Forsaken by the Alpha, Chosen by Fate

Charlotte POV

The van reeked of stale bleach and the coppery tang of old blood. I was handcuffed to a metal bar bolted to the floor, my body sliding with every turn. Every bump in the road sent a jagged jolt of agony through my bruised ribs, but I focused entirely on curling around my stomach, shielding it with everything I had left.

Hold on, little one, I prayed silently. Just hold on.

The drive was short. Mercifully, terribly short. We skidded to a halt outside a building on the fringes of the territory-a dilapidated structure that had once been a vet clinic but now operated strictly off the books. A place where mistakes were buried.

The doors were thrown open. The warriors didn't offer a hand; they dragged me out by my arms, my feet scraping across the gravel.

Inside, the overhead fluorescent lights hummed with a headache-inducing flicker, casting a sickly yellow pallor over the room. There were no nurses. Just a man in a stained white coat who smelled of cheap gin and stale cigarette smoke.

"This the girl?" the doctor asked, wiping his nose with the back of his hand.

"Yeah. Alpha's mother wants it done quick. Clean it out," the warrior grunted.

"Get her on the table."

"No!" I screamed, lashing out. I sank my teeth into the warrior's hand. He cursed, snatching his hand back, and backhanded me across the face with enough force to snap my head sideways. I tasted copper instantly.

They hauled me onto the cold metal table. Heavy leather straps were cinched tight around my wrists and ankles, pinning me down like a specimen. I stared up at the water-stained ceiling tiles, my breath coming in shallow, hyperventilating gasps.

The door opened again. Eleanor walked in, her heels clicking sharply on the tile. My parents trailed behind her like ghosts.

"Make sure she's awake," Eleanor said, her voice devoid of warmth. "I want her to know her place."

"Mom, please," I begged, straining against the straps to look at Carol. "Dad. This is your grandchild. Your own blood. Please."

Carol looked away, unable to meet my eyes. Eleanor merely raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow.

"Sign the consent forms," Eleanor commanded them. "Or the council seat goes to the Millers."

My father's hand shook as he picked up the cheap plastic pen. He looked at me, then at the paper, his face pale and sweating.

"It's for the best, Charlotte," he mumbled, his voice trembling. "You can't raise a baby alone. You have no wolf. You have no future."

He signed. With a scratch of ink, he signed my baby's death warrant.

"You are monsters," I hissed, tears streaming into my ears. "May the Moon Goddess curse you for eternity."

"The Goddess doesn't care about runts," Eleanor sneered, smoothing her skirt. "Doctor, proceed."

The doctor picked up a syringe, flicking the barrel. "This is just a sedative. You won't feel much."

"I don't consent!" I screamed, thrashing against the leather. "I do not consent!"

"Nobody cares," the doctor muttered. He moved the needle toward my arm.

Panic, primal and absolute, exploded inside me. My baby kicked-a strong, terrified thump against my ribs, as if it sensed the end.

Protect.

The word didn't come from my mind. It came from the marrow of my bones.

I remembered the necklace. The one Gabe had given me years ago, a family heirloom from his grandfather, said to protect the "true heart" of the Pack. I was still wearing it, hidden beneath the tattered remains of my maid's uniform.

I clenched my fist, digging my nails into my palm until the skin broke, focusing all my will on the ancient silver resting against my skin.

Help me, I prayed, pouring every ounce of my soul into the metal. If there is any justice in this universe, help me.

The needle touched my skin.

Suddenly, heat.

Not the warmth of a fire, but the searing, white-hot intensity of a collapsing star. It started in my chest and flooded my veins, burning through the sedative, burning through the fear. It was agony. It was ecstasy.

The necklace began to glow. A blinding, silver light erupted from beneath my shirt, illuminating the dingy clinic like a supernova.

"What the hell?" the doctor shouted, dropping the syringe as he stumbled back, shielding his eyes.

The light pulsed, syncing with the frantic beat of my heart. Thump-thump. Thump-thump.

My bones began to vibrate. A sound started low in my throat-a growl. But it wasn't the growl of a normal wolf. It sounded like the earth itself grinding together, like tectonic plates shifting deep underground.

"She's shifting!" the warrior yelled, reaching for his stun baton. "But she's Wolfless! It's impossible!"

"Restrain her!" Eleanor shrieked, her composure cracking. "Kill it now!"

The doctor grabbed a scalpel from the tray. He lunged at my stomach, his eyes wide with panic.

"ROAR!"

The sound didn't come from me. It came from everywhere.

The windows of the clinic shattered inward in a shower of diamond dust. The overhead lights exploded, raining sparks and glass down upon us.

A pressure slammed into the room-an Alpha Aura so heavy, so crushing, that it made Gabe's command feel like a gentle breeze. This was the pressure of the ocean floor, a gravity that forced the air from your lungs.

The warriors collapsed instantly, frothing at the mouth as their wolves were forced into submission. The doctor fell to his knees, the scalpel clattering uselessly to the floor. Even Eleanor was forced down, her face pressed against the dirty tiles, gasping for breath.

The heavy steel door to the clinic was ripped off its hinges. Not opened. Ripped. Metal screeched and tore as the door flew across the room, embedding itself deep into the opposite wall with a deafening crash.

A silhouette stood in the gaping hole where the door had been. Massive. Terrifying.

Behind him stood a dozen soldiers in armor that gleamed like moonlight. The Royal Guard.

The man in front stepped into the room. He was older, with silver streaking his beard, but his power was absolute, a physical weight in the air. His eyes were glowing pure, molten gold.

King Anthony Dean. The Alpha King.

He surveyed the scene-me strapped to the table, the doctor cowering, Eleanor groveling on the floor.

"Who," the King's voice was a low rumble that shook the very foundations of the building, "dares to touch my blood?"