DEFYING FATE

Savannah Pack

Sophie Savannah, a 25-year-old pack doctor yawned as she shut the clinic pantry room door carefully, aware of her two colleagues, both of whom were on a nightly shift in the clinic. Her phone rang as she approached the receiving room with a slice of toast in one hand and her large purse in the other. She'd been at the clinic for nineteen hours and was on the verge of collapsing. Werewolf or not, a creature without sleep is useless, she thought to herself.

"Good morning, people! I'm done for today, you can call me on my cell in case of any emergency, okay?" She muttered groggily, then again her juggling attempts resulted in her toast landing on the rug.

"D*mn it! Why did it do that all the time?"

"Morning, Doc, and please get yourself a good sleep; you already look like a zombie," one of her assistants muttered before sipping her coffee.

"Another toast?" the green eyed male assistant added with a smirk. "Come on, doc, it's not surprising anymore, you need rest. You can make another toast in your house."

"Yeah, whatever, I'm going now, goodbye everyone." Sophie rolled her eyes and dropped her folders in the chair, grimaced as she picked up the toast and checked the caller ID before putting her phone to her ear.

"Finally, I'll be going home," she said, smiling as she tossed the bread into the trash.

"Sleep here I come." She swung her bag over her shoulder, took an orange from the fruit bowl to appease her churning tummy and unfastened the loose, thick honey strands of hair that had become trapped under the neck of her white coat before retreating out the front door.

The loudness reached her first, like a wall of sound and the voices chanting her name seemed to come from all over.

She turned after dropping the fruit and was dazzled by flashing lights. "Holy f*ck!"

Sophie raised her hand to shield her eyes and moved her head to prevent having microphones forced into her face. She attempted to turn back, her heart thundering like a piston but it was too late. The weight of the people pressing against her had dragged her several feet out and onto the street in seconds, and she was suddenly encircled.

'Doctor Sophie! Doctor Sophie!'

'When is the wedding taking place?'

'Will it occur before or after the restoration of the pack's treaty?

'When was Alpha Landon's proposal?'

'Is this a convenient marriage?'

'What sort of message do you think you are sending to young women, in the Werewolf Kingdom, Dr. Savannah?'

The mention of her own name, together with the barrage of inquiries from all sides, seemed like a physical attack. Sophie's belief that she had just stumbled into her own particular nightmare, as well as the gut-freezing fear that had literally frozen her, deepened.

Sophie couldn't move, couldn't think beyond the constant buzz of terror in her mind. She just shut her eyes, lowered her head, and waited for the earth to open up.

It didn't.

God what was happening? One moment, she was trying not to stumble on the pavement, the next was a complete blur.

And then something took place, though in the middle of her confusion and headache, she didn't notice anything until the warm grasp on her wrist intensified and another hand slid around her waist. Sophie was no longer being dragged along by the supernatural media crowd; instead, she was being hauled in the opposite direction by someone powerful enough to make it appear easy and to make her frenzied attempt to lash out at her kidnapper a joke.

It began in a blur; one minute she was fighting for her freedom on the street, the next she was being tossed like a bag of potatoes into the back seat of a huge, elegant vehicle that had been obscured from her vision by the throng of people.

She reminded herself as she struggled to sit up that werewolves didn't get abducted in front of the press and dozens of media cameras. Sophie made it just in time to witness a camera being tossed towards the crowd before the man who had jumped in next to her closed the door on the outside noise. The media were now in full hysteria.

"Go, drive now, move Carlo, damn it! Go!" The strong voice drewled in a bored tone of voice.

The man in the driver's seat reacted by doing just that. He pulled away from the curb with a squeal of brakes and with scant regard for the lives of the bodies blocking their way.

Sophie found her eyes connecting with the small, mean-looking eyes of the man in charge of the getaway in the rear-view mirror before she looked away. The tattoo in the shape of a wolf's paw on the back of his thick neck was even less comforting.

Despite knowing everything there was to know about the physical and biological mechanisms of werewolf strength that caused the body to overproduce adrenaline and having answered a question about them, she had never firsthand encountered how tempting the flight-or-fight reaction was. But she knew it would be fruitless.

Sophie actually shifted into her white wolf form and launched herself at the door as the primordial survival lycan reflex kicked in, hitting every latch in a desperate attempt to unlock it and weeping in anguish when it didn't move. Her wolf growled at the door. She started pounding on the glass, more out of desperation than any genuine prospect of drawing attention—they were moving fast and the windows were tinted.

"Shift back now, lady. You're destroying the interior of this automobile," a strong voice hissed softly in her head, certainly someone of royal werewolf bloodline. "

Amelia's wolf growled again, but she was powerless to fight back the powerful voice of the man as she shifted back to her human form, butt-naked.

"Oh, God."

"Fuck it woman! Get yourself sorted, there is an extra coat behind you," the man growled. "I know this is going to happen," he hissed again and shooked his head.

"Who are you?" Sophie asked.

"Doctor, know this, if you're trying to break the glass, I should tell you that it's bulletproof, though that is quite a right hook you have, sweetheart, and I consider myself lucky that you are not wearing heels."

"How did you know my name?"

The man simply ignored her and yawned, as if conversing with her was tedious. "I know a lot about you, sweetheart."

Sophie clenched her hands and slipped down the window. She took the dark winter coat and covered herself. She leaned her temple against the coldness of the glass for a moment before taking a deep breath and turning to face her captor. She'd lost the battle to open the door, but she'd won the battle to hide her anxiety behind a cold contempt mask—well, as withering as you could appear when your face was soaked with tears and your mascara had most certainly ran.

"I'm not your sweetheart, I'm not your, um, whatever, but if you don't let me go, I'll be your worst nightmare," Sophie promised.

"Whatever," he rolled his eyes.

"Damn it! Stop this car!"

"Silly girl—"

"Damn you! Y-you will stop this v-vehicle and get me out right now, or I-I will..." Her words trailed off as she recognized the man sitting in the corner, one arm resting over the cushioned headrest, the other holding a phone.

Beta Sage of Robinson's Pack's smiled and winked at her, as if he were a hopeless romantic knight high on performance-enhancing drugs. It had always made perfect sense to her that the prince of darkness would be attractive; otherwise, where would the allure be?

She was not allured by his smile in any way!