After My Alpha Killed My Mother, I Escaped Him

The river's roar deafened me as I stood at its edge, the icy spray stinging my face. Three days in the silver-lined cell had left me weak, my wolf barely a flicker inside me. But it was enough—enough to know that staying meant death.

"Forgive me," I whispered to the moon stone pendant clutched in my palm—my mother's last gift.

I jumped.

The cold hit like a thousand silver blades, piercing through my clothes and into my bones. My body convulsed, muscles seizing as the current dragged me under. For one terrifying moment, I thought I'd miscalculated. The weight of my sodden clothes pulled me down, and darkness crept at the edges of my vision.

*Survive*, my wolf whimpered, her voice faint but determined.

I fought my way to the surface, gasping for air that turned to ice in my lungs. The river was a beast of its own, churning with spring runoff, carrying me miles downstream. Trees blurred on either bank, moonlight filtering through clouds as I bobbed like a broken doll.

"Stay awake," I chanted through chattering teeth. "Stay awake."

Hypothermia creeped in, numbing my limbs. My fingers turned white, then blue. The wolfsbane in my system made shifting impossible—my wolf curled deep inside me, conserving what little strength remained.

*We're dying*, she whispered.

"We're free," I corrected, though the words were lost to the river's roar.

The current slowed as the river widened, carrying me toward the neutral zones—lawless territories where pack laws didn't reach. My vision blurred, darkness creeping in from all sides.

"Just a little longer," I begged my body.

My foot caught on something underwater—a branch or rock—and the sudden jolt sent me spinning. When I surfaced again, I saw mud banks ahead, shrouded in mist. The Northern Territories.

With the last of my strength, I dragged myself toward shore, each movement agony. Mud sucked at my boots, threatening to pull me back into the depths. Inch by inch, I crawled until I collapsed on solid ground, coughing and shaking.

"Made it," I whispered, before darkness claimed me completely.

---

Warmth. That was the first sensation that registered—warmth and the scent of pine smoke.

I blinked awake to unfamiliar surroundings—rough-hewn log walls, a stone fireplace, and furs covering the bed beneath me. Every muscle in my body protested as I tried to sit up.

"Easy," a deep voice said from across the room. "You've been through quite an ordeal."

My head snapped toward the sound, panic surging through me. A man stood by the door, tall and broad-shouldered, his face half in shadow. But it was his eyes that caught me—warm amber that seemed to glow in the firelight.

"Who are you?" My voice was a rasp, throat raw from river water.

"Demetrius Boyd," he said simply, staying by the door. "You can call me Demetrius."

He didn't move closer, didn't try to approach me. Something in his stance spoke of restraint, as if he knew exactly how fragile I was.

"Where am I?" I pulled the furs tighter around me, noting that my clothes had been changed—my soaked garments replaced with simple linen and wool.

"My cabin," he replied. "Near the border of the Northern Territories."

"How did I get here?"

"I found you by the river. You were unconscious." He hesitated. "Your wolf is very weak."

I flinched at the mention of my wolf. "How do you know about—"

"I'm a traveler," he said vaguely. "I've seen many things."

He crossed the room slowly, setting down a steaming bowl on a table near the bed. "Soup. It will help with the wolfsbane poisoning."

My eyes widened. "You know about that too?"

A small smile touched his lips. "I know more than you might think."

Something about him felt... safe. But I'd learned not to trust that feeling. Jaxxon had once seemed safe too.

"Why did you help me?" I asked.

Instead of answering, he sat down across the room, putting distance between us. "You don't need to fear me," he said quietly. "And you don't need to fear the Silver Moon Pack here."

"How can you possibly know—"

"I don't know anything," he interrupted gently. "But no one can track you here. The mist and the territory boundaries provide cover."

My hands trembled as I reached for the soup. The aroma was rich and comforting—herbs and bone broth that made my stomach clench with hunger.

"What happened to you?" he asked after I'd taken a few spoonfuls.

I stared into the bowl, watching the steam curl upward. "I died," I whispered. "At least, that's what they'll think."

Something flickered in his eyes—recognition, perhaps. Or understanding.

"Sometimes," he said softly, "death is just the beginning."