My chest cracks open. The image of Sophie weeping for me is more than I can hold.
“I am not your property.”
His jaw tightens. “Things have changed, Mo. The pack is different. I’m different.”
“Bullshit.”
“I know you don’t believe me. I don’t blame you.” A pause. “But Sophie needs you. She’s not well.”
Ice floods my veins. “What do you mean, not well?”
“She’s sick. The healers have been doing what they can, but…” He trails off.
I want to hit him. I want to shift and tear his throat out. I want to run back to the cabin, lock the door, and never come out.
But Sophie is alive. And she’s sick. And she thinks I’m dead.
“How do I know you’re telling the truth?” I ask. “How do I know this isn’t just some trick to get me to come back?”
“You don’t.” His eyes hold mine. “But are you willing to take that chance? Stay here all safe and comfortable, wrapped up in your new pack, while Sophie gets worse every day, thinking you’re in the ground?”
If there’s even a sliver of a chance she’s alive, I have to go. I have to see her. I have to know.
But I don’t trust Stuart.
“If I go,” I say, slow and deliberate, “I go on my terms. I tell the pack where I’m going. I bring someone with me.”
“No.” His voice hardens. “Just you. The pack will not welcome strangers.”
“Then bring her here.”
“Mo.” He softens his tone, and somehow that’s worse. “She doesn’t have much time. And this pack has a history with ours. Darius would never let you leave.”
“What?”
“The healers say days—maybe less. I have a car waiting. We can be there by tomorrow morning. She’ll wake up, and you’ll be there. Think about what that would mean to her.”
I close my eyes. Sophie’s face. The scar. The way she looked tired even in a photograph. I think about her crying for me. Believing I’m dead. Getting sicker, waiting to die, not knowing I’m out here—alive and breathing and so goddamn close.
This is probably a trap. Almost definitely. Stuart is not only a liar and a predator, but also the son of the man who destroyed my life. But if there’s even a one percent chance Sophie is alive in that compound, I have to see her—I have to save her.
“Give me two minutes. Then we’ll leave.”
I turn, ready to sprint toward the compound, when Stuart grabs my arm.
“I knew you’d be difficult.”
Males step out of the trees on all sides. Four, five, six of them, all wearing the scent of Stuart’s pack. They form a circle around me, cutting off any escape route back to the compound.
My wolf surges forward, claws bursting through my fingertips. I lunge at the nearest male, raking across his chest. He curses in pain as I pivot, teeth bared, looking for an opening.
“There she is,” Stuart laughs, making no move to help his packmate. “Still feral after all this time. Some things never change, do they, Moira?”
I snarl and leap toward another male, but two others grab me from behind. Strong hands lock around my wrists, twisting until pain shoots up my arms. I kick backward, connecting with someone’s knee. A crack and a grunt tell me I hit my mark.
“Hold her still,” Stuart says, his voice bored, like this is all going according to plan. “She’s always been more trouble than she’s worth.”
I thrash against their grip. Stupid. So stupid to trust, even for a second.