Chapter Five - Alina's P.o.V

The warriors shoved me forward through the narrow streets, their hands rough and unrelenting on my arms. My feet dragged over the uneven stone, and each step seemed heavier than the last.

I’d stopped feeling hungry hours ago. My lips were dry and cracked, my tongue sticking to the roof of my mouth. Since last night, Marcus’s men had taken turns with their “private” amusements, their punishments meant to weaken me before this public spectacle. But even as my body ached, my thoughts kept circling back to Rowe.

Where was he now? Had he managed to escape and make it out alive?

Marcus had claimed he was gone, that he’d abandoned me, and part of me, I’m ashamed to say, believed it. Maybe it was easier for him to just leave. Maybe I’d just been another risk he couldn’t afford to take. After all, I had no wolf to help protect us.

The square opened ahead of me like the maw of some great beast. Wolves and humans alike had gathered, a sea of faces twisted with mockery and disgust. Someone threw a half-rotted apple, and it hit my shoulder, rolling to the ground with laughter following shortly after. Another hurled a stone that grazed my arm, stinging sharply.

I scanned the crowd anyway, my gaze darting from face to face as a stupid, desperate hope clawed its way up my throat, praying that Rowe might be there.

But he wasn’t.

Of course he wasn’t. Why would he be? My entire existence meant nothing to anyone.

I let out a breath, my chest tight, and mocked myself for the thought. I was a fool to imagine anyone would come back for me. The abandoned orphan. The omega without a wolf. The mate no one wanted. That kind of shit only ever happened in fairytales.

Marcus stood waiting for me at the front of the platform, his smile slow and deliberate.

“You should thank me,” he said, his voice carrying easily over the crowd. “I could have sent you to take part in the scheduled hunt and let you run until they tore you apart. But I’ll make this quick for you.”

“Quick?” My laugh was hollow. “There’s nothing quick about rotting from the inside, Marcus. But I hope you get to try it one day.”

His eyes hardened, and the slap came fast. My head snapped to the side, the taste of blood filling my mouth.

He turned to the crowd, his voice swelling with self-righteous authority as he listed my “crimes” to the eager crowd below.

Harboring a rogue

Defying the Alpha,

Endangering the pack.

The wolves closest to the front jeered and snarled, and I wanted to laugh, but I was so very tired.

Marcus himself took hold of my arm and marched me to the execution stone. The rough surface was cold against my skin as one of his men forced my head down onto it.

I stared into the wall of shouting faces until they blurred together, until all I could see was the still figure of Marcus in the corner of my vision, watching me with a strange satisfaction.

When our eyes met, his lips moved without sound.

You’ve won.

I didn’t know what he meant, and I didn’t care. I looked away.

Someone passed him a sword, a beautiful, long, silvered blade, the hilt inlaid with dark stones. I recognized it immediately; it was the family blade, passed down from Alpha to Alpha. He stepped close enough for me to feel his breath on my ear.

“You are my mate,” he said quietly. “And though I’d rather not admit it, I’ll be generous. Your death will be… emotional for me. I had quite enjoyed trying to break you, but you won. Congratulations.”

I kept my eyes on the stone below me, allowing them to flutter closed.

“Open them,” he ordered. “Watch. Feel it. Enjoy the moment the world lets you go.”

But I didn’t.

I closed my eyes and let my thoughts drift, not to him, not to this pack, but to the brief, strange warmth of Rowe’s company in the basement. Even if he’d left me, I hoped he’d made it far away from here. I hoped he’d never smell Marcus’s stench again.

The cool kiss of the blade touched my neck, and Marcus’s voice boomed overhead, announcing my execution to the crowd. My heartbeat slowed, steady, waiting for the sharp slice that would end it all.

Let it come. Let it end. Maybe the next life would be kinder.

The blade lifted from my skin, and I heard the whisper of steel as he raised it high.

And then…

The air shifted.

Power slammed into the square like a sudden storm, making the crowd fall into stunned silence. The sword was wrenched from Marcus’s grip, clattering to the ground.

A voice rang out, deep and commanding.

“What the fuck do you think you are doing?”

I opened my eyes.

Rowe was striding across the square, every step measured, his presence pulling all eyes toward him. The mocking faces in the crowd froze, replaced by wide-eyed wariness.

I hadn’t cried when they’d dragged me here. I hadn’t cried when Marcus listed my crimes. But now, watching Rowe walk toward me, the tears came hot and unstoppable.

Marcus’s face twisted, his gaze snapping to Rowe.

“The escaped rogue dares to return,” he snarled. His hand darted for the sword.

But before he could lift it, movement rippled through the crowd. Two figures emerged from behind Rowe, men I didn’t recognize, but their bearing screamed warrior.

And then others, scattered among the onlookers, stripped off false pack cloaks and came forward, flanking Rowe’s sides.

The platform split into two camps: Marcus’s warriors on one side, Rowe and his people on the other.

Marcus laughed, the sound ugly.

“Rogues,” he spat, “Do you really think that you can walk into my territory and take her? You think you’ll ever leave here alive?”

Rowe didn’t answer the provocation. He stepped forward, his voice calm but edged with iron.

“Hand her over to me.”

Something loosened in my chest. He hadn’t abandoned me after all. But that relief was quickly drowned out by the reality of the situation. Marcus had way more men and we were surrounded.

Marcus smirked, pressing the tip of the sword back to my neck.

“And what gives you the right to command me?”

He flicked his hand, signaling his warriors to encircle Rowe’s group completely. The sound of boots on stone closed in from every side.

I looked at Rowe, my heart pounding. He met my gaze, his expression unreadable, until he spoke.

When he did, the sound rolled over the square, deeper and sharper than before, each word thrumming with authority that seemed to vibrate in my bones.

“I,” he said, “King Rowan of the Lycans, order you to release her now.”