It was eerily silent. She shouldn't be here at this hour, in this place. Every instinct screamed at her to turn back, but she had brushed off the warning. Foolishly.
Her lungs burned, her legs moved faster than she ever thought possible, but still—it wasn't enough. She needed more speed, more distance. Just until—
Her thoughts were ruthlessly severed. A blur, then an unyielding grip cinched tight around her waist. Her body slammed against the rough bark of a tree, her cheek scraping against the wood.
The hard surface bit into her skin, forcing a sharp wince from her lips. She writhed, but the effort only pressed her tighter against the trunk.
Then a hand slid up to her neck. Firm. Not quite choking but enough to make her understand that she was the prey.
Her body stilled at once, frozen by the strength coiled around her. Her pulse hammered in her throat, right beneath the fingers that could crush it.
Heat spread through her back, a strong chest caging her in. She could feel the rise and fall of his breath, steady against her racing panic.
And then—lips brushed the shell of her ear. The whisper that followed was deep, dark. dangerous.
"Hello, sweetheart."
Her shudder betrayed her.
~One week earlier ~
"Why…"
It wasn't a question. More like a broken statement carried away by the winter wind.
Everything was falling apart piece by piece, and Renessa could no longer pretend to hold it together. She had loved with everything she had until she lost herself completely. She had no one else to blame. She had done this to herself.
She fell for someone she shouldn't have — someone who would never look her way.
Noah had been her friend. A good person. The first person to show her kindness when she had been so starved for it that she clung to it greedily, like a drowning person to air. The problem was she had become too greedy.
She had wanted that kindness to mean something more, to mean her. But Noah was kind to everyone, not just her. She was never special the way she had hoped.
She had never been special to anyone.
Awkward. Introverted. The kind of girl people passed by without pause. She should have realized long ago that dreaming of something as unrealistic as love was foolish. An orphan like her didn't deserve luxuries like that.
"Happy married life, Noah," she whispered into the night as she took out a cigarette and lit it with trembling fingers.
The flame flared, then died, leaving only the faint glow of ash at the tip. Smoke curled into the freezing air, vanishing as quickly as it came.
She sat perched on the railing of the bridge, boots dangling above the black water. Canada was mercilessly cold this time of year, the kind of cold that seeped into your bones. Perfect weather for what she was feeling. Perfect weather for an ending.
Her ending.
The doctor's words replayed in her head, sharp and merciless: lung cancer, final stage, no hope left. Hours earlier she had learned her days were numbered — on the very same day Noah married someone else. She almost laughed at the universe's cruel sense of humor.
She had done the math. No money for treatment. No family to care. Nothing to live for. At twenty-six, she was exhausted — body, mind, and soul. Even being a psychologist hadn't saved her from herself. Sometimes knowledge was no shield against despair.
She took one last puff, inhaled deep, and let it all go.
Then she fell.
The icy water embraced her like a lover. Peaceful. Final. Her lungs burned, but this time there was no fight left in her. Darkness crept in slowly, mercifully, until there was nothing. Quiet.
It was over.
Or so she thought.
Her chest seized. Air tore violently into her lungs. She gasped — alive, choking on breath instead of water.
'No… no, this isn't right.'
Her eyes flew open, wild with panic. She clutched at her chest, desperate for an explanation. 'Didn't I die? I should be dead. I chose this. I—'
Memories she didn't recognize ripped through her skull like shards of glass. Faces. Places. Names. None of them hers. Each vision pressed harder, drowning out her own life, her own self.
She staggered, hands digging into her head as if she could claw the foreign thoughts out.
'This isn't me. This isn't mine.'
"Elara!"
The voice cut through the storm, sharp and pleading. A hand — warm, steady — settled on her trembling shoulder.
Her body froze.
She looked around frantically. The room wasn't hers. Heavy wooden beams, stone walls, the faint scent of smoke and herbs — an old-world charm that had nothing to do with Canada.
Her gaze snapped to the figure beside her.
A man. Broad-shouldered, tall enough that he seemed to take up all the space in the small chamber. His skin was bronzed, tanned by sun and battle. His frame carried the kind of bulk that promised strength, yet his movements were measured, almost careful, as though he feared breaking something fragile. Dark brown hair, straight and silky, fell across his forehead in soft strands.
He should have looked intimidating. His sheer size, the quiet command in his stance, marked him as someone used to being obeyed. And yet… there was gentleness in his face. Brown eyes, deep and warm, softened when they landed on her. Eyes that should have belonged to a protector, not a threat.
And still, something in her blood reacted. A subtle shift — her heart stuttering, her breath tightening. She didn't understand it, but her body did. Something in him pulled at her in ways she had no words for. A reminder that he was more than just a man. He was an Alpha.
And she… she wasn't.
'What.'
Her instincts screamed Omega. Weak. Submissive. Prey. 'what.'
The word pressed against her ribs, sinking into her bones, leaving her rattled and restless.
He bent closer, voice breaking with a tenderness that didn't belong to strangers.
"Elara…"
Her stomach dropped.
No. No, I'm Renessa. I'm not her.
But the memories clawing at her said otherwise. The name was not foreign to this body. It was hers — Elara's — not Renessa's.
And worse still, the way he looked at her made her chest twist with something that wasn't hers either. An affection, raw and unspoken, bleeding through his gaze.
The problem was… Elara had hated him.
Before she could unravel any of it, a low, distant howl carried on the night wind, rattling the shutters.
Her skin prickled. Her breath hitched.
It wasn't a wolf. Not the kind she knew from stories. This was older. Wilder.
Her heart slammed. Instinct screamed.
Whatever this place was, it wasn't safe.
And it wasn't hers.
'..why?'