Lycan's Second Mate

Chapter 6 – Handed to Another Alpha

The convoy waited in the gray light of dawn.

Martha sat in the back of the middle SUV, wrists bound in front of her with thick leather straps. A belt crossed her waist, pinning her to the seat. The window beside her had fogged from her breath, leaving only a faint outline of the Snow Moon pack house—stone walls, high roofs, the courtyard where she had learned to walk and run and fight.

Home. And she was being driven away from it like contraband.

She hadn't eaten since the day before. Every tray the maids brought, she had refused. Her stomach cramped now, sharp and hollow, but she clung to the ache the way she had once clung to the mate bond. It was proof that at least one thing still belonged to her.

Outside, voices rose and fell through the cracked-open front window.

“Keep formation on the road."

“Report if you catch any rogue scent."

“Escort leaves in five minutes!"

Boots thudded on packed dirt. Doors slammed. An engine started somewhere ahead, then another, a low growl building into a steady rumble.

The door on her side opened. Cold air knifed in.

Brian climbed into the back seat and pulled the door shut behind him.

Martha's fingers tightened around the edge of the seat. She kept her gaze on the blurred glass, watching her own pale reflection instead of his face.

“I'm not going to run," she said, her voice flat. “You don't need to hover. You already won."

“This isn't about winning," Brian replied quietly. “It's about getting you to the border alive."

The word border scraped across her nerves. The line where her life split into a before and an after.

Engines revved. The SUV lurched as the convoy started to move. Trees and stone slid slowly past outside, then faster, the pack house shrinking behind them.

Brian reached into a small bag at his feet and pulled out a bottle of water and a wrapped sandwich.

“Here," he said, holding them out. “You haven't eaten in a day. Take it."

She didn't look at him.

“My body is mine," she said. “I'll decide what goes into it."

He flinched, as if the simple sentence had teeth.

“I deserve that," he said. “Probably worse."

“Definitely worse," she answered.

He set the bottle and sandwich in her lap anyway, careful not to brush her fingers.

“Martha," he said, “if you collapse halfway there, Alpha Davis's men won't care why. They'll just shove you in a car and keep driving. At least let me make sure you're strong enough to stand."

She almost laughed. “Stand? To walk into my own cage on steady legs?"

His jaw tightened.

“This isn't a cage," he said. “It's a bargain. One I can try to undo once I have the power."

She turned her head then, just enough to meet his eyes.

“You mean once you're wearing my father's title," she said. “Once you're alpha of a pack that sold me."

He swallowed.

“When I become alpha," he said slowly, “I'll have a voice your father never gave me. I can negotiate with Alpha Davis. I can find a way to bring you back or, at the very least, make sure you're safe where you are. This doesn't have to be forever."

Her chest tightened—not with hope, but with something closer to disgust.

“For our future," he insisted. “That's what all of this is for."

“In our future," she said, “I wasn't married off to your uncle while you slept with my sister."

Color drained from his face.

“I made mistakes," he said hoarsely. “I know that. But the rejection—"

“The rejection," she cut in, “you chose. No one held a knife to your throat in that basement. You looked at me in chains and decided I wasn't worth standing beside. That's the part I remember."

Pain flickered in his eyes.

“I did it to protect you," he said. “If I sent you away with the bond still intact, it would have ripped you apart. This way you have a chance to survive what's coming."

“Stop pretending you did me a favor," she said. “You didn't cut the bond for me. You cut it so you could marry Linda and still look at yourself in the mirror."

His hands curled into fists on his knees.

“Do you really think I don't feel anything?" he asked. “I wake up every night with my chest burning. My wolf won't stop howling. I see you every time I close my eyes."

“Then live with it," she said. “It has nothing to do with me anymore."

The words hung between them, final as a slammed door.

Brian's mouth parted as if he meant to argue, to beg, to reach for the pieces and shove them back together. In the end, he said nothing.

Silence settled in the car. The sandwich and water lay untouched in Martha's lap. The engine hummed. Tires hissed on wet asphalt as they left pack lands behind and slid into dense, shadowed forest.

Martha leaned her head back against the seat and let her eyes fall half‑shut. She didn't sleep. She counted breaths instead, matching them to the rhythm of the road.

One breath for the basement.

One for the moment Brian said Linda's name.

One for the sight of them in bed together.

With every breath, the thread connecting her to Snow Moon thinned. This wasn't her pack anymore. These weren't her people. Whatever came next, she would meet it alone.

Across from her, Brian stared out his own window. His reflection looked back at him—jaw tight, eyes hollow. His wolf paced and snarled in the back of his mind, furious and grieving, but he shoved the beast down and focused on the trees.

You did this, the wolf hissed. You chose power over her.

I chose survival, he shot back silently. For the pack. For everyone.

The wolf's answer was a low, bitter laugh that never reached his lips.

After a long stretch of road, the driver cleared his throat.

“Beta," he called, voice low. “We're close to the border. Alpha Davis's men should be waiting at the meeting point."

Brian dragged himself back to the present.

“Keep your eyes open," he said. “If you smell any rogues, you signal immediately. I don't want surprises today."

“Yes, sir."

The convoy slowed as the forest thinned. Ahead, the trees broke into a wide clearing. Another line of vehicles waited there—black SUVs with Alpha Davis's crest gleaming on the doors. Warriors in unfamiliar colors stood at attention, rifles slung over their shoulders.

The SUV rolled to a stop. Engines idled, growling softly.

“Stay in the car," Brian told the driver. He opened his door and stepped out into the cold air.

Mist clung to the ground, damp and chill. The border marker stood a few yards away—a weathered stone carved with old runes, half‑covered in moss. Everything about the place felt like a threshold.

Brian walked around to Martha's door and opened it.

She looked smaller than he remembered, wrapped in a plain coat over the clothes she had worn yesterday. Her hands, still bound, rested motionless in her lap. The belt across her waist had cut faint red lines into her dress.

“Undo the belt," Brian told one of the warriors. “Carefully."

The man leaned in and released the buckle. Martha did not move. Her legs were stiff, feet tingling from sitting too long.

Brian saw it in the way she shifted, the slight wince she tried to hide. For a second he hesitated, then bent and slid an arm under her knees and another behind her back.

She stiffened at the contact but didn't speak.

“I'll carry her," he said. “She won't be dragged."

No one argued. Warriors stepped aside as he lifted her from the seat.

She weighed almost nothing. Her head turned away from his shoulder, her gaze fixed on the gray sky. If she felt the warmth of his chest, she gave no sign. If she heard the roughness of his breathing, she ignored it.

Brian crossed the last few yards to the border stone.

A tall warrior broke ranks on the other side and came forward. A scar sliced along his jaw and disappeared into the collar of his uniform. When he spoke, his voice was deep and even.

“Beta Brian," he said, inclining his head slightly. “I am Owen, deputy to Alpha Davis. By his orders, I'm here to receive his bride."

Bride.

The word landed like a stone in Martha's stomach.

Brian tightened his hold on her for a heartbeat, then forced his arms to relax.

“This is Martha Taylor," he said. “Daughter of Alpha Taylor, of Snow Moon. As agreed."

Owen's gaze swept over her, cool and assessing, lingering for a fraction of a second on the straps around her wrists and the faint bruises at her throat. His expression didn't change.

“Good," he said. “Our Alpha is expecting her."

Brian's jaw clenched.

“There were rogue sightings near the east ridge last week," he said. “Keep your patrols tight. She reaches Alpha Davis unharmed, or Snow Moon will want answers."

Owen's mouth curved in something that was not quite a smile.

“We know how to guard what belongs to our Alpha," he replied. “You needn't worry about what happens on our side of the border."

Martha said nothing. She was tired of men discussing her safety like a shipment that might spoil.

“Very well," Brian said.

Slowly, carefully, he shifted Martha's weight and passed her into Owen's arms.

The moment his hands left her, something inside him lurched. His wolf threw itself against the walls of his mind, howling. Brian held himself rigid, fingers curling emptily at his sides as Owen lifted her with impersonal ease.

“Load her into the car," Owen ordered.

Alpha Davis's warriors moved at once. One opened the back door of the nearest SUV. Owen started toward it, Martha balanced in his grip as if she were weightless.

Brian stood at the border stone, boots rooted to the damp earth.

“Martha," he heard himself say.

Owen halted for a second and turned slightly so she could see back over his shoulder.

She twisted in his hold just enough to meet Brian's eyes.

Rain‑heavy clouds hung low above them; mist curled around their ankles. The world seemed strangely quiet—no engines, no shouted orders, just the thin, tremulous thread of silence between them.

Her face was pale, but her gaze was clear.

“I want you to know something," she said, her voice steady.

He swallowed.

“What?" he asked.

“I already let you go," Martha said softly. “Completely."

For a moment, neither of them moved.

The words slid into the space where the mate bond had once been, into every memory of stolen kisses and whispered promises, and settled there like ice.

Brian's throat worked. No apology, no excuse, no half‑formed plan came out. There was nothing left to offer that she hadn't already thrown back at his feet.

Owen shifted his grip and turned away, carrying her the rest of the distance to the waiting car.

Brian watched in silence as the deputy laid her on the back seat and stepped aside. The door shut with a dull, final thud.

Engines roared to life. Alpha Davis's convoy began to turn, tires grinding on gravel as the vehicles pulled away from the border and swallowed Martha into their formation.

Brian stood alone by the weathered stone until the last car disappeared into the trees and the clearing fell quiet again, the echo of her last words ringing in his chest like a verdict he could never appeal.