Chapter 3

The antiseptic stench burned my nostrils before my eyes even opened. The steady beep of machines nearby pricked at my nerves, a stark reminder that I was still alive. The ache in my head throbbed in tandem with my heartbeat, sharp and relentless. My limbs felt heavy, like invisible chains weighed them down, but that didn’t stop me from sitting up.

The tug of something foreign against my skin made me glance down. An IV line snaked out of my arm, and the sight of it churned my stomach. I yanked at it with trembling fingers, wincing as the needle scraped my skin.

“Princess, stop!” a frantic voice cried out.

I didn’t care. “Get this off me,” I snapped, the harshness of my voice surprising even me.

The nurse, a petite woman with a round face and nervous hands, tried to intervene. “Please, Princess, you must rest! You—”

Her pleas were cut short by the sharp click of boots against the floor. My head whipped toward the sound, and there he was, Dalton, leaning against the doorframe like he owned the place.

“Done with your theatrics?” His cold, measured voice sliced through the room like a whip. His gray eyes locked onto mine, unyielding and sharp.

I glared back, refusing to let him see the exhaustion clawing at me. “What are you doing here?” I demanded, my voice hoarse.

He ignored the question, stepping into the room with his maddening calmness. The faint scent of leather and something distinctly him filled the air as he closed the distance between us.

“You’ve been unconscious for two days,” he said, his tone almost bored. “Try not to undo the work of those who saved you.”

Before I could retort, a balding man in a white coat entered. The doctor looked unimpressed as his gaze swept over me, taking in the dislodged IV and my attempt to stand. “Ah, she’s awake,” he said dryly. “And already trying to undo her treatment.”

“I don’t need treatment,” I shot back, my voice sharper than the IV needle I’d pulled out.

“Your body would disagree,” he replied evenly, crossing his arms. “You were on the brink of a coma. If you hadn’t been brought here when you were—and if I hadn’t cut my vacation short to perform surgery—you wouldn’t be standing here arguing with me.”

I clenched my jaw, refusing to acknowledge his point. “I’m the Alpha Princess. Royal blood runs through my veins. I would’ve healed.”

The doctor raised a brow, unimpressed. “Your royal blood wouldn’t have restarted circulation to your brain. Without intervention, Princess, you wouldn’t have survived.”

The truth of his words hung in the air, suffocating. I swallowed hard, the ache in my head now secondary to the weight in my chest. The nurse’s hands guided me back to the bed, and I didn’t resist this time.

“Your vitals are stable,” the doctor continued, his tone softening but only slightly. “But you’re underweight and dangerously weak. Rest and eat. It’ll be at least a week before you’re fully recovered.”

As they left, I let my head fall back against the pillow. The sterile ceiling stared back at me, its blankness mirroring the void I felt.

Dalton didn’t leave. Of course, he didn’t. Instead, he dragged a chair to the side of my bed, settling in with the nonchalance of someone who had all the time in the world.

“Why do you always try to run?” he asked, his voice low, probing.

“Why do you care?” I countered, forcing my gaze to meet his. His eyes were cold, calculating—a storm contained behind walls of ice.

“Because your reckless stunts make my life more difficult,” he replied. “I save your life, and you try to throw it away. Gratitude doesn’t suit you, does it?”

“Gratitude for what?” I snapped. “For trapping me here? For insisting on a marriage I don’t want?”

His lips quirked into that infuriating smirk. “Trapped? Funny, considering you’ve done nothing to leave.”

“I tried to leave,” I bit out, my voice rising. “Not that you’d let me go.”

He leaned back, his eyes never leaving mine. “Where would you even run, Princess? Back to your father’s pack?”

I froze, the weight of his words pressing down on me like a physical force. “No,” I said softly, my voice trembling despite myself. “I can’t face my father after…”

“After disgracing your family?” Dalton finished for me, his tone mocking.

My fists clenched. “You wouldn’t understand.”

His smirk faded, replaced by something sharper, darker. “Your father wouldn’t take you back even if you begged. And it doesn’t matter now. Gabriel has already destroyed the Blood Moon pack. Your family is imprisoned. Your mother has vanished. Your mate has ensured you have nothing left.”

The words hit me like a physical blow. “You’re lying,” I whispered, shaking my head. “The Blood Moon pack is invincible.”

“Not anymore,” he said simply.

The room spun. My breath came in shallow gasps as the weight of his words sank in. My family, my pack… gone?

“Why do you think your father agreed to this marriage?” Dalton pressed. “Your pack lost too many warriors in the last war. Your enemies are circling like vultures. Your father needs an Alpha King strong enough to protect you.”

“Strong enough, or ruthless enough?” I spat, the venom in my voice masking the cracks forming in my resolve.

He shrugged, unfazed. “Call it what you want. The threats we face don’t care about titles or bloodlines. They care about power. And I have it.”

The fire in my chest reignited, fueled by a desperate need to fight back. “Will you help me take revenge?”

His gaze sharpened, and for the first time, I saw something flicker behind his mask—curiosity, perhaps even respect. “Agree to marry me, and I’ll help you with anything.”

I studied him, my mind racing. “Why are you so desperate to marry me?”

Dalton chuckled, leaning forward. “You’ll find out soon enough. But for now, let’s just say… you’re part of a bigger plan.”

I clenched my fists. “I won’t agree unless you tell me everything.”

“Fair enough,” he said, standing abruptly. He pulled his shirt over his head, the movement fluid and unbothered.

“W-What are you doing?” I stammered, heat rushing to my face.