I woke up to silence.
Just quiet.
My eyes opened slowly. White canvas above me. A clean tent and warm, soft bed underneath me.
Not the forest floor. Not dirt and leaves.
I touched my stomach.
Still round. Still moving. The babies kicked under my palms.
"Thank God," I breathed. "You're okay."
I sat up carefully. Everything ached but nothing hurt that bad. I looked down clean clothes, bandages on my arms where I'd scraped them running.
Someone had taken care of me.
The tent was nice. Thick blankets, pillow, supplies stacked neatly in the corner. And guards outside I could hear them moving.
I was a prisoner.
My bag sat in the corner. I grabbed it fast, checked inside. Most of my stuff was there but the knife was gone.
Of course.
The tent flap opened. An older woman walked in carrying a tray. Grey hair tied in a bun, healer's robes, sharp eyes that missed nothing.
"You're awake. Good. Lay back down."
I didn't move. "Where am I?"
"Safe. Now lay down before you hurt yourself."
"I need to leave—"
"You're not going anywhere." She set the tray down, moving toward me. "You've been unconscious for two days. Your body is exhausted. Those babies are growing too fast and taking everything from you."
Two days. I'd been out for two days.
"The babies…"
"They are fine. Strong heartbeats. But you're five and a half months now according to my count." She pulled back my blanket, lifted my shirt without asking.
I wanted to stop her but was too weak.
Her hands pressed on my stomach. Checking. The babies kicked against her palms.
"They're big. Very big for this stage. You could give birth any day now."
My blood went cold. "What? No, it's too early—"
"For a normal pregnancy, yes. But these aren't normal babies." Her eyes met mine. "Lycan blood makes them grow faster. Six month pregnancy instead of nine."
I couldn't breathe. Six months. That meant less than two weeks left.
"I need to leave," I said again.
"You need bed rest,healthy food and medicine." She pulled my shirt back down. "Does the father know?"
I looked away.
"I'll take that as a yes since you're here." She moved to the tent entrance. "I'll bring food. Eat it. All of it. Those babies need nutrition."
She left.
I sat there shaking. Two weeks. Maybe less.
I had to get out of here.
The tent flap opened again.
He walked in.
Vaelor. Vae. Whatever his real name was.
He looked terrible. Eyes bloodshot, hair messy, clothes wrinkled like he'd been wearing them for days. Dark circles under his eyes.
He'd been here the whole time. Watching over me.
"You're awake," he said quietly. Relief flooded his face. "Thank the Moon."
I turned my head away. I looked at the tent wall instead.
"How are you feeling?"
Silence.
"The healer says the babies are doing well. Growing strong."
I didn't respond.
He moved closer. I heard the chair scrape as he sat down beside the bed.
"Lara…."
"That's not my name."
He went quiet for a second. "What should I call you?"
I didn't answer.
"You scared me," he said softly. "When you collapsed, when I saw the blood I thought I'd lost you. Lost them."
My jaw clenched. He didn't get scared. Didn't get to care.
"I know you're angry," he continued. "I know you don't trust me. But I swear I'm not going to hurt you. Either of you."
Still nothing from me.
"They're mine too," he said. "I can feel them. Through the bond. When they move, I can feel it. When you're scared, I can feel it. When…"
His hand reached toward my stomach.
I slapped it away hard.
"Don't touch me."
Pain crossed his face. Actual pain, like I'd hit him.
"They're mine," I said, voice flat and cold. "Not yours. Mine."
"They're both of ours—"
"No. You're just the guy from one night. That doesn't make you their father."
His jaw tightened. "That's not fair."
"Life's not fair." I finally looked at him. Let him see how much I meant it. "You left. Disappeared. I've been handling this alone for months. I don't need you now."
"You were bleeding and unconscious. You needed me then."
"I would've been fine."
"You would've died!" His voice rose. Then he took a breath, controlled it. "You would've died and taken them with you."
"Better than being here."
That hit him. I saw it in his face.
"Is it really that bad?" he asked quietly. "Being here with me?"
I looked away again. "I want to leave."
"You can't. Not yet. Not until after the babies come."
"You can't keep me here."
"I can. I will." His voice went hard. "For your safety and theirs."
"My safety," I repeated. "Right."
"There are people looking for you. Bloodhowl scouts. Others. If they find you alone—"
"I've been fine for months."
"You've been lucky. Luck runs out."
I pulled the blanket up higher. "Leave me alone."
Silence stretched between us. Heavy. Uncomfortable.
Finally he stood. "I'll have food brought. You need to eat."
He walked to the entrance, stopped, and looked back.
"I'm not your enemy," he said. "I know you don't believe that. But it's true."
Then he left.
I waited until his footsteps faded. Then I touched my stomach.
"We're leaving," I whispered to the babies. "First chance we get. I promise."
They kicked like they understood.
The next three days were hell.
Vaelor brought me food three times a day. I wouldn't eat while he was there. Waited until he left, then ate alone.
He tried to talk. I ignored him.
Acted like he didn't exist.
Turned my face away when he entered. Didn't respond when he spoke. Went completely silent and still until he gave up and left.
I could see it wearing on him. The frustration. The hurt.
Good.
The healer said it was pregnancy hormones making me hostile. Mood swings. Normal.
Vaelor seemed to believe that. Didn't push too hard. Just kept trying, kept bringing food, kept checking on me.
Always nearby. Always watching.
Guards were posted outside my tent every hour of every day. I counted them. Memorized their patterns.
Looking for a way out.
On the third night, I couldn't sleep.
My stomach was huge now. The babies barely had room to move. Every kick hurts. Every shift made me uncomfortable.
And I kept thinking about what the healer said. Any day now.
I couldn't have them here. Couldn't let him be there when they were born.
They were mine. Only mine.
I heard voices outside. Low. Arguing.
I moved carefully to the tent wall, pressing my ear against it.
"—Council has sent word, Your Majesty. They demand the girl be brought to the Crownlands immediately."
Vaelor's voice, tight with anger: "She's pregnant. She's not traveling anywhere."
"They say she's a security risk. Her bloodline—"
"I don't care what they say."
"The Council won't accept—"
"Then they can come tell me themselves." His voice dropped lower, dangerous. "And if they try to take her, I'll consider it an act of war."
Silence. Then footsteps walking away.
I stood there frozen.
Council. Crownlands. Security risk. Bloodline.
What did that mean?
My hands went to my stomach. The babies were quiet for once. Like they could sense my fear.
Whatever it meant, it wasn't good.
I needed to leave. Tonight.
No more waiting. No more hoping for the perfect moment.
I moved back to the bed, laid down, and pretended to sleep.
Waited for the camp to go quiet.
Hours passed. The guards changed shifts. Voices faded. Everything went silent.
I sat up slowly. Grabbed my bag. I checked it again, still no knife, but there was dried meat and a water bottle.
Better than nothing.
I moved to the back of the tent. Found the steam where two pieces of fabric joined. I worked my fingers into it, pulling gently.
It started to separate.
I pulled harder. The stitching gave way with a soft ripping sound.
I froze…
Nothing. The guards were at the front. Hadn't heard.
I made the opening bigger. Big enough to squeeze through.
I looked back at the tent one last time. The bed where I'd spent three days. The supplies he'd brought me.
Part of me hesitated.
He'd taken care of me. Protected me. The bond hummed between us, warm and constant.
"No," I whispered. I shook my head. "I can't stay."
I crawled through the opening. My stomach barely fit but I made it.
Outside. Cold night air hit my face.
I was free.
I stood slowly, staying low. The guards were ten feet away at the front entrance. Back to me.
I moved toward the trees. Step by step. Quiet as possible.
Made it to the edge of camp. I looked back once.
The tent sat there peacefully. He was probably sleeping inside the main tent nearby. I had no idea I was gone.
The golden thread stirred. Like it knew I was leaving.
I blocked it hard. Shoved it down.
Then I turned and walked into the forest.
One hand on my stomach, the other gripping my bag.
"Just us now," I told the babies. "Like it's always been."
They kicked softly. Almost sadly.
But I didn't look back again.
I kept walking into the dark.