Chapter 8

Alanza’s POV

“Don't move.”

His voice, low and rough, faded as he stepped away to answer his phone. I was still leaning against the rough bark of the tree, my body humming with a dizzy mix of shame and wild energy. Just moments ago, I’d let a man I barely knew, a man who admitted to stalking me, thrust against me until I shattered. My breath hitched. The reality of it slammed into me, finally clearing the haze of desire.

My cheeks felt hot. Fated mate or not, I thought, I just dry-humped a total stranger like a degenerate. I shifted, feeling the stickiness of his release on my lower abdomen. He had been gentle adjusting my dress, which only made the current situation more confusing. His touch had been so tender, so loving, it had made my heart ache.

Before the phone call, I had actually tilted my head up, ready to kiss him again. Now, standing alone in the dark, my mind finally worked again.

What do I do? Do I wait for him to return and explain? Do I run and pretend the most earth-shattering moment of my life never happened? My heart pulled me toward the shadow where he stood, but my brain was screaming at me to get out. I needed to run, and not just from him.

He had mentioned me coming with him before we had… connected. I remembered his introduction now, the one I had dismissed in a surge of lust. Luciano, Alpha of the Westwood pack.

Oh my God. I can’t be mated to an Alpha. I am just Alanza Verity.

He returned, and the casual tenderness was gone. His eyes were hard, cold, and dread numbed my face. My stomach twisted. The magical connection I’d felt moments ago vanished. This was the moment where the fantasy ended and the reality of a hookup-and-run hit me.

“Alanza Verity?” he asked, the muscle in his jaw tight. His voice was no longer the sexy, rough sound I craved. It was harsh. Cruel.

My heart felt like it was splitting down the middle. “Yeah?” I felt small, defenseless.

Luciano swore, a string of harsh, creative words I didn't know existed. Then his eyes met mine, and the man who had brought me to the brink of pleasure was utterly gone. He stared at me with an expression I knew all too well: hatred.

I didn't wait for the rejection. I yanked my hand out of his grip and ran, crashing through the underbrush. He didn't follow.

I burst into the hotel room, slamming the door behind me. My heart hammered against my ribs, and I leaned against the wood, fighting for breath. Somewhere inside, a gaping, raw hole burned with the fire of his rejection. My mate’s rejection.

Get it together, Alanza. You don't have time for this.

I pushed off the door and grabbed my canvas bag. I rifled through it until I found my change of clothes. The ruined gala dress came off quickly. I threw it into a corner, then paused. Maybe I wouldn’t trash it. It could be a perfect red herring for my parents when they started looking for me. A little piece of evidence to send them off course.

I stepped into the shower, turning the water as hot as I could stand. Five minutes. That was my luxury. I let the stream cascade over me, desperate for it to wash away the shame. I scrubbed my skin until it was pink, but the feeling of his hands, his lips, lingered. I could still hear the growl in my ear, telling me I was good.

Stop it. Stop thinking about him.

I got out. My body was clean, but my soul felt filthy. I toweled off quickly and threw on my regular clothes. The simple cotton T-shirt and jeans felt like a form of relief, a return to myself. There was no point in looking in the mirror. I already knew I was a mess.

I grabbed my bag and headed for the door. I had to get as far away as possible. My escape from the gala had already prompted me to open the rideshare app on my phone. Now, I put in a new request and dashed to the lobby.

A car was already waiting. It must have been on standby at the hotel. Perfect.

As we pulled away, I leaned my head against the cool window. I let the tears fall silently. I didn't know my destination. I had no solid plan. All I knew was that I needed to disappear. I watched the hotel shrink in the distance, a monument to the worst and most amazing moments of my life.

The driver glanced at me in the rearview mirror, but thankfully, he didn't say anything.

I pulled out my phone and quickly texted Jimena.

Change of plans. Don’t wait up. Don’t tell anyone.

I tucked my phone away before she could reply. I felt a surge of adrenaline, realizing I had just cut my only lifeline to a normal life. I was officially on my own.

We passed the outskirts of the city. The darkness outside was comforting, a solid black wall to hide in. I watched the trees blur past. Luciano had been right. He had wanted to take me away. He had wanted me.

But only for a few minutes.

I closed my eyes, trying to bury the pain. The car slowed, pulling up to a brightly lit, all-night diner. My driver turned in his seat.

“This is it, ma’am. End of the line for the request.”

I nodded, pulling a handful of cash from my pocket to pay him. I was getting out here. This was as good a place as any to start running. I just needed to figure out which direction.

The driver looked hesitant. “You sure you want to be out here this late? It’s kind of the middle of nowhere.”

I swallowed, forcing a casual smile. “I’m meeting a friend. Thanks for the ride.”

I grabbed my bag and stepped out onto the damp asphalt. The car pulled away, leaving me standing under the harsh white light of the diner sign. The smell of old coffee and fried food hit me. It was empty inside, just a single bored-looking waitress behind the counter.

I walked toward the entrance, my heart still a frantic drum in my chest. I had nowhere to go, no one to call. I pushed the heavy glass door open, the bell jingling loudly. The waitress looked up, startled.

I slid into a vinyl booth, pulling my bag close. I needed a minute to think. I needed a new identity, a new town. I needed to process being hated by my fated mate.

The waitress walked over, a pad and pen in hand. She looked tired. “What can I get for you, honey?”

I looked at her, and the desperation and fear must have been clear on my face. She looked at me with a tired, kind pity. I took a deep breath. I couldn’t fall apart here. I couldn’t.

“Just coffee, black, please,” I said, my voice shaky.

She nodded and headed toward the counter. I watched her go, then looked down at my shaking hands. I felt a sudden, cold certainty, a flash of instinct that was stronger than logic.

I need to run now.

I started to slide out of the booth, my heart suddenly racing again. The feeling was urgent, primal.

Then the diner door jingled again. I froze.

A man walked in. Tall. Dark. Broad shoulders filling out a leather jacket.

He hadn’t followed me from the gala. He must have followed my car.

He looked straight at me, his eyes colder than before. The hatred was still there, but mixed with something new: pure, focused rage.

He walked toward my booth, his steps slow and deliberate.

I gripped my bag, ready to bolt.

He stopped at the end of my table, leaning his hands on the vinyl. He didn’t shout. His voice was a low, dangerous growl.

“Did you honestly think,” Luciano said, his eyes burning into mine, “that I would just let you leave?”