Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 65167 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 326(@200wpm)___ 261(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65167 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 326(@200wpm)___ 261(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
I don’t respond. My mind is already spinning with thoughts about what lies ahead. I’m grateful for Alara’s presence, her lessons, her unwavering support. But as she leaves the room, the silence that settles in echoes with my lingering worries.
I rise, walk, and lie down on my bed, feeling the soft cushion cradle me. I stare at the ceiling, my hand resting on my abdomen—a silent vow to protect the life growing within me.
As I close my eyes, Rogan’s image surfaces in my mind. His touch, his voice, his—at the time—loyalty. Despite everything, despite all the manipulation and deception on my father’s part, Rogan loved me. Truly loved me.
Is that love strong enough to conquer fate?
For I now know my destiny. I must face Eris. I must destroy her.
Rogan’s fated mate.
And if his heart has followed his soul, if he loves her now and has forsaken me…
He’ll never forgive me.
47
He won’t forgive me, but will he fight me?
Will he risk the life of his child inside me?
The question looms over the quiet darkness, heavy as the weight in my womb. Will he brandish a weapon against the mother of his child to protect Eris? And if he does, will I be able to strike him down?
Strike down the father of my child, who I still love?
I shudder at the thought, rolling over onto my side, curling into a ball around my child. The idea of hurting Rogan is unbearable.
I love him.
My attraction to him was founded in my father’s manipulation, but I grew to love him, and I love him now.
And I believe he loves me.
In the wolf world, though, a fated mating trumps love.
So while hurting Rogan is unbearable to me, the notion of letting Eris harm my child is even more so. My heart aches with the conflict.
With a sigh, I force myself to push aside thoughts of Rogan and Eris and concentrate on the baby. It’s not just about me anymore, not just about Rogan. It’s about this small life developing within me.
Perhaps Alara is right. Perhaps my child does carry power. According to my father, this child was never meant to be. According to Alara, my child must be.
I don’t know who to believe anymore.
It’s in these thoughts that I finally drift off to sleep.
I jerk upward in bed.
Something…
I don’t know what, but something awakened me.
I sit very still, trying to calm my racing heart. The moon shines in through the cracks of the closed blinds. I listen, willing my acute sense of hearing to expand beyond the confines of my room, to penetrate the darkened hallway of my apartment building.
A rustle.
Then silence again.
I rise, still wearing the clothes I wore while training with Alara. I was too exhausted to disrobe and shower before I lay down. I force myself to take a deep breath, to steady my racing heartbeat. The child inside me picks up on my tension and stirs.
I gasp.
My child. His first movement. More than the emotional flutter I felt before. I shouldn’t be far enough along to feel it yet, but I do. I place a protective hand over my unborn baby.
The sound comes again, louder this time. A faint whispering noise followed by a soft thud. My heart leaps into my throat as I step out of my bedroom, making sure not to let my feet sound against the hard wooden floor.
“Alara?” I eke out.
But she’s nowhere to be found.
A third sound now—a small metallic clink that echoes eerily through the quiet apartment.
I edge toward the door and open it a crack, peering out into the hallway veiled in shadows. The echoing silence holds a sense of foreboding that convinces me to step back.
I freeze at another sound. It’s not a thud or a clink, but a murmur of voices—low and indistinct. They’re coming from the stairwell. I strain to recognize them, but I can’t.
The child moves inside me once more, matching the nervous quivering in my own stomach. I take one last glance into the hallway before retreating into my apartment, locking the deadbolt, and walking to my bedroom. The baby moves again, the tiny sensation more pronounced this time. As if he’s reassuring me, comforting me in his own little way.
The voices grow louder, and I can hear footsteps. The anticipation and unknown danger make my skin prickle. My heart pounds an uneven rhythm against my ribs as I swallow back fear.
I am ready.
I am prepared.
But this time it’s no phantom conjured by Alara who’s coming for me.
This is real.
48
A shiver of icy dread slips down my spine, as if the Chicago wind has entered my bedroom.
What is next for me? For my child?
Will I have to face Eris? Or Rogan? Or worse yet, both?
Rogan would never harm me. I may not be his fated mate as he once thought, but he loves me.