68

ALINA

I woke up in a warm room, layers of soft blankets cocooning me. The weight of them felt oddly comforting and suffocating all at once. I wasn’t alone. I could sense it. Someone else was here, their presence heavy in the silence. But I couldn’t bring myself to open my eyes. I didn’t want to know who it was. Shame had settled deep in my chest, like a rock lodged in my ribs. I wanted to disappear into the sheets. Crawl out of my own skin. Vanish.

Every time I blinked, I felt the ghost of his hands on me. Rough, violating, possessive. The way he’d ripped my clothes, his eyes devouring me like I was something to conquer, not someone. My stomach twisted violently. I had never wanted to hurt someone before, not like this. But the urge to stab him with something sharp, to make him feel even a fraction of what I felt, was bone deep and bitter.

It dragged me back to the tent. That night at the camp when he’d tried the same thing. When I was too frozen, too scared to scream. The one person who had saved me then was Alexander. And now, ironically, cruelly, he had saved me again.

Before it was too late.

A sob caught at the back of my throat, but I clamped my lips shut and swallowed it down. The pillow beneath my cheek grew damp with the tears that escaped anyway. Quiet. Shameful.

I heard the floor creak with movement. My body stiffened. My eyes clenched tighter. I wasn’t ready to see him. Not now. Maybe not ever.

“Do you need anything?”

Alexander’s voice was lower than usual, raspy, like it had been dragged over broken glass. He sounded tired. Or maybe angry. Or both.

I heard his footsteps cross the room, inching closer. My heart pounded louder, and I wished desperately that I could melt into the mattress. Run without moving.

The bed dipped with his weight. My whole body tensed. He didn’t touch me, and I was grateful for that. My skin still crawled with memories of the other man’s hands.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “We didn’t get him. But we will. I swear to you, he’ll be found. He’ll pay.”

I turned my face away, biting down hard on the inside of my cheek. I couldn’t speak. The words were shards in my throat.

“The doctor is coming to check on you,” he added, voice thick, uneven. Then, a pause. “I have a meeting to deal with everything from yesterday. I’ll be back before dinner.”

I heard the bathroom door close, followed by the muffled rush of water. Only then did I let out a shaky breath, long and trembling. He wasn’t gone, but he wasn’t watching me anymore.

I waited until I was sure the shower was on before I peeled the blankets back and slipped out of bed, still trembling. My bare feet hit the cool floor, grounding me for half a second before the reality returned.

I’d been changed.

I wasn’t wearing anything when I blacked out. I remembered Alexander draping something over me, but that was all. Everything after that was a blur. My breath caught as I looked down and realized I was in one of his shirts. The scent of him clung to the fabric. It smelled clean, faint leather, something warm beneath.

I felt dirty in it.

The need to scrub myself raw, to erase every trace of what happened, consumed me. I couldn’t look in the mirror. I couldn’t bear to see myself and the invisible imprint he left behind.

I didn’t even realize I’d dozed off until a knock startled me upright. I blinked groggily. The room was quiet. Alexander was gone.

The doctor stepped in gently, offering me a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“How are you feeling, sweetheart?” she asked, her tone light, too careful. Like I was glass she didn’t want to drop.

It grated.

“I’m fine.” The words came out sharp, clipped. She flinched, just a little. I looked away.

“If you need to talk about it, I can refer you to someone—”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Her nod was slow. Understanding. Pitying.

“It’s not like anything happened,” I added quickly, like saying it would make it true.

Her silence was heavier than her words. Maybe she didn’t believe me. Or maybe I didn’t believe myself. I’d locked it away, shoved it into the mental vault of Things That Didn’t Happen. Just like the first time.

She reached for a file and flipped it open, her expression turning clinical. “So, your blood work results came back. I thought I should speak with you first before telling the Alpha.”

I blinked. “Is it about what happened yesterday?”

“No,” she said. “This is from the blood work we did before.”

She sat on the edge of the bed, her fingers worrying the edge of the file. She looked… unsettled. Not the usual crisp, detached professional I was used to. She was nervous. I could feel it radiating off her like heat.

My stomach coiled. The kind of unease you get when something terrible is about to happen and you can’t stop it.

“What happened?” I asked, trying to sound indifferent, but my voice cracked halfway through.

She didn’t answer. Instead, she stood, walked to the door, and peeked into the hallway like someone might be listening.

It was all too dramatic.

“Please just tell me,” I whispered. “I can’t… I can’t take more bad news.”

She hesitated, then turned back to me. “Whatever decision you make, I’ll support you. Just know that.”

I stared at her, dread slowly curdling in my gut.

“You’re pregnant.”

The air left my lungs.

The room spun slightly, the walls pressing in. My brain refused to catch up to what she’d said. I blinked. Once. Twice.

“What?”

“You’re pregnant, Alina,” she said again, softer this time.

My fingers clenched in the blankets. Everything inside me stilled.