gaze, unflinching. "But I don't wish him dead."

  The man in front of her remained stoic, his expression unreadable.

  "You'll have to stay here, then."

  Rosie shifted in her chair, the hard wooden surface pressing against her back in a way that made her wound throb. "Why do you care so much?" she asked, her voice sharper than she intended.

  His grey eyes met hers, unwavering. His voice was low, promising. "We protect our females in this pack."

  Her heart stumbled at the conviction in his tone. "But I'm not one of yours."

  A hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

  "You could be."

  Could be part of his pack. Her mind spun. There was something about the way he looked at her—a clearness that made her stomach twist. His wolf believed she belonged here.

  Instinct told her to pull away. But a part of her—the part that had known no place to call home in years—couldn't ignore the sense of safety his words stirred.

  "I won't let you go until I know your decision was made by your own free will," he continued, "not under fear."

  There was no point arguing further. His mind was made up, and she was too weary to fight him on it.

  Rosie exhaled, relenting, before shifting again, trying to ease the pressure on her aching side. "Don't underestimate him when he comes. The beast inside him—it's ruthless."

  Luca didn't hesitate, his certitude ironclad, unshakable. "A lone wolf won't ever get to you in my pack."

  Rosie's lips pressed into a thin line. She shook her head slowly, ignoring the pull in her ribs. "He was alone," she said, her tone edged quietly. "but he's no lone wolf."

  Luca studied her while Milton picked up on her warning.

  "How long before he comes?"

  Rosie leaned back slightly, her body protesting with every movement. Beads of sweat gathered at her temples, but she ignored them, forcing herself to think. She had been running for weeks—four, maybe five. Exhaustion and pain blurred the details, but one thing was certain: he would never attack a pack alone. He had gone back. She was sure of it.

  The bond between them had gone quiet. That meant distance. He was already far away.

  She had been unconscious for two weeks. He would've needed time to return to their base—three weeks if she was lucky, two if not. But even then... He'd have to gather his hounds, plan his next move. That would take time. A lot of it. And once he arrived, he wouldn't attack like some rabid beast. He would wait, study the pack, learn their weaknesses.

  Maybe even try to reach her.

  "Maybe three moons." The words left her on a breath, the effort of speaking draining what little strength she had. A dull ache flared in her stomach, a stark reminder of just how fragile her recovery still was.

  He straightened in his chair, his presence commanding, filling the space between them. "We can do with that," he said, his gaze sweeping over her as if taking her measure. "Was he training you?"

  She tried not to feel insulted. "No."

  "That'll have to change." His tone left no room for argument. "You're not strong enough. From now on, you'll train with me every day at six. Once you're ready, you'll join the pack's training sessions."

  Her body tensed at the prospect. She was fast—that had always been her one advantage. But fighting? That had never been a necessity. Not until recently. Not until the one person she should have been able to trust had become her greatest threat.

  Clark folded his arms across his chest, his expression thoughtful. "Training is a good idea, but we need to set some boundaries." His gaze shifted to Rosie, then back to Luca. "The skin may be scarring, but the muscle damage in her abdomen was severe. It'll take time to rebuild strength, and overexertion could reopen internal wounds or strain the healing tissue."

  He turned to Rosie, his tone firm but kind. "You'll need to start with light exercises. No lifting, no sudden twists, and absolutely no sparring or shifting for now."

  Then, facing Luca again, his voice grew serious. "If you're overseeing her training, I want to check her to make sure she's not pushing too hard."

  "Of course." Luca agreed without hesitation, then turned his gaze to Rosie, waiting for her approval.

  She nodded, though the choice wasn't truly hers to make. Even that small movement sent pain flaring through her abdomen, sharp enough to steal her breath. She winced, pressing a hand instinctively to her stomach.

  He noticed immediately. His sharp eyes narrowed, a flicker of—well, she didn't know what— breaking through his stoic stance. "You're tired," he said, his voice softer now. "That's enough for today. Get some rest."

  Rosie hesitated, her pride warring with the exhaustion threatening to pull her under. Finally, she gave a small nod and pushed herself to her feet. The room tilted, her legs unsteady beneath her.

  Luca watched, his posture tense, as though preparing to catch her if she fell.

  She didn't. Grabbing the back of her chair, her feet grounded themselves.

  And just like that, she was dismissed.

  "You've got more fire in you than I expected," Clark said with a teasing grin as they climbed yet another flight of stairs. "You had the Alpha bristling."

  Rosie huffed, brushing her hair back from her face, though the motion pulled at her side and made her wince. "I think I started off on the wrong foot with him."

  "Don't worry about it. He's got a thicker skin than he lets on," Clark reassured her, his tone warm, easy. "Besides, he likes a challenge."

  Rosie wasn't so sure. The Alpha's words lingered in her mind, replaying in echo. You'll train with me every day at six.

  Sparring with an Alpha sat firmly at the top of her list of things to avoid if she wanted to stay alive. But, if she wanted to survive, training could be more than a threat. It could be a lifeline. She had spent her life submitting. If she wanted that to change, she had to learn how to fight, how to stand her ground.

  At the far end of the hall, Clark stopped before a door and pushed it open, gesturing for her to step inside.

  "This is yours."

  The room was modest but clean. A bed—bigger than any she'd ever had—was tucked against one wall, a small couch sat in the center, and a narrow window looked out onto the forest beyond. A private bathroom stood at the back. Simple, unremarkable. But to her, it was something more. The first space she'd had to herself in a long time.

  "Thank you," she murmured, exhaustion fraying the edges of her voice.

  Clark leaned against the doorframe, his usual kindness softening his features. "Get some rest. You'll need it if you're going to keep up with the Alpha."

  She managed a faint smile before closing the door.

  Alone—well, kind of. She could hear her two personal dogs standing guard at her door. She ignored them as she could, focusing instead on the smell of cedar and clean linen—a stark contrast to the damp earth that had clung to her for so long.

  Moving stiffly, she crossed to the window. The dense woods stretched endlessly before her, dark and foreboding. The wind rustled through the leaves, a slow whisper against the glass. It sent a shiver up her spine, though she wasn't cold.

  He would come for her.

  Her hand drifted to her stomach, fingers brushing the faint, jagged scar beneath her clothes. The skin there was different now—thicker, tougher.

  She couldn't bring herself to hate him, not all of him.

  But she didn't love him either.