Page 17 of The Alpha’s Chosen Mate

Chapter Eight

EMILY

18 Years Old, January 1991

“Breathe, Em. I know it hurts, but you have to breathe.”

Bones snapping. Spine arching. Fingertips bleeding. And a pulsing, breathing entity in the dark recesses of my mind.

Primal. Predatory. Animalistic.

Wolf. My wolf.

I can feel her. See her. She’s wrapped in a fog the color of my eyes, lingering just out of reach. But the outline of her body cuts through the mist. She paces back and forth, whining and howling with her desire to be free.

I’m trapped in limbo, longing for relief from the pain, yearning to be united with her. But the fog keeps us separated. We’re so close. If we could cross through the mist, if she could reach her paw through—

“What’s happening? Why is it taking so long?”

I’ve no sense of time or place other than the fog. But the deep voice vibrates through me. I curl into its source, seeking its warmth and comfort.

“Her body is too weak…” A new voice. Similar to the first, but deeper. Older.

Those two words echo through me. “Too weak.”

Always too weak. A failure. An omega.

“You’re weak.”

The voice morphs into a cruel, dark tone, laced with a command. I’m on all fours in the grass, hidden away in the farthest reaches of the forest. The owner of the voice snarls at me, pushing his aura out so I can’t move or think or do anything other than breathe.

“You’re an omega. You don’t have a wolf, and you can’t shift.” He crouches in front of me, gripping my chin. Everything about him is blurry except his eyes, which swirl with his lycan. “You will never shift into your wolf. Your wolf will stay hidden in the back of your mind unless I order otherwise. And you will remember none of what happened tonight.”

My skin ripples and my bones snap and reform, but his aura overpowers the primal instincts of my wolf. She howls in my mind as the alpha command shoves her into a mental kennel. Tears stream down my cheeks, and sweat drenches my body as I collapse on the ground, hugging my knees. Sobs wrack my body, adding to the pain of the suppressed shift and the emptiness where my wolf used to be. Someone lifts me into their arms, but I’m in too much pain to see who it is.

And then it all fades into a fog. A dense, silver fog. It coats my thoughts, my dreams, and my skin. It weaves through my hair and into my soul.

I float through the mist. The wolf—my wolf—is gone. Nowhere to be seen. The pain flickers in and out. Sharp and intense at first. Like jabs from a fire poker. Then slow and dull, until it’s a constant ache deep in my bones.

“Em. It’s me. Can you hear me?”

The first voice. The voice that encouraged me and soothed me. The voice that was worried about me. But it’s different this time. Closer. Like it’s inside me—inside my mind—instead of heard through my ears. And with it, a touch. A hand circling mine. Large and warm. Strong, but gentle.

“Em. Em. Em…”

My eyes fly open. They immediately shut again, burned by the bright fluorescent lights above me. The dull ache behind my temples pulses and then ebbs. The hand wrapped around mine gives a squeeze, and I latch onto the gesture, squeezing back with all my limited strength.

Too weak.

My entire body is sore. I’ve never participated in any type of race, but I imagine this is how my muscles would feel afterward.

“Where am I?” My throat protests against my attempt to speak. The words come out dry and strained. I swallow, hoping it will soothe my voice, but there’s no moisture in my mouth to help.

“The Crescent Lake hospital,” someone replies.

The voice is familiar. It’s the one from my foggy dream, from my past. It belongs to someone I’ve grown increasingly comfortable with—someone I’m beginning to consider a friend.

Harrison.