Betrayed by My Mate, Hunted by My Pack

The sound of the blade slicing through his flesh was sickening. He screamed out in pain, stepping back in shock as blood started to pour from the gash.

Murmurs erupted.

"Did she—? She actually cut him!"

"She's lost it, she's really gone mad!"

"The Alpha’s hurt. He’s hurt badly!"

"She's gonna pay for this…”

I didn’t wait. I didn’t think. I just turned and ran.

I held Ayla tighter, clutching her to my chest as I sprinted toward the door. My breath came in ragged gasps, my heart pounding in my ears. No one moved to stop me.

Clinton was still cursing behind me, his rage echoing off the walls, but I didn’t care. I couldn’t care.

I needed to get out. I needed to protect my daughter.

The dagger still clutched in my hand, my mind racing. There was no going back now. I'd crossed a line. But I would fight to my last breath before I let him take Ayla.

My feet hit the ground, bare and cold against the rough earth. The forest loomed ahead, dark and thick, but I didn’t care. I didn’t think. I just ran.

Ayla was still crying in my arms, her tiny body shaking as I clutched her to my chest. Her fear mixed with mine, and I could feel her little hands gripping me, her tears soaking into my skin. It made my heart ache, but I couldn't slow down. Not now.

Behind me, Clinton's voice rang out, seething with fury. "Find her!" he bellowed. "Track her down! The traitor will not escape!"

I didn’t need to hear more. The pack warriors were already on their way. They were fast, efficient, and loyal to Clinton. They’d catch me, and they’d drag me back—if I didn’t get far enough, fast enough.

The forest was tearing me apart—branches slapping at my face, sharp roots stabbing into my feet—but I couldn’t stop running. Ayla’s tiny cries were muffled against my chest as I clutched her tighter, trying to shield her from the chaos around us.

Behind me, Clinton’s furious roars echoed, his voice carrying through the trees like a death sentence.

“Don’t let her escape!”

The sound of boots and snapping branches grew closer. They were hunting me like prey, and I had no idea where I was going—only that I had to keep moving.

“Mommy’s here, baby,” I whispered, choking back my own sobs. “I’ve got you. We’re gonna be okay.”

I stumbled, my legs screaming in pain, but I forced myself to keep going. Ayla’s soft whimpers broke me more than the fear pounding in my chest. She deserved better than this.

Up ahead, the trees started to thin, and I saw an open clearing. Relief flooded me for a second, until I spotted the figures waiting there.

Men. Humans. Hunters.

They had rifles slung over their shoulders, their eyes scanning the treeline like they were expecting trouble. And then they saw me.

“Stop right there!” one of them shouted, raising his gun.

My knees buckled, and I fell hard to the ground, clutching Ayla like my life depended on it—because it did.

“Please!” I cried out, my voice cracking. “Please, help us! Don’t hurt her!”

The man who’d spoken stepped forward. He was big—broad shoulders, sharp jawline, eyes like ice. His gun was steady, trained on me like I was a threat.

“You’re a wolf,” he said, his tone flat.

“Yes,” I admitted, tears streaking down my face. “But I’m not here to hurt you. I just need help. My daughter… she’s just a baby. Please, they’re coming for us.”

The hunters exchanged uneasy glances. One of them spat on the ground, his glare cutting into me.

“Why should we believe you?”

“I swear I’m not lying!” I begged. “They’ll kill her. You can’t let them take her.”

The leader’s eyes flicked to Ayla, who was sobbing quietly now, her tiny fists gripping my torn shirt. Something shifted in his expression—hesitation, maybe even pity—but he didn’t lower his gun.

Then the howls came.

Low, guttural, and way too close. My blood ran cold. Clinton’s men had caught up.

“Hand her over!” a voice boomed from the woods.