Marked by the Midnight Alpha

Kidnapped but Make it Cardio

It wasn't a full punch; instead, the side of his hand snapped out like a deranged karate instructor in a B-movie. It connected with the area just above her ear, and suddenly her brain felt like it was hosting its own private fireworks show as her knees turned to jelly.

She dropped, the ground rising to meet her cheek in a rush of dead leaves.

Through the thick, underwater haze, she felt strong arms catch her before she fully crumpled. The world spun, jostled, then steadied as she was slung up and over a broad shoulder.

The last thing she heard, before everything slid away, was Blaze’s whisper, so gentle it barely registered over the roar in her ears: “It’s safer if you don’t remember the way.”

***

Consciousness returned in jagged bursts—a swinging rhythm of motion, the sting of cold air on her exposed ankles, the quick heartbeat of someone who wasn’t her.

Roslynn was dimly aware of being carried, jostled, and occasionally cradled as Blaze navigated the tangled forest at speeds that mocked the concept of human athleticism. It was like being duct-taped to the hood of a runaway truck, except the truck smelled like sweat, blood, and a trace of something wild.

Branches scraped against her back, snagging in her hair and leaving stinging marks along her arms. Blaze’s hold never loosened, not even when he needed both hands to vault over rocks or duck beneath a fallen trunk. He just pressed her tighter against him, locking her in place as if she were the most precious cargo.

In her more lucid flashes, she tried to struggle. The only response was a murmured, “Almost there, Roslynn. Hold on.”

She wanted to scream at him—she was not holding on, she was being held. But her mouth refused to cooperate, her tongue heavy and thick behind clenched teeth.

Eventually, the rhythm changed. The air grew colder, thinner, charged with a metallic tang. The pitch darkness of the forest broke open into a clearing, silvered with moonlight so sharp it looked forged.

Blaze slowed, footsteps softer now. He paused, his chest rising and falling against her cheek as he scanned the perimeter. She felt his heart throb, the wild-animal rhythm vibrating through both their bodies.

He crouched, lowering her carefully to the mossy earth. For a moment, Roslynn lay there, staring up at the fractured moon through tree branches. Then Blaze’s shadow loomed over her. He brushed a stray leaf from her forehead, fingers lingering with a tenderness that made her want to punch him.

“Sorry about the head,” he whispered. “But they can’t track you if you’re unconscious.”

He knelt beside her, drawing a thumb gently along the line of her jaw. “I’ll make this up to you, I swear.”

He hesitated, then added—so quietly she might have imagined it—“If you ever forgive me.”

He pressed his palm flat over her collarbone, over the mark that still burned like a live wire beneath her skin. She flinched, but couldn’t move away—didn’t want to move away. Heat spiraled from his touch, flooding her veins with liquid warmth that made her breath catch. His fingers traced the outline of the mark with agonizing slowness, his eyes never leaving hers, and for one suspended moment, the danger surrounding them transformed into something else entirely.

A low, guttural howl pierced the night, followed by the snap of branches and the wet, hungry panting that could only belong to something with too many teeth. The shadow-wolves were gaining—their paws striking the earth in an arrhythmic drumbeat that seemed to come from everywhere at once, their bodies moving like oil spills through the undergrowth.