Lycan's Second Mate

Chapter 5 – Sold and Betrayed

Rain swallowed the forest as Martha ran.

Mud sucked at her boots; branches slapped her arms; wind drove the downpour straight into her face until every breath tasted like cold metal. Her dress was a sodden weight around her legs. Her hair, once neatly braided, hung in dark ropes that slapped her cheeks and neck. Water streamed from her lashes so fast she couldn't tell where the rain ended and her tears began.

No one would have recognized the alpha's daughter now. Not the girl groomed for alliances and speeches—only a soaked runaway with nothing left but stubbornness to keep her moving.

She stumbled on a root and crashed to one knee. Pain jolted up her leg. For a heartbeat she stayed there, palms pressed into the slick earth, shoulders shaking as the storm hammered her down.

Brian's room burned behind her eyes: the warm lamplight on the tangled sheets, Linda's pale hair spread over his pillow, Brian's hands on her sister's skin, his head bent to Linda's throat the way it had once bent to hers. The memory squeezed her chest so hard she could barely breathe.

“He didn't just let Father use him," she whispered into the rain. “He chose this."

Her wolf stirred, tired and hoarse. “He chose what your father offered," the wolf said. “Future alpha. Power. A safe path."

“Over me," Martha said. The words tasted like rust. “Over our bond. Over everything we were."

Sadness tore through her, raw and bright. Under it, anger rose, hotter and steadier.

At Brian, for cutting her loose to climb higher.

At Linda, for reaching—as she always had—for whatever belonged to Martha.

At Alpha Taylor most of all, for lining up his daughters like game pieces and calling it strategy.

“He thinks he can trade me away and walk off with everything," she muttered. “Alpha Davis's favor, Linda safe at home, Brian as his loyal heir. He thinks I'll bow my head and go quietly."

The rain roared around her, drumming on leaves and skin.

“I won't," she said. “I swear I won't let him get what he wants with my life."

She forced herself upright and staggered forward again. Every muscle shook, but she dragged one foot ahead of the other. One more step. One more refusal.

Shouts cut through the storm.

“There! On the slope!"

Martha glanced back. Through the gray sheet she saw dark shapes moving—warriors in Snow Moon colors, spreading out between the trees. Their boots slammed through puddles, shoulders hunched against the weather.

“The alpha's daughter!" one called. “Miss Martha, stop!"

“You're still weak," her wolf warned. “You can't outrun them like this."

“I don't have to outrun them," Martha panted. “I just won't walk back for him."

She veered left, but the ground dropped away sharply. Mud slid beneath her feet; she grabbed for a sapling and barely kept from tumbling down the ravine.

Two warriors appeared ahead, blocking the way.

“Miss Martha," the older one called, hands spread, sword still sheathed. “Please. One more step and you'll fall."

“Move," she snapped.

Rain ran off the rim of his hood as he shook his head. “I can't. Alpha Taylor ordered us to bring you home alive."

“Alive so he can sell me himself," she said.

His jaw tightened, but he didn't argue.

More warriors crashed in behind her. In seconds she was ringed in a half‑circle of wet uniforms and uneasy faces.

“We don't want to hurt you," someone said. “Don't make us."

Her wolf's voice was a low rasp. “Live first," it urged. “Then fight. Dead, we change nothing."

Martha's lungs burned. Her vision frayed at the edges. She wanted to keep running until the whole world fell away—until she couldn't see Linda's hands on Brian or her father's cold eyes at the war table.

But stubbornness alone wouldn't break iron chains or tear treaties.

Slowly, she let her hands fall open.

“Fine," she said, the word scraping her throat. “Take me back. But understand—I'm not agreeing. I'm only breathing."

The older warrior nodded once, solemn. He stepped in with another on her other side. Their grips were firm but careful as they took her arms.

The walk back to Snow Moon Pack felt longer than the escape.

By the time the gray stone walls rose through the storm, Martha's dress was stained darker with mud, plastered to her knees. Her hair hung in dripping tangles. Servants paused under the eaves as she passed between the warriors. Some turned away quickly. None spoke.

Inside, heat and smoke hit her all at once. The air smelled of wet wool and burning logs. The warriors steered her down a side corridor. At the heavy double doors of Alpha Taylor's war room, they released her and stepped back.

One knocked. “Alpha. She's here."

“Send her in," came her father's voice, clipped.

Martha pushed the door open herself.

Maps covered the long table at the center of the room, borders inked in sharp lines. Alpha Taylor stood at the head, hands planted on the wood. A few senior warriors lingered along the wall.

Brian stood near the far end of the table.

He had changed into dry clothes, but his hair still curled damply over his forehead. His eyes were shadowed. For an instant, something in Martha flinched toward him out of habit, searching for the warmth that had once been there.

Then she remembered him in Linda's bed, and the reflex died.

Alpha Taylor's gaze swept over her, taking in the mud, the soaked dress, the shivering.

“Look at yourself," he said, voice low. “Running through the forest in a storm, chased by your own warriors. Do you have any idea how that makes this pack look?"

“Like it has a daughter who won't be traded," Martha answered.

His jaw tightened. “You will not use that word. This is an alliance. Without Alpha Davis's support, our borders are exposed. Our enemies watch. You know what is at stake."

“I know you're willing to hand me over to fix it," she said. “That's not the same thing."

“You have already cost me enough," he replied coldly. “I spent this morning smoothing things over. Alpha Davis is not amused by brides who run."

“Did you tell him why I ran?" she asked. “Or just apologize for the inconvenience?"

“I told him the truth," Alpha Taylor said. “That you are young and emotional—but that Snow Moon keeps its word. With or without your cooperation."

The words landed hard.

“So you promised him I'll still be delivered," she said quietly.

“Yes." He straightened. “He is sending his escort to meet you at the border at dawn. From there, you will travel under his protection."

He turned his head slightly. “Brian."

Brian stepped forward. “Yes, Alpha."

“You know my daughter better than anyone," Alpha Taylor said. “Well enough that you should have predicted this. You didn't. So you will repair the damage."

Brian's shoulders tightened. “I accept responsibility," he said. “I should have watched more closely."

“Then you will escort her," Alpha Taylor said. “You will keep her in your sight until you hand her over to Alpha Davis's men yourself. No more escapes. No more mistakes."

For a moment the room felt too small.

Martha looked at Brian.

“You'll do that?" she asked, her voice rough from rain and running. “You'll take me to him with your own hands?"

His throat worked. His wolf snarled inside him, but his face stayed calm.

“Yes," he said.

The single syllable cut cleaner than claws.

Something in Martha went very still. Whatever fragile hope had survived the basement and the storm finally snapped. She stared at him as if he were a stranger, then turned back to her father without another word.

Brian flinched as if struck, but he didn't take his answer back.

Alpha Taylor exhaled, satisfied. “Good. We leave at first light. Until then, you"—his gaze pinned Martha—“will remain under guard. There will be no second attempt."

He signaled the warriors at the door. “Take her to her room. Lock the windows. Post guards. If she tries to run again, restrain her by any means short of killing her."

The warriors moved toward her.

Martha didn't fight them. Hands and doors weren't the real prison here; the real trap was the promise her father had already made for her life.

But as they led her out, boots thudding in step with her own, she held tight to the anger burning in her chest. It was the only warmth she had left.

Let her father think he had won.

Let Brian tell himself this was duty.

She walked away soaked, furious, and unbowed, one vow steady in her mind with every step toward the locked room waiting for her.

This is not over.