Chapter 9

Sienna's POV

The icy downpour never let up. It pounded against my head and shoulders like tiny lead pellets, soaking through every thread of my heavy wool cloak until the fabric felt as heavy as iron armor.

My boots sloshed through thick, black mud that sucked at my feet with every single step. My knees were stiff, trembling so violently from the bitter mountain cold that I could barely keep my legs moving forward. But I didn't stop. I couldn't stop. The sheer fear of being dragged back to the Bloodmoon Packhouse—or worse, being cornered by feral wolves in the pitch black—kept my lungs dragging thin, icy air into my chest.

I had crossed the eastern border river two miles back. The water had been raging, swollen high from the storm, pulling at my waist as I dragged myself across the slippery river stones. When my feet finally touched the opposite bank, I knew I had crossed a fatal line.

I was no longer on pack land. I was in the Northern Frontier—a lawless, unmapped wilderness where rogues hunted, hid, and died.

There were no manicured roads here. No boundary torches to light the path, no patrols keeping the wild beasts away. Tall, jagged pine trunks crowded together like black pillars, blocking out whatever faint starlight managed to peek through the storm clouds. Thorny bushes clawed at my legs, tearing fresh rips into my wet pants and leaving burning scratches along my calves.

"Keep moving," I whispered to myself, my teeth chattering so hard the words came out broken and garbled. "Just keep... moving."

My body felt hollowed out. The place in my chest where the mate bond used to live was no longer a burning pain; it had settled into a heavy, frozen numbness. Jaxson’s cold golden eyes kept flashing in my mind, a phantom ghost haunting every dark tree trunk I stumbled past. I remembered the metallic, bitter smell of the Moon-tea he had tried to force down my throat. I remembered the flat, clinical tone of his voice as he told me I was nothing more than a political complication.

A sharp, stabbing cramp suddenly seized my lower abdomen.

I let out a ragged gasp, my body folding in half as I grabbed the rough bark of a pine tree to keep from falling. The pain was sudden, sharp, and deep within my belly—a sickening reminder of the night I had spent in the Alpha tower.

My hands flew to my stomach, clutching the wet fabric of my tunic. Fear, hotter and sharper than the freezing wind, sliced through my chest.

"No, no, no," I choked out, pressing my palms tight against my skin. "Please. Stay safe. Please."

I didn't know if a new life had truly taken root inside me, but the sheer thought of losing it—losing the only living piece of myself that hadn't been crushed by Jaxson’s rejection—made my eyes sting with fresh, hot tears that were instantly washed away by the rain.

I forced myself to straighten up, taking slow, shallow breaths until the sharp cramp eased into a dull, low throb.

The forest grew denser, the ground sloping steeply downward into a rocky ravine. The roar of rushing water echoed through the trees ahead, louder than the howling wind. My vision was starting to blur at the edges, dark spots swimming across my eyes like swarms of tiny black flies. My head felt heavy, lightheaded, and spinning, my body burning with an unnatural, feverish heat even as my skin turned ice-cold to the touch.

I stumbled down the muddy slope, my footing slipping completely on a patch of wet moss.

I tumbled sideways, rolling down the embankment through sharp gravel, rotting leaves, and wet dirt. My shoulder slammed hard against an exposed tree root, sending a shock of pain up my neck, and my canvas bag flew out of my hands, landing somewhere in the dark brush.

I landed flat on my side in a bed of wet gravel right beside a rushing mountain stream.

The cold water splashed over my legs, but I couldn't find the strength to pull them out of the current. My muscles were completely spent. They felt like dead weight, refusing to obey the desperate commands firing from my brain. I lay there in the mud, my cheek pressed against a smooth, wet stone, watching the black water rush past my face.

Get up, my wolf whimpered, her voice faint, raspy, and weak deep inside my soul. Sienna... we have to get up. Someone is coming.

Through the steady rush of the stream and the patter of rain on the leaves, I heard it.

Cracking twigs. Heavy, deliberate footfalls crushing dry brush on the high ridge directly above the ravine.

My pulse spiked, hammering faintly against my throat. I tried to push my palms against the gravel to lift my torso, but my arms buckled immediately, sending my face dropping back onto the wet stone.

Two large, dark silhouettes emerged from the thick pine trees at the top of the slope.

In the dim, gray light of the storm, I couldn't make out their faces, but their towering size and broad shoulders were unmistakable. They weren't dressed in the neat leather armor of Bloodmoon warriors. They wore mismatched furs, rough animal pelts, and carried heavy, rusted iron axes strapped to their backs.

Rogues.

"What do we have here?" a rough, gravelly voice called down over the roar of the water.

"Looks like a stray," another voice replied, deeper and harsher, accompanied by the squelch of heavy boots descending the muddy slope. "Smells like Bloodmoon."

"Wait," the first one said, sniffing the cold air deeply. "The scent is faint. Broken bond. She’s an exile."

The two men reached the bottom of the ravine, their heavy boots stopping just three feet from where I lay in the mud. I could smell them now—the rank, unwashed stench of wet fur, stale tobacco, and rogue blood.

One of them knelt down beside me. A large, calloused hand grabbed my shoulder, flipping me onto my back without a shred of gentleness.

I looked up through my soaked eyelashes. The man had a deep, jagged scar cutting across his left eye, his dark hair matted with grime. He stared down at my pale face, his gaze sweeping over my soaked cloak, my trembling lips, and the faint blue bruises lingering on my wrist where Valerie’s boot had struck me hours ago.

"Look at her," the scarred rogue grunted, a cruel, yellow-toothed smile spreading across his face. "Pretty little thing. What’s a delicate pack girl doing all the way out here in the dark?"

"She won't last the night in this cold," the second rogue said, stepping closer and nudging my canvas bag with the toe of his boot. "Check her pockets. Maybe she stole something valuable on her way out."

"I don't care about her pockets," the scarred one muttered, his rough, grimy hand moving down to grip my jaw, his thumb pressing hard against my cheekbone, forcing me to look at him. "A fresh Omega female in rogue territory? The camp boss will pay a fine price for this one."

"No..." I managed to whisper, the word coming out as a dry, weak rasp. I tried to jerk my face away from his grip, but I had no power left. I couldn't even raise my hands to push his arm away. "Don't... touch me."

The rogue laughed, a harsh, bark-like sound that made my stomach churn with pure terror. "She’s got a little bite left in her! Don't worry, sweetheart. We’ll take real good care of you."

He slid his hands under my arms, hauling my limp, heavy body up out of the mud.

My head rolled back, the dark pine canopy above spinning in wild, sickening circles. The fever raging in my blood spiked, making my vision bleed into a hazy, shimmering white. The sound of the rushing stream, the howling wind, and the rough voices of the two men began to fade, drifting far away into a quiet, muffled echo.

My eyelids grew impossibly heavy.

As the world dissolved into absolute blackness, the last thing I felt was the icy rain falling against my face, and the desperate, fading hope that my child would somehow survive the night.