Raelynn's POV

I have no idea how long I've been driving. The moment I signed those papers, I climbed into the car without hesitation. I left Sable's thoughtfully packed suitcase behind, abandoning it in my blind rush, and took off with no specific destination in mind. Ten minutes out from the pack's borders, I stopped briefly—just enough time to find the nearest ATM. From that machine, I withdrew the maximum allowed, $2,500, fully aware my bank card, tied to Roldan’s account, wouldn’t work for much longer. Since then, I’ve kept driving, unable to stop, shrouded in a cocoon of absolute mental exhaustion.

By the time the sun has long set, my body begins to protest. Hunger gnaws at me, my muscles feel leaden with fatigue, and my eyelids grow heavier by the minute. Every instinct whispers to keep moving, but my physical condition fights back.

Maybe I shouldn’t quit driving—at least not yet. A pitiful $2,500 won’t last; it’ll vanish quickly if I’m not careful. I’ve been thrown out of my home and cast out of my pack, with no plan, no resources, no income—nothing but a handful of cash and a mountain of uncertainty. Whatever lies ahead is unclear, but I can’t let myself spiral. I refuse to.

But continuing like this—driving aimlessly, running on empty—is dangerous, bordering on irresponsible. I glance down at my stomach, aching but steady, and remind myself I’m no longer living for me alone. There are two tiny lives growing inside me. They’re all I have now, and I’m all they’ll ever know. No father. No pack. It’s just me.

Pain shoots through me, and I hold back the tears threatening to surface. I bury the sorrow deep, far enough so it can’t touch me right now.

Not yet. I’ll stop—yes. I’ll pull over, eat, find a place to spend the night, and figure out what comes next. One step at a time.

With renewed focus, I turn my attention back to the road. The steady glow of streetlights overhead offers comfort—a small reassurance. Wherever I am, it’s not likely the kind of place where you question whether you’ll wake up with everything where it belongs. That has to count for something.

Movement in my rearview mirror catches my eye. A black SUV trails several car lengths behind me. Nothing about the vehicle screams danger—it’s unremarkably nondescript, nearly blending into the night—but alarm bells begin to ring in my head.

You're being paranoid. Shake it off. Too much has hit you today. It’s just a random car.

But my wolf won’t stop pacing, alert and restless, growling low and incessantly. Her instincts scream, warning me to slam my foot on the gas and flee immediately. Something’s wrong.

Stop overreacting, Raelynn. You’re exhausted, not thinking straight.

Still, my eyes flicker again to the rearview mirror. The SUV maintains the same persistent distance, shadowing my every curve and turn with eerie precision. I squint to study it more closely, and that’s when I notice—there’s no license plate.

My stomach plummets. No plates? Every turn?

I’m being followed.

Every muscle tenses as realization floods over me, and my breath escapes in a shaky laugh. This has to be some sick dream—a surreal nightmare where everything that can go wrong does. Finding out I’m pregnant, being blackmailed into leaving my mate and pack, and now being stalked in a highway chase?

No. Not real.

But denial is a small mercy, pushing away panic that threatens to crack my fragile control. If I let those feelings take over, I’ll shatter, and I can’t afford that right now.

With trembling resolve, I hit the gas, the highway stretching out in front of me as my speed climbs. There’s no way I’ll let whoever’s back there get near me. Not me, not my twins—no way in hell.

As if refusing to be outdone, the SUV speeds up to match me. My denial fizzles, replaced by steely determination. Whoever they are, they chose the wrong wolf to mess with.

I scan the road ahead, noting the lack of nearby cars and despairing at how desolate the highway feels. No chance to lose them in traffic, no options for cover. Then, I see it—a highway exit sign a few miles away. Reckless ideas bubble to the surface as I evaluate my options.

The plan forming in my head is dangerous—recklessly, moronically dangerous. But it's all I’ve got. Steeling myself, I ease off the gas just enough to lure them closer. Predictably, the SUV takes the bait, inching nearer with every second.

The exit draws closer. My palms sweat, my heart hammers, every cell in my body bracing for impact. I keep driving straight, timing my move perfectly. Then, at the last possible moment, I slam the accelerator, veer hard to the right, and yank the wheel sharply left.

The world around me jerks violently as the SUV scrapes against my car, colliding with my back taillight. My car shudders under the impact, metal grinding against metal as I barely maneuver onto the exit ramp. My left side grazes the guardrail in the process, a hideous screech filling my ears.

Shaking, I gasp for air. But I’m alive. My little ones are safe.

Hang on, babies. Mom’s got you. We’re going to be okay.

I glance back, praying my stunt worked, desperate to confirm we’ve shaken them off. But the relief is fleeting. Blinding lights blaze back into view, closing in rapidly. My heart stutters as the adrenaline rush gives way to gut-wrenching dread.

The next moments blur into chaos. Lights explode in front of me—headlights, too close—followed instantly by a deafening impact. Pain sears through my head as something hard hits me. My steering wheel. The scream ripping through my throat barely registers amidst the noise.

Disoriented and reeling, I barely glimpse movement as my car door swings open. A rough hand grabs my arm, and a sinister voice cackles, “We got her!”

I don’t even hit the ground before another man tears me upwards, slamming me into the crumpled metal of my car. Pain spikes through every nerve, but fear keeps it at bay. Five figures hover before me, their faces obscured by balaclavas. There’s no way to know who they are.

Biting back terror, I shove the urge to panic far, far down. I can’t afford to lose control—not now.