Chapter 40 #2
Charlotte screams, the magazine flying from her hands like a startled bird. Pages flutter to the floor between us, one landing open to display a photo of Logan and me at the spring palace. My face stares back at me—smiling falsely beside the Alpha who claimed me against my will.
“Maya, what are you doing here?” she gasps, hand at her throat.
“I have questions about my birth,” I say, staring at the woman who raised me yet feels like a stranger. My voice is flat, but the storm inside me rages.
Charlotte regains her composure quickly, smoothing her silk blouse with practiced hands.
“What is there to know? You were born at Central Hospital on a Tuesday morning. You cried so loudly the nurses complained.” Her laugh sounds rehearsed, hollow.
“Luckily, you outgrew that newborn, alien phase fairly quickly.”
“You were older than average when you had me,” I press, watching her face carefully. “Thirty-nine, right? I did the math recently.” I take a step closer, noting how she subtly leans away. “In fact, I’m surprised you were able to conceive at all without help.”
Her face crumbles like wet paper, the carefully constructed mask of societal ambition falling away to reveal something raw beneath. Fear. Guilt. Her lips tremble as she whispers. “The clinic promised me that you would never find out the truth.”
I’m surprised by how little I feel at the confirmation. “What truth?”
Charlotte’s eyes dart to the door as if contemplating escape, but she seems to realize there’s nowhere to run. She sinks onto a kitchen stool, suddenly looking every one of her years.
“I was told I was infertile when I was barely older than you are now,” she admits, her voice barely audible.
“But the crown was funding fertility clinics, experimental treatments.” Her fingers twist together nervously.
“They offered me the opportunity to conceive if I agreed to send my child to the Enclave if it was born female and Omega.”
I was sold before I was even born.
“How much did they pay you?”
Charlotte winces, her shoulders hunching inward. “Maya, you don’t understand. I was desperate. I wanted a child more than anything, and?—“
A sharp electronic tone cuts through the air, making us both jump.
The house’s comm unit lights up with an urgent alert.
A mechanical voice announces: “A TTENTION ALL CITIZENS. THE CITY IS NOW ENTERING EMERGENCY LOCKDOWN. ALL RESIDENTS ARE ORDERED TO REMAIN IN THEIR HOMES UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE. THIS IS NOT A DRILL .”
Charlotte’s eyes widen with fear as she stares at the flashing red light. “What’s going on?” Her gaze snaps to me, suddenly suspicious. “Does this have something to do with you showing up like this?”
I ignore her question, stepping closer until we’re face to face. “Did you ever love me?”
“Of course I did—I do!” she responds automatically, but her eyes don’t quite meet mine.
“Just for me?” I press, my voice barely above a whisper. “Or because of what you could get for me?”
Charlotte doesn’t respond. The silence stretches between us, heavy with unspoken truths and broken trust. Her hands fidget with the edge of her magazine, carefully avoiding both my question and my gaze.
And in that silence, I have my answer.
I turn away, moving toward the door with a strange sense of calm.
I understand now. I was never meant to have a place where I belonged, never meant to have a family that truly loved me— not until an Alpha chose me for his own gratification.
My entire existence was crafted around waiting for that moment, being shaped into the perfect prize.
As I step outside into the street, sirens wail in the distance. The sky has darkened with approaching storm clouds, mirroring the turmoil inside me. For the first time in my life, I feel utterly alone—yet strangely free.
With no home to return to and no pack to claim me, I finally belong only to myself.
But even that doesn’t feel like enough.
I could disappear into the city, maybe gather enough credits to buy passage to a more rural province and live the rest of my life hiding from the chaos.
A tyrant still sits on the throne. Thane might be dead, but others will carry on his research. There are dozens, maybe hundreds, of women just like Charlotte willing to perpetuate the cycle for their own gain.
And there is only one person who might have the power to stop it.
I enter the autopilot coordinates Ares provided for the safehouse, letting the car’s navigation system take over. For the first time in months, I don’t have to answer to anyone else’s schedule or expectations.
The solitude should feel liberating, but instead, a hollow ache spreads through my chest as I drive farther from the city.
The car winds through back roads I’ve never seen before, gradually leaving behind the manicured landscapes of the capital for rougher terrain.
Eventually, the car turns onto an unmarked gravel path that cuts through dense forest. The setting sun casts long shadows through the trees as the car finally slows before a modest farmhouse.
The structure is unassuming—weathered wooden siding, a metal roof that’s seen better days, and a wraparound porch with a swing. Nothing about it screams safehouse. It looks like the sort of place you go to visit your grandparents in the countryside. Perfect for hiding fugitives, I suppose.
I approach cautiously, hand hovering near the gun tucked into my waistband. The door isn’t locked, which immediately puts me on edge. I push it open with my foot, keeping my body angled to present a smaller target.
“Hello?” I call out, not really expecting an answer.
Instead of silence, I hear raised voices coming from deeper inside the house. My entire body tenses. I draw the gun, thumbing off the safety as I edge forward.
“—completely unacceptable!” That’s Ares, his voice booming with barely contained fury. “You let her walk away after what just happened!”
“I had a bullet in my shoulder,” Logan snaps back. “What would you have had me do? Tackle her?”
“You should never have claimed her in the first place!” Ares shouts, followed by the sound of something crashing against a wall. “None of this would have happened if you’d just controlled your fucking knot!”
I freeze, heart hammering in my chest.
“And what about you?” Logan’s voice drops dangerously low. “You knew she was drugged during the games. You took advantage of her while I was fighting for my life.”
“We all did things we shouldn’t have,” Poe’s quieter voice interjects. “But fighting among ourselves won’t help anything.”
“She shot me,” Logan says, voice tight with what sounds almost like admiration.
“You deserved it,” Cillian’s voice is droll. “One of us would have done it sooner if we had the balls.”
I edge closer to the half-closed door. Through the crack, I can see all four of them in what appears to be a rustic living room.
Logan sits on a worn couch, his shoulder heavily bandaged.
Ares paces like a caged animal, while Poe stands near the window, ever vigilant.
Cillian looks pale but steady, perched on an armchair across from Logan.
“I should have protected her,” Cillian continues, voice breaking. “I failed her just like I’ve failed at everything else.”
“We all failed her,” Poe says quietly. “But she’s smart. She’ll stay hidden.”
“Unless she tries to leave the country,” Ares growls. “The king’s forces will be monitoring every border check point.”
“She won’t make it to the border on her own,” Logan says, wincing as he shifts. “Letting her go was a mistake. We need to go after her.”
I grip the doorframe, trying to decide whether or not to show myself. This isn’t what I expected at all. Where’s the rage at my betrayal? The wounded Alpha pride? Instead, they sound genuinely concerned about my safety.
“I should have gone with her,” Cillian whispers, so softly I almost miss it.
“You were barely conscious,” Poe reminds him gently. “You wouldn’t have made it a mile.”
“When I think about what Thane did to her—“ Ares’s voice cracks with emotion.
“Stop,” Logan commands, but there’s no Alpha force behind it, just exhaustion. “We need to focus on what we’re going to do next. We can’t stay holed up here for long.”
The floorboard creaks beneath my foot.
Four heads snap toward the door, bodies tensing instantly for combat. I’ve been discovered.
“Who’s there?” Ares demands, already moving toward the door with predatory focus.
Taking a deep breath, I step into view, gun lowered but still in my hand.
“Surprise,” I say, hating how my voice wavers.
Four pairs of eyes widen in perfect synchronization. For a moment, no one moves or speaks. Then, chaos erupts.
Ares and Poe jump to their feet and cross the room toward me, only stopping when I hold up my free hand. Logan and Cillian are right behind, slowed by their injuries but just as eager to crowd my personal space.
Their voices overlap, apologies tumbling over one another as they crowd closer, each trying to convince me of their sincerity. The air fills with their mingled scents—bourbon and chocolate, bitter clove, driftwood and sea salt, and that faint floral note that is uniquely Cillian’s.
“All of you, shut up!” I shout over the deafening chorus of male voices.
To my shock, the room instantly falls silent. Four pairs of wide eyes stare at me, reactions ranging from Poe’s subtle smirk to Logan’s swallowed indignation. The power of my voice, of being heard, sends an unexpected thrill through me.
“Maya,” Cillian begins cautiously, taking a small step forward. “Why did you come back?”
I look at each of them, these men who’ve been both my captors and my saviors, my tormentors and my protectors. The question hangs in the air, demanding an answer I’m not entirely sure I have.