Chapter 19 The Border (cont'd)
I start walking again, this time with purpose. The forest is dense here, and the underbrush catches at my clothes and backpack. My boots crunch through dead leaves and early frost, and I try not to think about how easy I'd be to track if anyone wanted to follow.
But I'm beyond pack lands now. White Moon warriors won't be hunting me. They've done their job.
The sun climbs higher, but the temperature barely rises. I'm already burning through energy just trying to stay warm, trying to keep moving despite the pain radiating from my stomach where Stella's claws had dug deepest.
Around what I estimate is midday—hard to tell with the thick canopy blocking most of the sunlight—I stop to rest against a massive pine tree. My hands shake as I unwrap one of the protein bars Connor gave me.
As I eat, I notice something that makes my blood run cold.
The scratches on my stomach are hot to the touch. Inflamed. The edges are turning an angry red that speaks of infection setting in.
Stella's claws. God knows what kind of bacteria or venom she might have deliberately introduced. Wolves heal fast, but pregnancy slows that process, and if the wounds are infected...
I can't think about that. Can't let fear paralyze me.
I dig through my pack for the small first aid kit Connor included. Inside, I find antiseptic wipes, bandages, and a small tube of antibiotic ointment. It's not much, but it's something.
I lift my shirt and carefully clean the wounds, hissing through my teeth at the sting. The scratches are deeper than I thought, still seeping blood and clear fluid. I apply the ointment and bandage them as best I can, but I know this is only a temporary fix.
I need real medical attention. Soon.
The afternoon wears on, and the terrain grows more challenging. The gentle slopes become steep inclines that leave me gasping for breath. My legs shake with exhaustion, and I have to stop more and more frequently to rest.
The sun is starting to sink toward the horizon when I realize I'm not going to make it to the hiking trail today. Maybe not even tomorrow at the pace I'm moving.
I need to find shelter for the night. Somewhere safe, protected from the elements and from predators.
But the forest offers little comfort. Every tree looks the same. Every shadow could hide danger.
As twilight falls, I spot a rocky overhang that might provide some protection. It's not much—barely deep enough to qualify as a cave—but it's better than sleeping exposed.
I'm gathering pine branches to create a makeshift bed when I hear it.
A twig snapping. Too loud, too deliberate to be an accident.
I freeze, my hand instinctively going to my stomach.
"Who's there?" I call out, trying to sound braver than I feel.
For a long moment, there's only silence. Then I catch a scent on the wind.
Wolf. But not from White Moon. Someone—something—else.
A figure steps out from behind a cluster of trees about twenty yards away. Male, tall, broad-shouldered. His eyes reflect the dying light with an amber glow.
A rogue.
My heart hammers against my ribs. Rogues are unpredictable at best, dangerous at worst. Wolves who've been cast out from their packs often go feral, losing their humanity bit by bit until only the beast remains.
"Easy there, little omega." His voice is rough, like he hasn't spoken to another person in a long time. "I'm not going to hurt you."
But he takes a step closer, and I can smell the wildness on him. The madness that comes from too long alone.
"Stay back," I warn, though I have no weapon, no way to defend myself.
He tilts his head, studying me with disturbing intensity. "You're freshly banished. I can smell it on you. White Moon, if I'm not mistaken." Another step closer. "What did a little thing like you do to earn Mason Reeves's wrath?"
The fact that he knows Mason's name sends a chill down my spine. How long has he been watching the pack? How much does he know?
"That's none of your business." I back up until I hit the rock face behind me. "Just... just leave me alone. Please."
"Can't do that." He's close enough now that I can see the scars crisscrossing his face, the gauntness of his features. "See, I've been alone out here for three years. Three years since Crimson Ridge Pack threw me out for refusing to submit to their new Alpha. Three years with nothing but my own thoughts for company." His eyes lock onto mine with frightening intensity. "Do you have any idea what that does to a wolf? The isolation? The silence?"
"I'm sorry that happened to you, but I can't—"
"You smell like pack," he interrupts, his voice taking on a desperate edge. "Like warmth and belonging and everything I've lost. And you're pregnant." He inhales deeply. "Twins, unless I miss my guess. That's rare. Precious."
Terror floods through me. How does he know about the twins? I barely know myself—it's just a suspicion based on how quickly I'm showing, how strong my symptoms have been.
"Please," I whisper. "Please don't—"
"I'm not going to hurt you," he repeats, but he's still advancing. "I'm going to help you. Protect you. And in return, you're going to give me what I need."
"Which is?"
"Purpose. A reason to be human again." He's close enough to touch now. "I'll keep you safe, little omega. Keep you and your babies alive. And when they're born, we'll start fresh. A new pack. A new family."
The delusion in his words is terrifying. He actually believes this. Believes he can claim me, claim my children, and somehow rebuild what he's lost.
"I don't need your help," I say firmly, trying to channel authority I don't feel. "I'm heading to Vancouver. I have people waiting for me. They'll come looking if I don't show up."
It's a bluff. A desperate attempt to make myself seem less vulnerable than I am.
He laughs—a harsh, broken sound. "Vancouver is two hundred miles from here. You won't make it ten before the cold or the hunger or the other predators get you." He reaches out, and I flinch away. "You need me, whether you want to admit it or not."
"What I need is for you to leave me alone!"
My voice rises, panic overwhelming caution. And that's when I feel it—a sharp, stabbing pain in my lower abdomen.
I gasp, my hand flying to my stomach.
No. No, please no.
The rogue's expression changes, concern flickering through the madness. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing. I'm fine." But another wave of pain hits, stronger this time, and I can't hide my wince.
Warmth spreads between my legs. When I look down, I see blood seeping through my jeans.
The infection. The stress. The exhaustion. It's all too much.
I'm losing the babies.
"Oh god." My legs give out, and I collapse against the rock face. "Oh god, no, please..."
The rogue catches me before I hit the ground completely. For a moment, his madness seems to clear, replaced by something almost like humanity.
"You need a doctor," he says urgently. "The hiking trail—it's not ten miles northeast. It's only about three miles due east from here. Michael lied to you, probably trying to send you in the wrong direction. But I know these woods. I can get you there."
"Why... why would you help me?" I manage through the pain.
"Because even monsters can remember what it's like to be decent." He carefully lifts me, cradling me against his chest. "Hold on, little omega. Just hold on."
He starts running, moving through the forest with the speed and grace of someone who's lived in these woods for years. Every jostle sends fresh waves of agony through my body, but I bite down on my screams.
The babies. I have to stay conscious for the babies.
Trees blur past. The world tilts and spins. I'm vaguely aware of the rogue talking to me, trying to keep me conscious, but his words sound like they're coming from underwater.
"...almost there... stay with me... just a little further..."
Then, through the haze of pain, I see it.
A trail. A proper hiking trail with markers and everything.
The rogue sets me down gently against a tree right next to the path. "Someone will find you here," he says. "Hikers use this trail even this late in the season. Someone will come."
"Wait—" I try to grab his arm, but he's already backing away. "Why? Why help me just to leave?"
He pauses, and for just a moment, I see the man he used to be. Before the madness. Before the isolation broke him.
"Because you remind me of someone I couldn't save," he says quietly. "Maybe saving you will make up for that. Maybe it won't. But I have to try."
Then he's gone, melting back into the forest like a ghost.
And I'm alone again, bleeding and broken on the side of a hiking trail, praying that someone—anyone—will find me before it's too late.
The pain intensifies, and I feel consciousness starting to slip away.
As darkness closes in, I press my hands to my stomach and whisper one last plea.
"Please. Please let them be okay. Please..."
Then the world goes black.