The van was silent.

Alaric didn’t move. His body was still curved around her like a snare trap half-sprung, fangs retracted, claws twitching—but held back. Barely.

Seraphine didn’t breathe. Her skin burned where his hand had grazed her stomach, the echo of that threat still hanging between them.

Then he turned his head, eyes flicking toward the forest’s edge.

“Grandmother,” he said, voice flat but sharp-edged.

Marian Montenegro stood under the gray sky like a blade of silver steel, her white coat immaculate despite the blood and mud around her. Her wolves flanked her in silence, their postures sharp, eyes watchful.

“You are not going to kill your heir,” Marian said calmly.

Seraphine blinked. Her heir?

Alaric straightened slowly. His shirt still hung open, his chest marked with scratches and blood, but the real violence was in his eyes. “Heir,” he said with a sneer. “Or liability.”

“She’s carrying your child,” Marian said, as if that ended the conversation. “And that child is legitimate, because you marked her.”

“It was a mistake.” Alaric’s voice was almost a growl. “I didn’t know she was—”

“You marked her.” Marian repeated. “And the Alpha family does not recognize illegitimate children.”

His jaw ticked. Seraphine watched as tension curled in every inch of his body, the need to fight, to lash out. But Marian’s gaze was iron. He didn’t challenge her.

Not here. Not now.

And for one terrifying moment, Seraphine understood: Marian Montenegro was the real power behind the Bloodshadow Pack.

Then Marian’s gaze shifted—to her.

It wasn’t kind.

“Can you walk?” she asked curtly.

Seraphine nodded, barely. Her legs were shaking, but pride refused to let her fall. She pulled herself upright, ignoring the sting in her bruised ribs and the ache between her shoulders. She looked at Alaric, then back at Marian.

“I don’t want anything,” Seraphine said. “I just want to leave.”

Marian gave her a look that might have been amusement—or pity. “Too late for that.”

They brought her to a clinic on the outskirts of the territory. Clean, efficient, heavily guarded.

The doctors confirmed it: she was pregnant. Around seven weeks. Her body was too fragile, too damaged by trauma, silver, and repeated suppression of her Wolf. An abortion would likely kill her.

Alaric said nothing during the examination. Just stood in the corner, arms crossed, eyes locked on her like she was both puzzle and trap.

Afterward, she sat in a private recovery room, a warm blanket around her shoulders. The butler—an older man named Gregor—entered with a calm face and a document in hand.

“Miss Argent,” he said. “There are conditions for your protection. A contract, approved by the Montenegro matriarch.”

Seraphine didn’t answer.

He laid the document in front of her. “You and Mr. Alaric Montenegro will enter a temporary marital alliance. It will remain in effect until the child is born.”

She stared at him.

“You want me to marry him?”

“Temporarily. To protect the child’s legitimacy under Alpha law.”

“And after?”

“You leave. Quietly. Without making claims. In exchange, the Alpha family will grant you one wish—any one thing within our power.”

Seraphine’s mind spun. This was too much. Too fast.

Alaric sat on the opposite couch, arms draped lazily across the cushions like a king watching a court jester dance.

“You get to live,” he said. “Not a bad deal, considering.”

Seraphine turned to Gregor. “And if I refuse?”

“The child will be taken,” he said calmly. “You will not survive the process.”

Seraphine swallowed.

“I didn’t choose this,” she whispered. “I never wanted—”

“And yet here we are,” Alaric cut in. “Isn’t fate funny?”

Her hands clenched the edge of the blanket. She stared at the contract. Temporary marriage. One wish. Then gone.

“What would you ask for?” Gregor asked, still polite.

She didn’t hesitate.

“An hourglass.”

Both men blinked.

Alaric narrowed his eyes. “Excuse me?”

“There was an old toy hourglass,” she said. “Wooden frame. Glass cracked in one corner. It belonged to my mother.”

Alaric leaned forward. “You’re offered money. Power. A second chance. And you want a toy?”

“It’s not a toy,” she said. “It’s all I have left.”

Gregor’s expression didn’t change. “Are you certain?”

She nodded. “Yes.”

Even Alaric looked… thrown. “You're insane.”

“Better than being cruel,” she snapped, eyes flashing. “You wanted to gut me. And now you sit there acting like I’m the problem?”

His smile sharpened, dangerous. “You were never the problem. Just the bait.”

Seraphine stood. “Fine. Let’s do this. But don’t think for a second I’m staying quiet if something happens to this child.”

Alaric rose too, closing the distance in two steps. He didn’t touch her—just leaned close enough that she could feel the heat of him.

“You think you’re strong?” he murmured. “You’re broken. No Wolf. No family. No safety. You belong to me now, Seraphine Argent. Not because I want you—but because I own you.”

She met his gaze without flinching. “Then be careful what you own. Because one day, it might bite you.”

Later that night, Seraphine lay in a new room—a guest wing of the Montenegro estate. The sheets smelled like expensive detergent. The floor was polished wood, and a window looked out onto a silver garden where wolves patrolled under moonlight.

She didn’t sleep.

Her hand rested on her stomach, fingers splayed protectively.

Seven weeks. A tiny life. A piece of herself… and him.

She hated this.

She hated him.

But she couldn’t kill her child. No matter how it was conceived, it was hers now. The only family she had left.

A soft knock broke the silence.

She sat up as the door opened.

Marian Montenegro stepped inside.

Alone.

“May I sit?” she asked, without waiting for an answer.

Seraphine nodded numbly.

Marian sat in the armchair near the bed. She was quiet for a long time. Then:

“You’re not what I expected.”

“I’m not what anyone expected,” Seraphine replied.

“You loved your family,” Marian said. “I remember your father. He was proud, fierce. Arrogant. But good.”

Seraphine’s throat tightened.

“I’m sorry we didn’t protect you,” Marian said. “I thought you were dead, like the rest.”

Seraphine looked away. “I might as well have been.”

“No,” Marian said. “You survived. That makes you dangerous. And valuable.”

Seraphine turned her gaze to the older woman. “Why are you helping me?”

Marian smiled faintly. “Because Alaric won’t survive this without you. He’s lost. Bleeding from a thousand invisible wounds. I need someone who can fight him… and love him, even if he doesn’t deserve it.”

“I don’t love him.”

“Not yet,” Marian said. “But pain recognizes pain. And you’re both full of it.”

Seraphine looked down at her stomach. The hourglass ticked inside her mind, soft grains of memory and time. Everything she lost. Everything she might gain.

She didn’t know what the future held.

But she knew one thing.

She would survive. Someday she would take back everything.