Chapter 3

Kamrynn 

The words hit me like a hammer to the chest, knocking the air from my lungs. I stare up at her, my heart pounding, the weight of her warning settling over me like a suffocating blanket. 

Never. Another. Child.

I blink, trying to process what she’s just told me. My throat tightens, and a tear slips down my cheek. I’ve already lost three. I’ve already failed so many times.

Lysaa squeezes my hand, her voice trembling. “Is there anything we can do?” she asks. “Anything at all?”

Dr. Thorne sighs, her face softening slightly. “She needs rest. Complete rest. No more starving, no more beatings. No more... rough treatment. Her body is fragile right now. If the Alpha continues, it will be inevitable.”

I close my eyes, fighting back the sob that threatens to escape. Rest? How can I rest when Calvin sees me as nothing more than an object for his rage? He’ll never let me rest. He’ll never let me protect this child.

Dr. Thorne moves to the door, pushing it open slowly. Her brows furrow as she speaks, “I’ll come back to check on you in a few days,” she says quietly. “In the meantime, Lysaa will take care of you.”

Lysaa nods quickly, her face resolute. “I’ll do everything I can.”

The doctor takes one last look at me before leaving and closing the door behind her.

As soon as the door closes behind Dr. Thorne, Lysaa is in motion. Her eyes dart around the room, landing on the bloodstained sheets beneath me. 

"We need to get this cleaned up before he sees," she whispers urgently, already pulling at the corners of the sheet. “If the Alpha finds out…"

Her voice trails off, but the fear in her tone is unmistakable. Lysaa scampers around the bed, tugging at the fabric, careful not to let the bloodstains spread. I try to shift my body, but the chains hold me firmly in place, and I wince as the movement sends a fresh wave of pain through me.

"Hold still," Lysaa mutters, her voice tight with concentration. "I’ll figure it out."

I watch her work, her hands quick and efficient as she carefully maneuvers the sheet out from under me. It’s a delicate dance, and I can see the worry etched into her face as she hurries. She manages to slide a clean sheet beneath me without too much trouble, smoothing it down with practiced ease.

"Lysaa," I croak out, my throat dry. "Why do you believe me?"

She freezes for a moment, looking down at me with wide eyes. "What do you mean?"

I lick my cracked lips, my voice barely a whisper. “Everyone else in the Pack thinks I killed her. They think I’m a murderer. But you don’t… why?”

Lysaa hesitates, her hands clutching the clean sheet. She takes a deep breath, then looks at me with a softness in her eyes I haven’t seen in so long.

"Because you’re not like that," she says firmly. "I’ve always admired you, Kamrynn. You have a kind heart. You’ve been through so much, and yet… you’re still you. My gut tells me you didn’t kill Sherelle."

I shake my head, tears welling up in my eyes. "But why? Why do you trust me when everyone else thinks I’m guilty?"

Lysaa moves to sit on the edge of the bed, her fingers still gripping the sheet. "Do you remember when you helped me with the village kids?" she asks softly.

I blink, confused. "The village kids?"

She nods. "A few years ago. There were some pups in the village—orphans, like me. The Pack doesn’t always take care of the lower ranks. I was struggling to get enough food for them. I’d sneak what I could, but I was always afraid of getting caught. Then you found me."

Lysaa smiles a little, her eyes distant as she remembers. "You didn’t report me. You didn’t punish me. Instead, you gave me food for the pups. You told me you’d help keep it quiet so I wouldn’t get in trouble. To you, it probably seemed like a small thing. But to me… it was everything."

I stare at her, my throat tightening with emotion. "I didn’t realize…"

Lysaa shakes her head. "It meant the world to me, Kamrynn. I swore to myself that day that I would always help you however I could. I don’t believe for a second that you killed your sister. You’re not that person."

Her words hit me hard, and the tears I’ve been holding back finally spill over. I’ve been so alone. Since the day Sherelle died, I’ve felt like there’s no one left in the world who cares about me. Sherelle was my sister, my only family after our parents died protecting Calvin when we were 10. 

They were fearless warriors who protected the Alpha's family and they sacrificed their lives to protect the future Alpha when the Pack was attacked 11 years ago.

Sherelle was all I had. And now… it feels like she’s been stolen from me too.

"Thank you," I whisper, my voice breaking. "I’ve felt so alone since… since Sherelle died. I didn’t know anyone believed in me. I thought—"

"You don’t need to thank me," Lysaa interrupts, her voice soft but firm. "I only wish I could do more."

I let out a shaky breath, wiping at my eyes with the back of my hand. "There’s one more thing… Lysaa, I need your help."

Lysaa looks at me, her brow furrowed in concern. "What is it?"

"I need to escape," I whisper. "I can’t stay here. If I do, he’ll kill this baby. He’ll… he’ll kill me."

Lysaa’s eyes widen in shock, but she quickly schools her expression, glancing toward the door as if Calvin might barge in at any moment. "Escape?" she whispers. "How? He keeps you chained up all the time."

"I don’t know," I admit, the desperation clear in my voice. "But I have to try. If I don’t get out, I’ll lose this baby. I can’t… I can’t lose another one."

Lysaa’s face softens, and she nods slowly. "I’ll find a way," she promises. "I don’t know how yet, but I’ll find a way."

Just as the words leave her lips, there’s a sharp knock on the door. Both of us freeze, my heart pounding in my chest.

"Shit," Lysaa mutters under her breath. She glances at me, then hurries to the door, pulling it open just enough to see who it is.

It’s him.

Calvin stands in the doorway, his towering figure casting a long shadow into the room. His eyes are cold, calculating, as they sweep over Lysaa and then over to me, lying chained on the bed.

"Alpha," Lysaa greets him, her voice a little too calm, but I can hear the tremor beneath the surface.

He doesn’t acknowledge her, his gaze fixed on me, and my stomach tightens with fear. I try to keep my expression neutral, to keep my eyes down, but I can feel my body trembling. The urge to shield my belly from him is overwhelming, but my hands are chained, and I can’t move.

Don’t look at him. Don’t give him a reason to hurt you.

"Leave," Calvin says, his voice sharp and devoid of emotion. 

Lysaa scurries out, leaving me alone with him. The door closes softly, but it might as well be the sound of a thousand chains locking into place. I’m trapped. Trapped in this room, in this life, in this nightmare that never ends. My body trembles, not from fear, but from the sheer exhaustion of holding back everything I feel. 

The air between us feels suffocating, but it’s not the same kind of fear that used to grip me before. My heart hammers in my chest, but it’s not from panic—it’s something darker. Stronger. My body may be shaking, but it’s not just from terror anymore. There’s something else.

Hate.

He steps closer, his eyes cold and hard as they roam over me, but I don’t flinch the way I used to. I used to see him and feel my heart flutter. I used to hope—foolishly—that some part of him still remembered the girl I was. The girl who loved him with every piece of her heart. But now, looking at him, all I feel is hatred. The butterflies that once filled my stomach when I saw him are dead, rotted away under the weight of his cruelty.

The love I once had for him has turned to something twisted and bitter. Hate. Pure and seething. It boils under my skin, sharp and fiery, until I can barely contain it. He calls me a murderer, but what is he? He’s killed three of our children—three lives I never got to protect. His rage, his brutality, has taken everything from me. And he has the audacity to call me a murderer?

I grit my teeth, clenching my fists as hard as the chains will allow. My whole body tenses with the urge to scream at him, to shout at him, to claw his eyes out and make him feel even a fraction of the pain he’s inflicted on me. But I can’t. Not yet. Not while I’m still chained to this bed, with my body too weak to fight back.

He paces around the bed like a predator, his gaze sharp and assessing. He’s studying me, looking for any sign of defiance, any reason to punish me. His green eyes once filled me with warmth. Now, they make my stomach churn. There’s no trace of the boy I once knew in those eyes. The one who used to smile at me as we ran through the fields, laughing like there was nothing in the world that could touch us.

Now, there’s only cruelty. 

His gaze falls on the freshly changed sheets, and he frowns, the anger in his face barely concealed. “Why are the sheets changed?” he demands, his voice sharp, a command rather than a question.

I don’t answer right away. I can’t. The fury bubbling up inside me is too thick, too strong. I don’t trust myself to speak without the venom pouring out, without revealing just how much I hate him. I used to fear him, cower beneath his words, but now the only thing I fear is that I’ll lose control and let him see the loathing burning in my chest.

“I asked you a question, you filthy whore,” he snaps, stepping closer, his face inches from mine.

I bite my tongue, swallowing down the bitterness. “I… I’m sorry,” I manage to say, forcing the words out through clenched teeth. My body trembles—not in fear, but in an effort to hold back the flood of emotions threatening to break free.

Calvin studies me for a moment, his eyes narrowing. There’s something calculating in the way he looks at me, as if he’s searching for something he can use to hurt me, to break me further. But I won’t give him that satisfaction. Not anymore.

Then, his eyes flick down to my stomach, and something shifts in his expression. It’s subtle, but I see it. His gaze hardens even more, and his sneer deepens as if he’s figured out a secret I wasn’t ready to share.

He leans closer, his breath hot against my skin, and sneers. “Are you pregnant?”

The question hits me like a punch to the gut. My whole body goes rigid, my blood turning to ice in my veins. I can’t move. I can barely breathe. I keep my head down, willing myself not to react, but every muscle in my body tenses, instinctively wanting to shield my stomach from him. 

The fragile life inside me—the child I’ve somehow managed to protect this far—feels like it’s teetering on the edge of destruction. He’s already murdered three of our children, taken them from me with his brutality, and I know, deep down, if he finds out I’m pregnant again, this baby will be next.

Calvin leans in even closer, his voice dropping to a cruel whisper. “Answer me, bitch. Are you carrying my child?”