Chapter Three

Willow

Two days pass inside the cabin. I know it’s two days, because that’s exactly how long my emergency water supply lasts.

In that time, the broken glass is never disturbed. Maybe the rogue alpha couldn’t lock onto my scent. Or maybe he simply wasn’t bothered to chase after me.

On the third morning, I dare to poke my head outside.

What are the odds I’ll see him again? After all, we went several months without running into each other, and if he really wanted to track me down … he would’ve done it by now.

Treading lightly on wobbly legs, I make my way through the forest, scanning my surroundings with each step. My whole body is cloudy with hunger, my vision pulsing, but I don’t drop my guard for a second.

Am I being watched? Or am I being paranoid?

Finally, I reach the curtain of trees between me and the riverbank, glancing from side to side. Once I’ve grabbed my net, and my basket, I’ll go searching for another fishing spot. In and out.

Cautiously, I approach the river. The fishing net is just where I left it—minus the fish.

Did that bastard seriously steal my catch ?

Huffing, I check my basket. At least the fruits and mushrooms are intact.

My fingers stiff with cold, I can barely get a grip on the net before my joints lock. Just as I think I’ve finally got it untangled, a twig snaps behind me.

I shoot up, checking the trees. No movement. No alphas. After a moment, I release my breath.

Calm down, Willow. It was probably just a bird.

Returning to the net, I manage to find the corners, folding it in two. If I sling it over my shoulder, it shouldn’t get too knotted.

“You’re awful at this.”

His voice cuts through the air like a blunt knife—deep, rough, male.

The net slips as I spring to my feet. I almost want to grab the basket, so at least he won't get his hands that , but I can’t take my eyes off of him.

The tall, familiar alpha emerging from the trees.

His crimson eyes find mine. Eyes I recognize from my fleeting dreams over the last couple days. He scans me with predatory intensity.

“You followed me,” I choke out.

He shrugs. “You made it easy.”

Only then do I notice his scent, both sharp and sweet, like burnt cinnamon. Pure alpha .

I take a step back. “I don’t want any trouble.”

“Trouble?” He scoffs. “You don’t need my help with that, omega.”

For a minute he just watches me, like he wants to see whether I’ll run. His entire physique radiates power, wearing nothing but loose pants and that tattered cloak.

He can’t be much older than me, but I’m guessing he’s livedin the wilds since long before I showed up. Or maybe it just looks that way, considering he’s covered in dirt.

And blood.

“You must be hungry,” he says.

“I’m fine,” I snap.

Of course, at that very moment, my stomach rumbles, clenching painfully.

The alpha reaches behind his back and presents a dead rabbit. It’s still dripping blood—fresh from the hunt. I can’t help but flinch at the soft, wet thud as he throws it at my feet.

“Here,” he grunts.

I grit my teeth. “I don’t want this.”

My stomach rumbles again, and I wish I could rip it out.

“Consider it a trade for the fish. Besides.” His glare darkens. “Winter’s coming, and you look like you’re about to keel over.”

That only makes me bristle more. “I said I don’t want it.”

He strides forward. “Don’t be stu—” Instantly, I step back. The alpha stops. Huffs. “Listen, omega. If you go bolting off like last time, and waste more good meat, you and me are gonna have a problem.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“What? For the love of— no. I’m just saying, you don’t have to be so damn jumpy.”

“‘Jumpy’ tends to happen when rogue alphas sneak up on me.”

His eyes flash with irritation. “Not my fault you’re a flight risk.”

No. I guess it isn’t. But then … why bother with the rabbit? It feels more like a peace offering than a trade. And I refuse to accept charity from someone who has every power to turn it against me.

Finally, I tell him, “I don’t need your help.” Even as the words come out, my insides twist into cold, demanding knots.

He says, “You’re never gonna make it through the winter. Hell, I don’t know if you’re gonna survive the day.”

Like my body is responding to his words, a wave of dizziness washes over me. I shuffle my feet, determined to stay standing.

“Just take the damn rabbit,” he growls. “The sooner you get your strength back, the sooner you can stay out of my way.”

My inner omega whines, wishing I could trust him, wishing I could eat . But for all I know, he sees this as some warped attempt at courtship. If I accept, his alpha will take over.

I grab my basket. “How about this? You stay out of my way, and I’ll stay out of yours.”

He rumbles, “My territory. My rules.”

His territory? Until a couple days ago, I didn’t even know he existed!

Reading the confusion on my face, the alpha huffs. “Well, it’s mine now.” Those crimson eyes sharpen. “Don’t forget it.”

Dread sinks through me. Rabbit forgotten, I take a step back. Then another.

“Hey,” he growls, “you even listening, omega?”

With a couple more tentative paces, I turn on my heel and bolt into the trees. The alpha’s snarl follows me, the wind spiked with his pheromones.

My heart pounds, each beat echoing through my cavernous insides. He knows what I am now. Who’s to say he doesn’t also know where I live?

I’m wheezing by the time I make it back to the cabin. Broken glass crunches under my boots. I glance over my shoulder, checking I’m still alone, before letting myself inside.

Only then does the reality of the situation come crashing down. A rogue alpha has just moved into my neck of the woods, literally, and staked his claim. Where does that leave me, tucked away in a cabin at the top of the mountain? It was miracle enough that I found this place—decrepit and uninviting though it may be. If I have to go looking for somewhere new, I’ll likely to freeze to death.

No . Rage fires up inside of me. This is my cabin. That stupid rogue can say what he wants— I got here first.

Forcing myself to my feet, I stumble about the kitchen. The previous owner didn’t leave much behind. Some soggy furniture. A few rusted utensils. The old fishing net.

Plus … I rummage through the drawers until my hand clutches something narrow and pointed.

An arrow.

Two arrows to be exact, plus a brittle bow. When I first found them, I figured it would be no use—only my oldest siblings were trained in archery. But I guess expertise is a luxury I can’t afford.

After all, a weapon is a weapon.

I sprawl the bow and arrows out on the bench. My dread morphs into determination.

That rogue was wrong. This isn’t his territory.

It’s mine.