Caught Between Two Alphas

Chapter Two

Sophia

The stench hits me first—sweat, mold, and something sour that makes my stomach turn. My eyes crack open to dim blue light and shadows. Everything hurts.

My throat burns where the rope was, phantom pain from a death that already happened.

I died. Hannah Durand, Luna of Silverfrost Pack, strangled by her own mate.

But I'm breathing.

I try to sit up and freeze. This body—it's all wrong. My hands are swollen, fingers thick and clumsy. When I look down, I see pale flesh spilling over cheap leggings, a gut that pushes against a too-small shirt. These aren't my hands.

This isn't my body.

The memories come in fragments, not mine but somehow in my head. Sophia Alvarez. Omega. Born in Moonstone Pack's orphanage, raised in their kitchens, invisible to everyone who mattered.

Twenty-three years of being nothing to nobody. She died last night—heart gave out from the strain of carrying too much weight, too much shame. The pack probably hasn't even noticed she's gone.

And now I'm here, wearing her skin like an ill-fitting coat.

This is my life now.

I force myself to take stock. I'm in some kind of detention facility—concrete walls sweating with condensation, no windows, a dozen other omega girls sleeping on filthy pallets around me. The floor is sticky with God knows what.

Moonstone Pack's special holding pen for the unwanted. Sophia's memories tell me this is where they put omegas who step out of line, who forget their place. Sometimes girls disappear from here, sold off to other packs or worse.

The girl next to me has a black eye and stitches done with what looks like fishing line. She flinches when I move, pulling her knees to her chest. Can't be more than fifteen. Another memory surfaces—Moonstone takes orphan omegas young, breaks them early. Not like Silverfrost. We had standards. We had dignity.

The door bangs open. Three guards swagger in, all cheap cargo pants and scarred knuckles. "Up! Chow time, omegas!"

Nobody argues. We shuffle into line like cattle. My legs barely hold me—Sophia's body is weak, untrained. No wonder Moonstone produces such pathetic wolves. They starve their omegas of proper training, proper food, keep them weak and compliant. I stumble and one guard laughs. "Omega down!"

The others snicker. In Silverfrost, any guard who mocked an omega would answer to their Luna. To me. But I'm not Luna anymore. I'm just meat in cheap clothes.

In the cafeteria, I choke down gray slop that might be oatmeal. It tastes like paste and despair. Other girls whisper in corners about guards who come at night, about girls who don't come back. The pretty ones cluster together, trying to stay visible, stay safe. The broken ones, like me, eat alone. I catch my reflection in scratched metal—round face, plain brown eyes, split lip. Nothing like the Luna I was.

But behind those plain eyes, I'm still me. Still Hannah. And I need to get back to Silverfrost. Need to find out why Anson believed Allura's lies. Need to make them both pay.

The guards are lazy, barely watching us during laundry duty. Moonstone's always been sloppy—too much infighting, too much corruption. Their Alpha is weak, more interested in side deals with rogues than protecting his pack. That's why their territory bleeds wolves. That's why someone like Sophia could die and no one would care.

I memorize the exit keypad, the camera positions. Most of the cameras don't even work—the red lights are just for show. Classic Moonstone, all threat and no follow-through. When they herd us back to our cell at shift end, I already have a plan.

The black-eyed girl sits next to me on her pallet. "You've got the look of someone planning to run," she whispers. "Don't do it, girl. They catch everyone who runs."

"What happens to the ones they catch?"

She shudders. "You don't want to know."

But I'm not staying to find out. This place, this pack—it's everything wrong with our world. Omegas treated like slaves, sold like cattle. In Silverfrost, even our lowest omega had value, had protection. Anson made sure of that. Before he murdered me.

I wait until the others are asleep, their breathing deep and even. The hallway beyond our door is silent. The keypad glows blue in the darkness. On a wild guess, I punch in 6262—the last digits of Anson's old phone number. A number I'd dialed a thousand times, back when he loved me. Back when I thought love meant something.

The lock clicks open.

Sometimes the universe wants you to escape.

The hallway is empty, littered with old food trays and cigarette butts. More evidence of Moonstone's decay. I creep to a window at the far end, slide it open with Sophia's soft, weak hands, and squeeze through. My soft belly scrapes against the sill, catching on rusted metal, but adrenaline pushes me forward. I tumble into wet grass and run.

God, this body is a disaster. Every step is agony, thighs chafing, lungs burning like I'm breathing fire. The old me would've been miles away by now, but Sophia's legs are like concrete. She never ran, never trained, never learned to fight.

Moonstone made sure of that. Keep the omegas weak, keep them dependent. Keep them from ever threatening the power structure.

Still, I push forward into the tree line just as the first alarm splits the night. They'll check the cells soon, find me gone. But by then I'll be in the woods, heading for the only place that matters.

Silverfrost. Home. The place where I was Queen before my king decided to get rid of me.

Branches tear at my face, my shirt. The forest here is different from Silverfrost's manicured hunting grounds—wild, overgrown, full of thorns and poison oak. Moonstone doesn't maintain anything properly. I slip on moss and crash down a ravine, mouth full of dirt and dead leaves.

Behind me, I hear howls and radio static. They're hunting me, but they're sloppy about it. No coordination, no strategy. Just brute force and anger.

I don't know how long I run—an hour, maybe more—before the forest thins. My feet are bleeding through the thin canvas shoes, leaving red prints in the mud. The creek that divides pack territories gurgles nearby. Almost there. Almost free of this hellhole pack that let Sophia die unloved and unmourned.

I collapse on the bank, chest heaving, body screaming. Everything hurts.

Sophia's body wants to give up, wants to lay down and die again. But I won't let it. I have too much to do. Too many people to make suffer.

That's when I hear it. A twig snapping.

A hand grabs my ankle and yanks me backward. I scream—hoarse and pathetic—as I'm dragged through the mud. When I twist to look, my blood freezes.

Rogues. Four of them, all wild hair and meth-rotted teeth. The leader grins, showing yellowed fangs. "Got us a fat little runner. Moonstone omega by the smell of her."

"Let go!" I snarl, kicking at him. He just laughs and plants his boot on my thigh, pinning me.

"Easy, omega. Ain't nobody gonna hurt you. Not unless you want us to." His eyes travel over Sophia's body, lingering on the torn shirt. "Moonstone don't even mark their omegas proper. Won't nobody come looking for you."

He's right. Moonstone doesn't protect its omegas. Doesn't value them enough to search. Not like Silverfrost, where every wolf mattered. Where I made sure every wolf mattered.

The others circle in, reeking of wet dog and desperation. One traces the torn hem of my shirt. "Bet she tastes sweet. Moonstone omegas always do. All that fear makes the meat tender."

His hand goes to his zipper, and something in me snaps. I'm not dying again. Not like this. Not in Sophia's body, unmourned and forgotten.

I bite the leader's hand hard enough to taste blood. He howls and backhands me, but I don't stop. I claw at his eyes, spit blood in his face. He slams my head against the ground. Stars explode behind my eyes.

The others grab my legs, pinning me down. The second one fumbles with his pants, breath hot in my ear. "Should've stayed in Moonstone, little omega. Least there you had walls."

This is it. Two deaths in two days, both of them ugly—

The world explodes.

A blur of motion tears through them. The first rogue flies into the creek with a sickening splash. The second takes a boot to the skull that sounds like a watermelon hitting concrete. The other two try to run, but the figure is already on them, slamming them into craters in the dirt.

I roll aside, spitting blood, watching the leader crawl from the water. The newcomer catches him one-handed and drives his face into a pine trunk. Bone cracks. He drops.

In the sudden silence, I push myself up on shaking elbows.

The figure turns to me, and my heart stops.

Alcyde.

Anson's younger brother stands there in the moonlight—taller than I remember, shoulders broader, those electric blue eyes that could pin you to a wall. Blood spatters his knuckles, but his black shirt and jeans are spotless. He was always particular about his appearance, even when breaking bones.

We stare at each other. He doesn't recognize me. Why would he? I'm wearing a stranger's face.

He takes a step closer. "Who are you?"

The smart thing would be to lie completely. Give him Sophia's name and nothing else. But my mouth moves before my brain catches up.

"Ace?"

He recoils like I've slapped him. That nickname—only I ever called him that. His eyes narrow dangerously. "Who the hell told you that name?"

My mind races. "Sorry, it's a Southern thing. Where I grew up, we call everyone Ace. Like honey or sugar, you know? Thanks for the save, Ace."

He kneels in the mud, getting close enough that I can smell his cologne—same one he wore to my wedding. "Nobody's called me that in a long time."

"Well, today's your lucky day then, Ace. Unless you prefer sir? Master? Your royal wolfness?"

He studies my face like he's looking for something. "You got a name, little runner?"

"Sophia. Sophia Alvarez." The lie comes easy. This is who I am now.

"You Moonstone?"

I nod, then make a disgusted face. "Was. That pack is a special kind of hell. You know they keep omega girls locked up like livestock? Feed us paste and call it food? The Alpha there sells girls to the highest bidder, calls it 'pack alliances.' I had to get out before I ended up shipped to some backwater territory as breeding stock."

"And you thought running through rogue territory at night was smart?"

"Smarter than waiting for my turn on the auction block. Moonstone's got deals with the rogues anyway—they let them hunt the borderlands for runaways. Probably get a finder's fee for every omega they drag back." I spit blood to the side. "I'd rather die free than live as Moonstone property."

"Running to where?"

"Silverfrost territory." I watch his face carefully. "Heard the Alpha there actually gives a damn about his wolves. Heard omegas have rights there. Protection. Dignity." My voice cracks a little—it's not even acting. "Heard their Luna made sure of it before she died."

His jaw tightens. "The Luna was murdered. Two days ago."

"Murdered?" I let shock fill my voice. "But everyone said Silverfrost was—"

"Safe? Civilized?" He laughs bitterly. "Every pack has its secrets."

You have no idea.

"Still better than Moonstone," I say. "That hellhole killed my parents, worked them to death in the mines. Kept me in the kitchens since I was seven. You know what they call omega orphans there? Pack property. Not even wolves, just things to be used up."

He stands and offers his hand. "Silverfrost doesn't usually take in rival pack omegas."

"Then send me back." I meet his eyes. "Send me back to be sold or bred or worked to death. At least Moonstone's honest about being monsters."

He pauses, then hauls me up like I weigh nothing. His grip is warm, familiar. For a second, I'm back at my Luna ceremony, dancing while he watched from the edge of the room, always watching, never quite joining.

"Can you walk?"

I nod, though my legs are jelly. "I've been walking my whole life, Ace. Away from Moonstone, toward something better. I can make it."

"Good. We need to move."

We walk through the forest in silence. Every few minutes he glances back, checking I'm still there. After a while, he says, "You shouldn't know that name. Ace. Only one person ever called me that."

"Like I said, southern thing. My mama was from Georgia, before Moonstone took her. She called everybody Ace, taught me to do the same. Said it made people feel special, even when they weren't." I pause. "You seem pretty special though, saving strange omegas from rogues."

"Only the ones who bite back."

"Lucky for me I've got teeth then."

Twenty minutes later, I'm stumbling. Sophia's body has nothing left. All those years of malnutrition and no training are catching up. I trip on a root and start to fall, but Alcyde catches my arm, steadying me.

"Easy."

I lean on him, just for a moment. He doesn't pull away.

"I'm not dying on you," I say. "Made it out of Moonstone, I can make it to Silverfrost."

He looks at me with those piercing eyes, and I wonder if he sees through this borrowed flesh to who I really am.

"Sometimes starting over is all you can do," he says quietly.

The Silverfrost compound appears through the trees—buildings hunched together like sleeping wolves, windows glowing warm. The smell of bacon and woodsmoke makes my chest ache. Home. Even if it isn't anymore. Even if the man who rules it murdered me with his bare hands.

At the gate, he pauses. "They'll ask questions. Don't give them anything you don't want to. I'll vouch for you if needed."

"Why would you do that for a Moonstone runaway?"

He shrugs. "Maybe you remind me of someone. Someone who stood up for omegas. Someone who would've hated what Moonstone does to its weak."

My heart pounds. "Your Luna?"

"Yeah." His voice is rough. "She would've burned Moonstone to the ground for what they do. Maybe that's why—" He stops.

"Why what?"

"Nothing. You sure about your name? Sophia?"

"It's the only thing I've got that's really mine. Moonstone took everything else."

"Alright, Sophia. Let's see if you survive the night."