But my hands keep shaking. Not from fear, from rage. Pure, cold, bone-deep rage.
Roman.
The name burns worse than silver. That bastard’s voice still clings to my skin, cloying and thick like oil that won't wash off. My old Alpha. My old friend. The one who turned my name into a curse and called it loyalty.
And now he’s seen her footage.
That’s how he found us.
Angie’s standing a few feet away, arms wrapped around her middle, eyes locked on me like she knew from the moment I picked up the call that whatever I heard would gut something open.
I look at her, and the only word that comes isn’t her name.
It’smine.
It hits so fast and hard I don’t know where it starts. She stands between me and the snow, as if to shield me from harm. She never flinches, whether I'm loud or silent. Perhaps it'ssimply that she remains, still looking at me as if I am worthy of her presence.
Mine.
Not in the way a man owns a thing. Not like possession.
It’s deeper. Blood-deep. Bone-etched. The kind of word that feels like it’s always been true even before I said it.
Her voice is quiet when she speaks. “That was him, wasn’t it?”
I nod once, not trusting myself to say it out loud yet.
“What did he say?”
My hands curl tighter, fists trembling even though the phone’s already ruined.
“That I’ll be taken alive,” I say, voice rough as gravel. “Used. Broken. Studied. And that he’s coming.”
She swallows. But she doesn’t look away.
“I’m sorry,” she says softly. “About the footage. I didn’t mean for?—”
“I know,” I say. And I do. That’s the hell of it. I know she didn’t plan this. I know she wouldn’t trade me for any story, any payout, any chance to get out of this frozen wasteland.
And still, he found us because I let her get close.
That’s on me.
She takes a step forward. Then another. Until she’s right in front of me, small and fierce and shivering against the wind, but still looking up at me like I’m something worth facing.
“What do we do?” she asks.
My throat tightens.
“We move,” I say. “We burn this camp, take only what we need. Go dark. Go deep. There’s a place north of the pass. Old den. Long abandoned. No maps mark it anymore. He won’t find us there.”
“And if he does?”
I don’t hesitate. “Then he doesn’t leave.”
Her lips part slightly like she wants to say something else, maybe something softer. But instead she just nods, like she’s preparing herself to become part of this fight too.
I turn back to the sled, start stripping out the gear we don’t need. My hands are steadier now. Focus sharp. The rage is still there, coiled tight and waiting, but it’s useful now. Anchored.
