A knife in the pregnant Luna’s belly.

All evidence points to the Alpha’s scorned concubine.

Althea didn’t do it.

But no one will believe the wolfless omega who was rejected, humiliated, and made his slave.
So she runs—straight into the Red Mist and into the jaws of the one creature that even the Alpha hunting her fears.

---

Thorne Vargan, the Hellhound of the North Clan, swore bloody retribution on everyone responsible for destroying all he had ever known—especially the woman who beheaded his mother.

As fate would twist it, that woman’s daughter stumbles into his hellish domain…

And Thorne is not letting her go.

He claims her. 

As captive.
As leverage.
As vengeance.

But the fates have a different tale to weave as something in him hungers for her in ways far more dangerous than hate.

Her scent tempts him.
Her fear intrigues him.
Her secrets threaten to set his bloodand the entire pack system on fire.

And while Thorne pins her to his world with claws and shadow, the Alpha she fled is coming.

He wants his little omega back.m

She walked ahead of us. The rescued Vargans moved alongside her—in front of all of us, as though she were their shield rather than their savior.


Althea had positioned herself at the head of the procession, limping but utterly unaware. Her body registered what her mind refused to acknowledge—the way she favored her right side, the slight hitch in her stride, the tremor in her shoulders that had nothing to do with cold.


Her steps were light yet heavy all at once, carrying the still-crying child with such ease you'd think she bore nothing at all.


I walked a few safe paces behind, watching.


There was a distant respect forming—reluctant, unwilling, inconvenient. She'd proven herself more than the broken omega I'd assumed. More than Morgana's discarded daughter.


She was still my captive. Still the child of the woman who'd ripped my world apart. Still a complication I hadn't asked for and didn't want.


Chapter 72 - Dripping Blood