Black.

Vermont’s POV

The night air was cool, biting against my bare skin. I tossed my shirt onto the pile of clothes by the tree, rolling my neck to loosen the tension. I needed to run. Needed to forget the never ending nightmare.

But then I heard it. Footsteps. Fast. Unsteady. Like someone was running for their life.

I stilled, ears straining. Two heavier sets of feet thundered behind. Someone was being chased.

I slipped on my pants, my eyes locked on the dark stretch of trees ahead. A cry split the night, chilling and desperate. A woman.

My jaw clenched. This isn’t your business, I told myself. You said you were done saving people.

Then her voice echoed again. “Please... my baby...”

Fuck.

I moved, weaving through the trees, keeping low. The clearing was small, just a patch of dirt and rocks under the moonlight. Two men stood over a woman sprawled on the ground. Dylan’s men. I recognized them, the pack tattoo on their neck.

One had his boot planted on her stomach, grinding it in as she screamed. The other hovered over her, his hand yanking her hair back, her neck exposed. Her dress was torn, barely covering her. Blood smeared her thighs.

My pulse hammered. My fingers twitched, claws itching to burst free. But I stood still, forcing myself to breathe.

Walk away. You don’t know her.

“Please,” she sobbed, her voice raw, broken. “Not my baby...”

The taller one sneered. “Should’ve thought about that before you spread your legs for the Alpha.”

The other one laughed, his fist slamming into her face. “Dylan said to make sure you won’t be a problem anymore, but I like to be extra, I want you to scream my name into the night as I fuck you senseless.”

That was it.

Before I knew it, I was moving, muscles coiling and releasing in one fluid motion. The taller one's head snapped back as my fist connected with his jaw, the crack echoing through the trees. He dropped, blood spraying from his mouth as he hit the ground.

Mason’s eyes went wide. “Vermont...”

I grabbed his throat, lifting him off the ground. He clawed at my hand, feet kicking. But all I could see was the woman, lying there like a broken doll, eyes half-open, blood running down her legs.

“You piece of shit,” I growled, tightening my grip. “Dylan sent you to kill his own child?”

His face was turning purple. He choked, spat. “Not... kill... just...”

I let go, and he crashed to the ground, gasping. I dropped to my knees beside the woman, brushing a strand of hair from her face. She was barely conscious, her skin cold.

“Hey,” I whispered, my voice shaking. “Can you hear me?”

Her lips moved, but the words didn’t come. Tears streaked through the dirt on her cheeks.

I slid my arm beneath her, lifting her carefully. Her head lolled against my chest, and I felt it, the sticky warmth between her thighs. Blood. Too much of it.

“Stay with me,” I said, more to myself than to her. I stood, cradling her against me, and her eyes fluttered open for a second.

“Baby... blood...” she mumbled, so soft I almost missed it.

“I’ve got you,” I said, more firmly this time. “You’re safe now.”

I started walking, not looking back at the two men sprawled on the ground. Because if I did, I’d go back and tear their throats out.

***

Talia's POV

Pain. That was the first thing that hit me, a raw, aching kind of pain that gnawed at every inch of my body. I tried to move, but even breathing hurt. The air was thick with the scent of antiseptic. Where was I?

My eyes forced themselves open. The room swam into focus; soft, lavender walls, silk curtains swaying with the breeze. Definitely not the slave quarters. Definitely not the dungeon. I tried to sit up, but hot pain shot through my abdomen. I gasped, gripping my stomach.

Memories flashed; I was running, falling, fists, feet, blood. My hand flew to my thighs, but there was nothing. Just a thin, clean gown. No blood. I felt my stomach, pressing down hard. Nothing.

"No, no, no," I whispered, my breaths coming in short, ragged bursts. My fingers trembled as I pressed harder, searching for something, a flutter, a sign, anything. Panic clawed up my throat. "My baby. Where is my baby?"

The door swung open, and a woman rushed in, her white gown blurring into the walls. "Hey, hey," she murmured, her hands gentle but firm as she pushed me back down. "You’re safe now. You’re safe."

Safe? I swallowed, looking past her, my eyes darting to the open door. "Dylan… Did he bring me here?" My heart thudded painfully against my ribs. "He didn’t want the baby. I have to go... He'll kill me... I have to—"

"Not Alpha Dylan," the woman said quickly, her voice softening. "Alpha Vermont."

Vermont? I stiffened, my eyes snapping up to the doorframe. And there he was. Tall, dark, and all the things the rumors said about him. Cold eyes, jaw like carved stone, shoulders too broad to be anything but intimidating. But what got me was the way he was looking at me, like he cared.

Our eyes met, and for a split second, I couldn’t breathe. Then he gave me a small, almost imperceptible nod. A calm assurance. You’re safe.

But I couldn’t focus on him. I couldn’t focus on anything but the sick feeling coiling in my gut. My fingers curled into the sheets, twisting them tight. I turned to the woman, grabbing her collar, my voice breaking. "Where’s my baby? Is my baby okay?"

Her lips parted, but the look in her eyes told me everything. My baby wasn’t okay. My baby was gone.

Then, almost like she couldn’t hold it in any longer, she whispered, “There’s more... I’m so sorry. The attack... it wasn’t just the baby. You lost your womb too.”

A scream tore out of my throat, raw and shattered, and that was the last thing I remember before everything faded to black.