The Traitor's Mate In The Apocalypse

SIENNA

I woke up choking on the taste of blood that wasn’t there.

My hands flew to my throat, fingers digging into skin that should have been torn open. For three full seconds I couldn’t breathe. 

The memory hit harder than any physical wound—Kieran’s voice giving the order, the pack elders watching in silence, the first zombie’s teeth sinking into my shoulder while they walked away.

I sat up too fast. The room spun. Cheap curtains. Peeling paint. A single bed that smelled like dust and old laundry. This wasn’t the Northern Pack stronghold. This wasn’t the battlefield where I died.

I was nineteen again.

The body I lived in now felt wrong. Lighter. Weaker. No wolf under my skin. No power humming in my blood. Just a human heart slamming against my ribs like it wanted out.

Outside the window, someone screamed.

I moved before the thought finished forming. My bare feet hit the cold floor. I grabbed the only jacket hanging on the chair, shoved my feet into sneakers that were half a size too big, and yanked the door open.

The hallway already smelled like smoke and something rotten.

Mrs. Han from 3B staggered past me, blood running down her arm. “They’re in the building,” she gasped. “Don’t go down—”

A wet, dragging sound cut her off. Something heavy slammed against the stairwell door two floors below.

I didn’t wait. I took the stairs three at a time, ignoring the way my new legs burned. My old body could have cleared the entire building without breathing hard. This one already wanted to quit.

The ground floor was chaotic. Two bodies lay near the mailboxes, one still twitching. A man in a delivery uniform stumbled through the broken glass doors, eyes milky white, jaw hanging too loose. He turned toward the sound of my footsteps.

I didn’t have a weapon. I grabbed the metal umbrella stand by the entrance and swung it as hard as I could. The crack of impact traveled up my arms. The thing staggered but didn’t fall. I hit it again, and again, until it finally dropped.

My hands were shaking. Not from fear. From the memory of how easy this used to be.

Outside, the street had turned into a slaughterhouse. Cars sat abandoned with doors still open. People ran in every direction. Some of them weren’t people anymore.

I cut left, heading for the narrow alley that led toward the old industrial district. In my first life the Northern Pack had used that route to evacuate civilians before they decided civilians were no longer worth saving. If the timeline held, they would be moving through this sector within the hour.

I almost made it.

Three of them came out of the side street like they’d been waiting. One still wore a security guard uniform. The other two looked like students. All three locked onto me the second I stepped into the open.

I backed up until my shoulders hit brick. No way left. No way right. Only forward through them or death.

The first one lunged. I ducked under its arms and drove my elbow into its throat the way Ravenna had been trained to. It worked—barely. The second one caught my jacket and yanked. Fabric tore. I hit the ground hard enough to knock the air out of my lungs.

Teeth snapped inches from my face.

I shoved my forearm against its neck, buying seconds I didn’t have. The third one was already reaching for my ankle.

A low, rolling growl cut through the air.

The weight on top of me vanished. Something large and dark slammed into the zombie and tore it sideways. Two more shapes moved past me in a blur of muscle and fur. In less than ten seconds the alley was quiet again except for my ragged breathing.

I pushed myself up on my elbows.

Five werewolves stood in human form now, blood on their clothes, eyes still glowing faint gold. The one in front was taller than the rest. Broad shoulders. Black hair pushed back like he’d run his hands through it too many times. A thin scar cut through his left eyebrow.

Kieran Draven.

My stomach turned to ice.

He looked exactly the same as the day he ordered my death. Same cold eyes. Same controlled stance. Same voice when he spoke.

“You’re coming with us.”

I stared at him. The words left my mouth before I could stop them.

“I’d rather take my chances with the dead.”

One of the wolves behind him shifted, clearly offended. Kieran didn’t look away from me. His gaze moved over the torn jacket, the blood on my hands, the way I still hadn’t stood all the way up.

“You won’t last another ten minutes out here,” he said. “We’re not asking.”

“And I’m not going.”

He stepped closer. The others fanned out, blocking every exit without needing an order. I could feel the dominance rolling off him—the same pressure that used to make lesser wolves drop their eyes. My new human body wanted to flinch. I forced my spine straight instead.

Kieran’s voice dropped. “You can walk to the vehicle, or I can carry you. Choose.”

I looked past him at the street. More shapes were already moving between the cars. The sun was going down. In another hour this entire block would belong to the dead.

I hated him. I hated the calm way he waited for my answer. I hated that in this life he didn’t even know my name yet.

But I also remembered how the next three days of the outbreak went for people who tried to survive alone.

I wiped the blood from my mouth with the back of my hand and stood.

“Fine.”

He didn’t offer help. He simply turned and walked. The others closed in around me like a living cage. We moved fast through the side streets until a black SUV waited with its engine running. Kieran opened the back door and waited.

I climbed in without looking at him.

The door shut hard. The locks clicked. One of the wolves took the driver’s seat. Kieran sat in the front passenger side, already speaking into a radio in low, efficient orders. He never once glanced back at me.

I stared at the back of his head and let the hate settle into something colder and sharper.

In my first life I had loved this man enough to die for the pack he led. He had thanked me by feeding me to the dead.

This time the story would end differently.

I leaned my forehead against the cool window glass and watched the burning city slide past. My voice stayed quiet enough that only I could hear it.

“This time,” I whispered, “I will be the one who walks away.”