The Alpha King’s obsession.

The ballroom blazed with light. Hundreds of wolves in silk and jewels danced beneath chandeliers that scattered the moonlight into a thousand pieces. Music swelled. Crystal glasses caught the glow. It was the most beautiful room I'd ever stood in, and no one in it knew who I was. I kept to the edges, the mask hiding my face. In the crush of bodies, no one looked twice. "Who is she?" "Look at that dress…" The whispers weren't insults. They were something I'd never heard aimed at me before . . . admiration. An event planner actually took my arm and drew me away from the servants' wall, toward the front, toward the elite. My heart pounded so hard I thought it might burst. For one impossible moment, I let myself pretend I belonged here. Then the Master of Ceremonies stepped onto the stage. "Blessed children of Luna! The moon reaches its peak!" Power crashed through the room like a wave. My wolf surged up inside me. Every sense sharpened at once. I could hear individual heartbeat

They stripped me to scraps of the torn dress and stood me on a platform in the pack's underground hall. Fifty wolves stared up at me like meat behind glass. "Lot number seven!" the auctioneer boomed. "Twenty four, unmated, rare coloring. Look at that auburn hair, gentlemen. Look at those curves." His hand swept toward my barely covered body. Bile rose in my throat. But I didn't look at the floor. I looked every single one of them in the face as they laughed and leered. I'm going to remember you, I told them silently. Every face. Every one of you who spat on me. One day I won't be the helpless Omega you think I am, and on that day, I'm going to make you pay. "Do I hear five thousand? She's unspoiled, despite her crimes. Perfect for domestic service, or…" A meaningful pause. "Personal use." A paddle rose at the back. "Five thousand." "Six!" "Seven!" The numbers climbed. Men bartered over my body like I couldn't hear them. "This is illegal," someone muttered. "Pack law forbids

Hilda covered my fading bruises, styled my auburn hair into loose waves, and pushed me into heels I could barely stand in.When I looked in the mirror, I didn't recognize the woman looking back. Beautiful. Confident. Unbroken. I smiled at her, and for once she smiled back like she meant it.The club was everything Hilda promised. Loud, crowded, overwhelming in the best possible way.We drank. We danced. We laughed. For a few hours I forgot the broken bond, the murder no one would let me deny, the auction and the dungeon and Corvain's nightmare eyes. I forgot everything but the music and the lights and the pure animal joy of being free.I was weaving back toward our table when I felt it. A presence. Powerful. Watching.I turned.A man stood a few feet away, and my breath caught in my throat. Silver-white hair that caught the club lights. Sharp, elegant features. Eyes like molten gold. He looked young, early thirties at most, but he carried himself with the weight of someone who command

The sun was fully up by the time I reached Hilda’s street, and I felt every hour of the night before in my bones.I’d walked most of the way. The hotel had been closer to town than I remembered, or maybe shame just made distances shorter. Either way, I slipped through her gate with my heels in my hand and my dress wrinkled beyond saving, praying she was still asleep.She was sitting at the kitchen table with two cups of tea already poured.“Well, well.” She didn’t even look up from her cup. “The dead walk among us.”“Don’t.”“I’m just saying. I got a five-word text at midnight and then nothing. I nearly called the border patrol.” Her mouth curved. “Then I remembered the way that man was looking at you and decided the border patrol would only be in his way.”Heat crawled up my neck. “Hilda.”“Was he kind to you?”The question was gentler than the teasing, and it caught me off guard. I thought of him asking, over and over, if I was sure. Checking. Making the choice mine every single tim

“No,” I said. “No. It’s not possible.”Hilda hadn’t moved from her chair. She had that terrible patience on her face, the kind healers wear when they’re waiting for the truth to finish arriving.“Merliya—”“I was a virgin, Hilda. Two days ago. You cannot— people don’t— it doesn’t happen like that.” I was pacing her kitchen, three steps, turn, three steps, my arms wrapped around myself. “It takes weeks to scent a pregnancy. Everyone knows that. Weeks.”“For most bloodlines, yes.”“Then you’re smelling something else. Soap. His cologne. Something.”“I know what I’m smelling.” Her voice was soft and immovable, a hand on a struggling patient. “But you’re right that it shouldn’t be there. Not this soon. Not this strong.” She stood. “Which is why we’re going to my clinic