Unmarked, Reclaimed

"Why are you doing this?" she asked, shivering in her wet clothes. "Why save me?"

Ethan looked over his shoulder. His violet eyes darkened, the pupils dilating until they nearly swallowed the iris.

"Because," he said, his voice dropping to a growl that vibrated in her bones, "I hate waste. And you, little human, have been wasted on a fool."

With that, he closed the door.

Emily waited until his footsteps faded before she slid off the counter. Her legs gave out, and she sank to the floor, sobbing. The adrenaline crashed, leaving her raw and shaking.

She cried for the anniversary that never happened. She cried for the three years of lies. She cried for the red dress on the floor and the cruelty in Ryan’s eyes. But mostly, she cried for the tiny life inside her that had almost been snuffed out before it began.

"I’m sorry," she whispered to her stomach, rocking back and forth. "I’m so sorry I chose him."

Eventually, the cold of her wet clothes forced her to move. She stripped off the ruined coat, the muddy jeans, the soaked t-shirt. She climbed into the shower, turning the water as hot as she could stand.

She scrubbed her skin until it was pink, trying to wash away the feeling of the alley, the mud, and Ryan’s touch. She washed her hair three times.

When she stepped out, wrapping herself in a plush charcoal robe she found hanging on a hook, she felt human again. Terrified, but human. She found the first-aid kit and bandaged her ankle—it was a nasty scrape, but the bleeding had stopped.

A knock sounded at the door.

"Come in," she said, clutching the robe tight at her throat.

The door opened, but it wasn’t a maid. It was Ethan.

He had removed his jacket and tie, unbuttoning the first two buttons of his white shirt to reveal a glimpse of tanned skin and dark hair. He held a tray of food; soup, bread, and fruit.

"Eat," he said, setting it on the vanity.

"I’m not hungry."

"You are pregnant and you have lost blood. You will eat, or I will feed you myself."

The threat wasn't aggressive; it was simply a statement of fact. Emily sat on the edge of the tub and took a piece of bread. Her stomach growled traitorously, reminding her she hadn't eaten since lunch. She ate quickly, the warmth of the soup settling her nerves.

Ethan leaned against the doorframe, watching her eat with that same intense curiosity.

"The scent is gone," he noted.

"What scent?"

"The rain. The alley. The fear." He inhaled deeply. "Now you just smell like... vanilla. And something else."

He pushed off the doorframe and walked toward her. Emily stiffened, putting the bowl down. He invaded her personal space, standing between her spread knees where she sat on the tub’s edge. He placed a hand on the wall behind her, boxing her in.

"You smell like a mother," he whispered.

Emily looked up at him, her heart pounding in her throat. "Is that a bad thing?"

"For Ryan Evans? Yes. For me?" Ethan leaned down, his face inches from hers. She could smell him now—clean soap, expensive scotch, and the underlying forest scent of his wolf. It was intoxicating.

"For me, it is... intriguing."

"Who are you, really?" she whispered. "You're not just a CEO. You're not just an Alpha."

Ethan smirked. "You are smart."

He took her chin in his hand, tilting her face up. His thumb traced her lower lip, sending shivers racing through her body.

"I am the Alpha of the Silverclaw Pack," he said softly. "But my enemies call me the Rogue King."

Emily gasped. The Rogue King. She had heard stories whispered among the low-level employees at Evans Enterprises. A wolf who answered to no council, who ruled the shadows, who controlled the criminal underworld of the shifter society. A man who was rumored to be more monster than wolf.

"And you," Ethan continued, his thumb pressing gently against her lip, "are the woman who just sold her soul to the devil to save her child."

"I..."

"Hush." He leaned closer, his breath fanning across her cheek. "The deal is struck, Emily. You belong to me now. You will live in my house. You will eat my food. You will sleep in my bed."

"Your bed?" she squeaked.

"Do not flatter yourself," he drawled, pulling back slightly but keeping his hand on her chin. "I do not touch what has been discarded by others until I am sure it is clean. But you will stay where I can see you. Where I can smell you."

"Why?"

"Because Ryan Evans is a fool, but he is a persistent fool. He will come for you. And when he does..." Ethan’s eyes flashed with a violet fire that made the room seem to dim. "I want him to know exactly whose property he is trespassing on."

He dropped his hand and stepped back, the cold air rushing in to replace his warmth.

"Lucas has brought clothes for you. Get dressed. We have matters to discuss."

"What matters?"

"Your future," Ethan said, turning to the door. "And the vengeance we are going to rain down on the Ironmoon Pack."

He paused, his hand on the doorknob.

"You wanted to survive, Emily. But survival is not enough. If you are to be mine, you must learn to bite back."

He walked out, leaving Emily alone in the steam-filled room. She touched her lip where his thumb had been. She should be terrified. She was in the lair of the Rogue King, a man feared by Alphas.

But as she looked at her reflection in the mirror, at the fire returning to her eyes, she realized something.

For the first time all night, she didn't feel like prey.

She tightened the belt of her robe. If Ethan Carter wanted to teach her to bite back, she would be a willing student. For her baby, she would burn the world down. And it looked like she had just found the perfect match to light the fire.