THREE

ALAYNA’s POV

I stand in the middle of the room, with Drake beside me.

The room is barren, its walls cold and uninviting. The cement floor is cracked in places, with faded marks of what was once a storeroom. There is only one small window, a narrow slit barely big enough for a hand to pass through. And through the window, a pale glow of moonlight filters into the space, casting long, distorted shadows across the floor.

Outside, the sky is in turmoil, the thunder of an approaching storm reverberating in my chest, while lightning dances wildly, crackling against the horizon. But I can only hear the sound of my wild beating heart.

This is not right.

The man who held me hostage is nowhere to be found. Gone are the bloodstains that puddled the floor just moments ago. It is as if no one had ever been here.

It does not make sense!

My breathing quickens as I scan the room again, my mind racing to piece things together. I remember hitting him. I remember the weight of his body as he collapsed, face-down, onto the floor. But now... nothing. No trace of him, no sign of struggle at all.

Where is he? Where is the crazed golden-eyed man?

“What is it you want to show me, Alayna?” Drake’s question breaks me out of my reverie.

He turns to face me, his sharp blue eyes glinting in the dim light. Drake is tall, and broad-shouldered, his build masculine in a way that suggests strength but also gentleness. He is different from Ezra and at this moment in time, Drake’s presence soothes me.

I blink, confusion overtaking me. What am I supposed to show him now?

I shake my head slowly, feeling a knot tighten in my stomach. My hands tremble at my sides, but I cannot answer him. Not with words.

Drake notices then.

His gaze falls on my wrists, raw and bruised, the skin broken in places. His expression hardens, and before I can stop him, he steps closer, his massive hands reaching out to take hold of my left wrist. His fingers are warm, so much warmer than my cold ones, and they seem to swallow my small hand whole. I feel the strength in them, the way they encase me without any force, as if protecting me from something unseen.

He lifts my wrist to examine the injury, pressing his lips into a thin line.

“What happened to you?” His voice is low, gravelly, filled with a tenderness I have never known from him before.

My cheeks flush with heat, and I pull my hands away.

In the three years that I have known Drake, he has never touched me this way. Gentle, kind… but it feels too intimate and it makes me uncomfortable.

I take a slow breath, trying to compose myself but the sensation lingers.

Quickly, I slip my hand into the pocket of my dress. My fingers brush against the smooth surface of two phones.

One is mine, the other... the crazed golden-eyed man’s.

Without thinking, I pull my own phone out, its plastic case cold and soothing to touch. Holding my phone up, I unlock it and with a few taps, I bring up the message screen. My fingers hover over the keys for a moment, unsure, but then I begin to type.

‘Someone held me hostage here.’

The words are simple, but Drake's face darkens and his eyes narrow dangerously. An unreadable emotion flickers behind them. His lips press into a thin line again and I can almost feel the temperature of the room drop a few degrees.

I look at him, confused. Is he angry?

I cannot tell. Before I can decipher what is going on in his mind, he reaches out.

Oh.

His hand reaches my chin this time, catching me by surprise.

Drake tilts my head up gently, his touch steady and unyielding, yet not unkind. He examines me closely, his gaze intense.

“Did the kidnapper do this to you too?” he asks softly, his voice almost a whisper, as his thumb brushes lightly over the scratch on my nose. The one I had not noticed until now, the pain of it hidden beneath the rest of my injuries.

I try to pull back, but his fingers tighten just enough to stop me. He slowly turns my face to the side, inspecting me, looking for more signs of injury.

My hands reach up to stop him, just barely touching his fingers when suddenly, a deep voice, one that commands authority, one that none dare to defy, one that all wolves bow to calls out, “What are you two doing?”

I freeze.

Blood drains from my face. I know that voice. I have always known that voice.

It is the voice of Ezra.

It is the voice of my Alpha, my husband.

It is the voice of the man who had abandoned me. It is the voice of the man who would rather see me as a corpse, with no explanation, no reason. The man who was supposed to protect me, but instead... abandoned me.

The man who once held my heart and shattered it.