Runaway Bride

The white dress was a cage made of silk.

I stood in front of the full-length mirror in my father's study, staring at my reflection like it belonged to someone else. The gown was beautiful—I had to give him that much. Layers of ivory lace and satin that pooled at my feet, a bodice that cinched my waist and pushed my breasts up like an offering, sleeves that fell off my shoulders in a way that was supposed to look romantic but just made me feel exposed.

I looked like a bride.

I felt like a sacrifice.

"You look perfect, Laney." My father's voice came from behind me, smooth and satisfied, like he'd just closed a particularly lucrative business deal. Which, I supposed, he had.

I didn't turn around. I kept my eyes on the mirror, on the girl in the white dress who was about to be sold to a monster.

"He's going to be very pleased," my father continued, moving closer. I could see him in the reflection now—tall, broad-shouldered, his alpha presence filling the room like smoke. Marcus Thorne, leader of the Ashwood Pack, a man who'd built his empire on blood and cunning and the broken backs of anyone who got in his way.

Including his own daughter.

"Brant Korr is a powerful alpha," he said, his hand settling on my shoulder. His grip was firm, possessive, a reminder that I belonged to him until the moment he handed me over to someone else. "This alliance will secure our northern borders, strengthen our trade routes. You should be honored."

Honored.

I wanted to laugh. I wanted to scream. I wanted to rip this fucking dress off and run until my legs gave out.

But I didn't do any of those things. I just stood there, frozen, while my father adjusted the veil over my hair and told me how lucky I was.

Lucky.

I was twenty years old and wolfless—a genetic defect that made me worthless in the eyes of the pack. I couldn't shift, couldn't fight, couldn't contribute anything except my womb. And even that was questionable, because who knew if a wolfless woman could even carry a shifter child to term?

But Brant Korr didn't care about that. He had plenty of wolves in his pack, plenty of strong alphas and fertile females. What he wanted was a treaty. A foothold in Ashwood territory. A way to expand his influence without starting a war.

And my father was more than happy to give me to him.

"The ceremony starts in an hour," my father said, stepping back. "Don't be late."

He left, closing the door behind him, and I was alone.

I stared at my reflection for a long moment, at the girl in the white dress with hollow eyes and a painted-on smile. Then I turned away from the mirror and walked to the window.

The Ashwood estate sprawled below me—acres of manicured lawns and stone buildings, the forest pressing in at the edges like it was trying to reclaim what had been stolen from it. I could see the ceremony site from here: white chairs arranged in neat rows, an archway covered in flowers, a red carpet that led to the altar where Brant Korr would be waiting.

Where I would promise to love, honor, and obey a man I'd met exactly twice.

Where I would become his property.

His breeder.

His thing.

I pressed my forehead against the glass, feeling the cool surface against my skin, and tried to breathe.

I couldn't do this.

I wouldn't do this.

The thought came sudden and sharp, cutting through the fog of resignation that had been smothering me for weeks. I couldn't marry Brant Korr. I couldn't let my father sell me like livestock. I couldn't spend the rest of my life being used and discarded and told I should be grateful for it.

I had to run.

The decision settled over me like a weight and a relief all at once. I didn't have a plan, didn't have money or supplies or anywhere to go. But I had my legs and my wits and a desperate, clawing need to be free.

It would have to be enough.

I turned away from the window and looked around the room. My father's study was on the second floor, too high to jump without breaking something. But there was a trellis outside, covered in climbing roses, that led down to the garden.

I could make it.

I had to make it.

I kicked off the ridiculous heels they'd given me and hiked up the skirt of the dress, tucking the layers of fabric into the bodice so I could move. Then I opened the window, felt the cool evening air rush in, and climbed out.

The trellis groaned under my weight but held. I climbed down as fast as I dared, the thorns from the roses tearing at my arms and legs, leaving thin lines of blood on my skin. I didn't care. I just kept moving, hand over hand, until my feet hit the ground.

I ran.

The garden was empty—everyone was already at the ceremony site, waiting for the bride who wasn't going to show. I sprinted across the lawn, my bare feet slapping against the grass, the dress billowing out behind me like a ghost.

I could hear music starting in the distance. The wedding march.

They'd be looking for me soon.

I hit the tree line and plunged into the forest, branches whipping at my face, roots trying to trip me. The dress caught on everything—thorns, branches, fallen logs—but I didn't stop. I just kept running, deeper and deeper into the woods, until the sounds of the estate faded behind me.

My lungs burned. My legs screamed. But I didn't slow down.

Behind me, I heard shouting. The enforcers had realized I was gone.

I pushed harder, my heart hammering against my ribs, adrenaline flooding my system. I didn't know where I was going, didn't have a destination in mind. I just knew I had to get away, had to put as much distance between myself and the Ashwood estate as possible.

The forest opened up ahead of me, and I saw it: a creek, narrow but fast-moving, the water dark and cold. On the other side, the trees were thicker, wilder, the kind of forest that didn't belong to any pack.

Neutral territory.

If I could just make it across—

"There!"

The shout came from behind me, close enough that I could hear the crunch of boots on leaves. I didn't look back. I just ran for the creek and jumped.

The water was freezing, stealing my breath, soaking the dress until it weighed a thousand pounds. I struggled to the other side, my hands scrabbling at the muddy bank, my legs kicking against the current. I could hear the enforcers behind me, could hear them splashing into the water.

I pulled myself up onto the opposite bank and ran.

I don't know how long I ran. Hours, maybe. Long enough that the sun set and the moon rose, long enough that my feet were bloody and my dress was in tatters, and I couldn't hear the enforcers anymore.

Long enough that I finally, finally, let myself stop.

I collapsed against a tree, gasping for air, my whole body shaking with exhaustion and cold and the adrenaline crash that was hitting me like a freight train. I was soaked, freezing, covered in mud and blood and God knew what else.

But I was free.

I'd actually done it. I'd run from my father, from Brant Korr, from the life they'd tried to force on me.

I started laughing, the sound half-hysterical, echoing through the empty forest. I laughed until I cried, until the tears mixed with the dirt on my face and I couldn't tell the difference anymore.

Then I heard it: the sound of an engine in the distance.

A road.

I forced myself to stand, forced my legs to move, and stumbled toward the sound. The trees thinned out, and suddenly I was standing on the shoulder of a two-lane highway, the asphalt stretching in both directions like a promise.

Headlights appeared in the distance, growing brighter as they approached.

Something stirred uneasily inside me.

I stepped into the middle of the road anyway.

And raised my hand.