Chapter Three

Alex's POV

I stretched in the back of my Lincoln Navigator, exhaustion clinging to my bones, my wolf restless beneath my skin. Even in human form, my senses remained heightened, pulsing with an eerie intensity as the full moon loomed closer. I tried to catch some sleep, just ten minutes—ten minutes was all I needed to keep going.

But as soon as my eyes shut, the visions came.

Aretha.

My mate. My soulmate. My everything.

Suffering.

She writhed in bed, her body curled into itself, clutching her belly as though she could physically tear away the pain. Low, wolf-like moans escaped her lips, the sound slicing through my soul like a silver blade. Her fever had spiked beyond werewolf standards, her skin burning to the touch, despite the healer's strongest medicines. She could barely speak, barely breathe, and there was nothing—absolutely nothing—I could do to save her.

I had sat by her bedside all night, watching helplessly as she trembled, her body failing her. The healer whispered the truth I refused to hear:

The worst was yet to come.

Reality dug its claws into me, and the truth I had been running from slammed into my chest like a freight train.

Aretha was dying.

The knowledge was suffocating, an iron grip around my throat, a fire in my lungs that no amount of oxygen could quench. It felt like my insides were caving in, like my wolf was howling in a prison of agony. The rage hit me before the grief could, a feral, uncontrollable fury that demanded destruction.

I had stumbled out of our bedroom, barely seeing where I was going, until I found myself in the nursery. A room that had never held a pup. A room meant for an heir that never came.

And in my grief, I tore it apart.

My claws slashed through the crib, the handcrafted wood splintering beneath my hands. I ripped the fittings from the walls, the shelves, the dresser—everything fell victim to my wrath. By the time I had nothing left to destroy, I stood in the ruins of my broken dreams, panting, fists shaking.

The silence afterward was worse.

Because the pain didn't leave. It only burrowed deeper, carving its mark into my soul.

A sudden jolt brought me back to the present. The Lincoln Navigator jerked to a stop, and my nostrils flared as the scent of blood hit me—strong, metallic, fresh.

“Alpha, there’s a scene up ahead,” Eric said, using my title as he looked back at me through the rearview mirror.

I exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over my face before forcing myself upright. “What happened?”

“A wreck. Looks bad.”

My wolf stirred. I could feel his presence pressing against my consciousness, alert and on edge.

I glanced at my watch—ten minutes before I had to be in a meeting with the Council of Alphas. But my instincts told me to stay.

“Stay here.” I ordered, stepping out of the car.

I had barely taken four steps when I hesitated, glancing down at my attire. A blue pinstriped suit, gold cufflinks, and crocodile leather loafers—clothing befitting the Alpha of the Moore Pack and CEO of Raften Pharmaceuticals.

Not exactly the look of a man about to investigate a bloody accident.

But I couldn’t shake the feeling crawling over my skin.

The scent of blood was overwhelming now, mingled with oil and metal. My enhanced hearing picked up the wail of an approaching ambulance before the humans could. The crowd parted as paramedics rushed in, lifting a woman onto a stretcher.

And then I saw her.

Dark hair matted with blood. Skin pale, too pale. A body broken in ways that should have meant instant death. But she was alive—barely.

I should have turned away. This wasn’t my concern. Humans got into accidents every day.

But my wolf growled low in my chest.

Something was different about this one.

I swept my gaze over the wreckage, noting the haulage trailer tipped on its side, its cargo spilled across the street. The ground shimmered with oil, making the road slick and dangerous.

And then I caught it—a scent buried beneath the chaos.

Familiar.

I turned toward the wreckage, my gaze locking onto something half-buried beneath the trailer’s undercarriage. A purse.

Without thinking, I moved. Ducking beneath the police cordon, I slipped through a gap in the wreckage, crouching low as I sifted through the scattered belongings. A lipstick. A social security card. A keychain with a faded inscription.

Then I saw it.

A photograph.

I reached for it, intending only to return it to the purse—until my breath caught in my throat.

It was my face staring back at me.

My wolf snarled in confusion.

What the hell?

How did this woman have a picture of me?

My mind raced, cycling through possibilities. Had I met her before? Was she a reporter? A stalker? Someone from one of my companies?

Nothing fit.

I turned, glancing toward the stretcher where the paramedics were securing the woman’s head in a brace. If she didn’t receive immediate care, she wouldn’t last the night.

And still, I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the photo.

There was only one logical explanation.

This woman had been looking for me.

And now she was dying.

I shoved the picture into my pocket, grabbed her purse, and strode back toward the ambulance.

Before they could shut the doors, I stepped in front of them.

“Alexander Moore,” I stated, flashing my company ID. “She’s my secretary.”

The lie slipped out effortlessly.

One of the paramedics hesitated, their eyes flicking between me and the woman. “What’s her name?”

I didn’t hesitate. “Elaine.”

I had no idea where the name came from, but the paramedic nodded, writing it down.

"You can follow us, sir. We’re taking her to Almond Hospital, 23 Creek Road."

I nodded sharply. I knew the place.

As I turned back to the car, Eric was already watching me through the rearview mirror, his expression unreadable.

“Change of plans,” I said as I slid into the back seat. “Follow the ambulance.”

He frowned. “Alpha, the Council meeting—”

“Reschedule it.” My voice left no room for argument.

Eric hesitated, then nodded. “As you command, Alpha.”

The drive to the hospital was a blur. My mind was too preoccupied, my wolf too restless.

Why did this woman have my photograph?

Who was she?

By the time we arrived, I had no answers—only more questions.

I watched as the paramedics wheeled her inside, my gaze sharp as I followed.

At the front desk, I flashed my ID again. “Alexander Moore. The woman who was just brought in—Elaine. I need an update on her condition.”

The receptionist stammered, caught off guard by the authority in my tone, before quickly directing me to the emergency ward.

A doctor met me there, his expression grim.

“She suffered blunt head trauma. The helmet saved her life, but she’s in critical condition. We’re monitoring her closely.”

My wolf growled low in my chest, an unfamiliar sense of protectiveness surging through me.

“Administer twenty-four-hour monitoring. I’ll cover all expenses.” I pulled out my card. “Charge everything to me. If she needs anything—anything at all—make it happen.”

The doctor nodded, taking my card. “We’ll keep you updated.”

I turned away, exhaling slowly.

I didn’t know this woman.

But I had a gut feeling she was going to change my life.