So. Turns out I didn't escape everyone.
Shocking, right? Because apparently my brain only has room to process one terrifying alpha at a time, and tonight's featured nightmare had been Desmond. Big. Cold. Murder-in-his-eyes Desmond. I'd been so busy congratulating myself on outplaying him that I completely missed one tiny, inconvenient detail:
If Desmond was there… the others could be too.
Yeah. Real genius move, me. Truly award-winning stupidity.
I didn't realize it right away. At first, I was too busy putting distance between myself and the angry mob currently trying to decide whether Desmond was a criminal mastermind or just some unlucky bastard with very suspicious pockets. I slipped through alleys, ducked between bodies, kept my head down, heart still pounding like it was trying to escape my ribcage.
I was already rehearsing my victory speech in my head.
Congratulations, you lived. Again.
And then I felt it.
That prickling along my spine. That instinctive itch between my shoulder blades that whispered: you're not alone.
I slowed just a fraction. Let my breathing even out. Kept walking like I hadn't noticed a thing.
But I had.
Someone was watching me.
Not human. Not drunk. Not some petty pickpocket looking for loose coins. This was… heavier. Sharper. Predatory in a way that made my skin crawl.
I didn't turn around. Didn't dare. Because if I did, and I saw another pair of alpha eyes staring back at me, I might've actually lost my mind.
So I kept walking.
Like I wasn't a defective-not-defective-maybe-she-wolf with a bounty on her existence.
Like I wasn't one bad second away from being dragged back into the jaws of five men who'd already decided I belonged to them.
Cool. Casual. Totally not panicking.
The streets were still alive, even this late. Or maybe especially this late. The neutral territory never really slept—it just changed flavors.
Drunkards stumbled out of taverns, laughing too loud, reeking of cheap ale and bad decisions. Pickpockets hovered like vultures, waiting for slurred words and loose balance. And then there were… the others.
The ones who had learned to replace what the world had taken.
With no females left, some men had turned to men. Some wolves, desperate for closeness, for warmth, for anything that wasn't violence and blood, sought comfort wherever they could find it. Some of it was tender. Some of it was ugly. Some of it was just survival.
I didn't judge.
I just knew I didn't belong in any of it.
Because I was small. Because I didn't have my wolf yet. Because my body—this body I'd spent my whole life hiding—made me a target in a world where weakness was a currency you paid in blood.
And tonight? I was broke.
Every step I took felt like I was walking through a minefield. A drunk brushed past me, nearly knocking me into a wall. I stiffened, heart leaping, before realizing he wasn't interested in anything but not falling on his face.
I glanced at the shadows between buildings.
Nothing.
But that didn't mean anything.
If Desmond had taught me one thing, it was that alphas didn't need to rush. They waited. They watched. They closed in when you thought you were safe.
I exhaled slowly.
You're not dying in an alley tonight.
I spotted it a block ahead—a modest motel tucked between a pawnshop and a closed bakery. No flashing lights. No shouting. Just a dim sign and a door that didn't look like it had been kicked in recently.
Good enough.
I crossed the street and stepped inside, the bell above the door chiming softly.
Warm air hit my skin. Stale. Slightly musty. But safe.
For now.
The receptionist looked up from behind the counter—middle-aged, tired eyes, the kind of face that had seen too much of the night shift to be surprised by anything. He glanced at me once, quick and assessing, and I could almost feel the unspoken question:
You running from something, kid?
Probably.
I slid what little money I had left onto the counter.
"I need a room. One night."
He named a price that made my stomach twist.
That was… everything.
Every stolen coin. Every risky move. Gone in exchange for four walls and a locked door.
I hesitated for half a second.
Then I remembered Desmond's eyes.
Remembered the weight of an alpha's presence.
Remembered that feeling of being owned without anyone ever asking my permission.
I pushed the money forward.
"A tip," I said. "And in return, you don't let anyone interrupt me. Not knocks. Not questions. Not 'urgent business.' Nothing. In fact I didn't stay here if asked"
He studied me for a long moment.
Then nodded once and slid a key across the counter.
"Room twelve. Back hallway."
I took it.
Didn't look back.
The hallway was quiet, lit by flickering bulbs that hummed faintly overhead. My footsteps sounded too loud. I unlocked the door, slipped inside, and locked it behind me with a click that might as well have been a prayer.
I leaned my forehead against the door.
Still alive.
Barely.
The room was small. Bed. Dresser. Tiny bathroom. One narrow window with the curtains drawn halfway. Not luxury, but not a death trap either.
I dropped my bag and sagged onto the bed for a second before forcing myself back up.
No. Don't collapse yet.
First: shower.
I needed to wash off the sweat, the dirt, the blood that didn't belong to me. Needed to feel like my own skin again instead of a battlefield.
The water was lukewarm at best, but I didn't care. I stripped quickly, wincing at the bruises blooming across my ribs and thighs. My ankle still ached from earlier, dull and persistent. Nothing broken. Just angry.
Good.
Pain meant I was still here.
I stepped under the spray and let the water run over my face, over my hair, down my back. Watched the grime swirl into the drain like I was shedding pieces of the night.
As the tension slowly eased from my muscles, my thoughts crept back in.
That wolf.
The one I'd felt watching me.
I hadn't seen him. But I knew. The same way I'd known Jake had been at the ravine. The same way I'd known Desmond was dangerous before he ever opened his mouth.
Instinct.
Which meant one thing:
I hadn't escaped the alphas.
Not really.
I shut off the water and grabbed a towel, wrapping it around myself. Stared at my reflection in the cracked mirror.
Small. Sharp eyes. Too thin from running and hiding. Bruised. Tired.
And maybe—just maybe—something more than what I'd been told my whole life.
A she-wolf.
The last one.
The idea still didn't feel real. It sat in my chest like a foreign object, heavy and unreal. Grandpa had called me defective. Broken. Wrong.
But what if I wasn't wrong?
What if the world was?
I laughed quietly.
"Great," I muttered to my reflection. "Not only am I hunted, I might also be a walking extinction-level event."
Fantastic.
I dressed quickly and crawled into bed, pulling the thin blanket over myself like it could somehow protect me from the universe's very personal vendetta.
Tomorrow I'd need food.
Money.
A plan.
Tomorrow I'd have to be clever again.
But tonight?
Tonight I just wanted sleep.
I lay there, staring at the ceiling, waiting for exhaustion to finally drag me under.
No dreams, please. No alphas. No submission fantasies my brain apparently thought were hilarious.
Just… quiet.
The room was still. No knocking. No shouting. No pursuit.
For the first time since I'd run, I let my eyes close.
And I told myself I was safe.
Even though somewhere out there, in the dark of the neutral territory, a wolf had seen me.
And next time?
He wouldn't be so easy to lose.