Chapter 3 3
I blinked. Then frowned right back at him. “Well, first of all, I’m not—”
I didn’t get to finish.
One second I was standing by my car, the next I was airborne. He moved so fast it made my wolf stir in alarm. His hands — warm, firm, and annoyingly gentle — gripped me like I was nothing more than a wayward kitten.
And then slam — I was on the back of that massive motorcycle, my knees wedged against his hips, the cold metal biting through my jeans.
“Hey!” I snapped, shoving at his back. “Do I look like a sack of potatoes to you?!”
No answer. Just the low, steady rumble of the engine as he revved it hard.
Before I could twist away, we were flying — the wind tearing at my hair, the night air whipping past my cheeks as he sped toward the border like it wasn’t almost 2 a.m. and I wasn’t seconds away from either jumping off or biting him.
My emergency escape? Officially hijacked.
And whoever this man was… he clearly didn’t care that I wasn’t Margaux.
Because the way his grip tightened on my hip said one thing:
I’m not letting you go.
The wind was whipping against my face like it had a personal vendetta, cold enough to make my teeth chatter — not that I’d let Gigantic Pretty Boy know. The moon hung high, smugly watching this whole disaster, while the stars twinkled like they were in on some private joke.
We’d been riding for what felt like hours. Not a single other soul on the road. Just us, the endless dark forest, and the low growl of the Harley under us. I’d kept track of landmarks — not because I was trying to escape or anything wink wink — but because I’m not stupid. And the farther we got from the Wolfgang Pack, the farther we were from human territory.
Which, call me paranoid, meant something was very wrong.
I leaned sideways, shouting over the roar of the engine. “You know… in case you didn’t notice, human territory is that way!” I jabbed my finger in the opposite direction.
His only answer was a low grunt, his eyes fixed straight ahead like I was background noise.
“Oh, perfect. A tall, handsome kidnapper who’s also a terrible listener,” I muttered. “Should I be expecting ransom or is this more of a throw-me-in-the-river type of vibe?”
I felt his chest shake slightly against my back — a laugh? A scoff? Ugh, hard to tell with these broody types.
“I’m taking the shortcut,” he said finally, his voice deep enough to make my wolf stir uneasily. “Faster.”
“Faster to where exactly?” I demanded. “Because from what I remember, shortcuts are how people end up on missing posters.”
His lips curled into what I’m sure he thought was an intimidating smirk but really just made me want to slap him. “You ask too many questions, Margaux.”
I craned my neck to glare at him. “That’s funny. I didn’t ask to be kidnapped either, but here we are. And for the record? Not Margaux.”
He didn’t respond. Just revved the bike harder, the engine roaring like it was enjoying the drama.
“You know, if this is some macho werewolf thing, you could’ve at least let me pack snacks,” I said, tightening my grip as we leaned into a turn. “I had cookies. Good ones.”
This time, I swear I heard a low chuckle escape him. “You’re a mouthy one.”
“Better than being a mystery biker with a kidnapping habit.”
His shoulders stiffened just slightly, which I mentally filed away as hit a nerve.
The trees blurred past, shadows swallowing the road ahead. My gut told me we weren’t just taking a shortcut. No, this man was taking me somewhere specific — somewhere he didn’t want anyone to follow.
And if my wolf was right, whatever waited there was going to make tonight’s earlier family betrayal look like a warm-up act.
I tilted my head just enough to glare at the man while still clinging to the bike because, you know, I’d prefer not to die tonight. The wind was icy, stinging my cheeks, and the moon was so bright it made the shadows look alive. My now blonde hair—what little of it had managed to stay in place—whipped against my face like nature’s own insult. We’d been riding for what felt like hours, my butt was numb, and the farther we went, the more I realized we weren’t anywhere close to the human border. In fact…
“You missed the turn,” I yelled over the roar of the engine.
No answer. He just leaned forward a little, like the bike was his true love and I was some inconvenient backpack.
“I said—HEY!—this is not the way!”
Nothing. Not even a grunt.
Apparently, I wasn’t above playing the I’m-not-who-you-think-I-am card, so I tried again. “Listen, big guy, I think you’ve got the wrong girl. My name isn’t—”
That’s when he spoke, his deep voice cutting through the wind like a blade. “Margaux, stop talking.”
I blinked. “Margaux? Do I look like a Margaux to you? Spoiler alert: I’m not her. Try again.”
His hands gripped the handlebars tighter, and then, without even glancing at me, he said something that made my stomach drop.
“Marigold will be gone soon. And Margaux… You are my mission. I bring you to the royal family. That’s it.”
My jaw fell open. He finally glanced at me, just for a second, and oh, great—up close, he was even more annoyingly perfect.
“What?”
He didn’t answer. Just revved the bike harder, and the vibration rattled right through my bones. I had no idea where he was taking me, but one thing was clear: this man was not lost. And neither was I… apparently I was stolen.
My jaw fell open. “I’m sorry, back up—gone soon? Mission? And what the actual hell do you mean royal family?”
He finally glanced at me, just for a second, and oh, great—up close, he was even more annoyingly perfect. Like Henry Cavill had been carved out of moonlight and gym memberships, then given a bad attitude as an accessory.
I gawped at him, my voice shooting up an octave. “What the fuck?”
He didn’t answer. Just revved the bike harder, and the vibration rattled right through my bones. I had no idea where he was taking me, but one thing was clear: this man was not lost. And neither was I… apparently I was stolen.
“Who are you again?” I asked.
“Alpha Gregor."
Apparently, he was Alpha Gregor of the Midnight Pack.
Yes, that Alpha Gregor — the name that made even the most arrogant wolves shut up mid-sentence. The Midnight Pack wasn’t just some large, well-run territory. It was the pack, the closest to the royal family’s lands, the one whose warriors were whispered to be able to sniff out a traitor’s fear from three miles away. They were the king’s sword and shield, the pack parents used to scare unruly pups — “If you don’t behave, Alpha Gregor will come for you.”
And now here he was. Not a rumor. Not a shadow. Not some overhyped name thrown around in taverns. He was real, and apparently, I was in his possession.
The rumors about him were ridiculous. That he had defeated three rival Alphas without shifting once. That he had bloodlines so pure the moon itself favored him. That his dark warrior wolf was more massive than a grizzly bear, and his control so precise he could stop a kill strike mid-swipe and pull back without breaking a single hair on his victim’s head.
But what truly made my stomach knot wasn’t just the fact that he was powerful — it was that I wasn’t supposed to be on his radar.
And yet, according to him, I wasn’t just “on his radar.” I was his mission.
“You’re making a mistake,” I tried to say over the roar of the Harley, my hands gripping the sides because apparently holding on to him was not an option in my pride’s vocabulary. “I’m not Margaux—”
“You are Margaux,” he said, his voice low but carrying over the wind like it was etched into the night air. “And Marigold is gone. Forgotten. Vanished soon enough.”
“What?”
“Your father emailed me earlier about eliminating your twin sister because apparently she doesn't have a wolf.”
What the fuck?
I blinked, completely thrown off. “What did they do to her?”
“That’s not for you to question.” His tone sharpened, each word slicing like cold steel. “My orders are to deliver you safely to the royal family. Specifically, to Prince Leon.”
“Prince Leon?” I gave a bitter laugh, though it came out sounding more like panic wrapped in sarcasm. “As in the Prince Leon? Son of the royal alpha? Why in the goddess’s silver moon would he want me, I mean Margaux?”
His jaw ticked, like he didn’t enjoy explaining himself, but he gave me the answer anyway — probably because he was the type who didn’t repeat himself twice. “Because you were chosen.”
I almost choked. “Chosen? What is this, some medieval matchmaking service?”
“This isn’t a joke, Margaux,” he said, his gaze flicking toward me for the briefest, lethal second before returning to the road. “You’ve been promised as his future mate. The bond will secure more than just unity between territories — it will secure the throne’s power because lineage was among the oldest one.”
My stomach dropped. Oh, oh shit. This wasn’t just a random kidnapping by a brute with a fancy bike. I was being escorted — no, delivered — to the most politically dangerous seat in the werewolf world.
Alpha Gregor wasn’t here because he wanted to be. He was here because the royal family trusted no one else. Which meant… the only thing between Margaux and a royal marriage was him. And I had the sinking feeling that trying to escape him would be like trying to outrun the moonlight.
And the worst part? I wasn’t Margaux.
Which meant either they’d realize the mistake and kill me… or they’d decide I was “close enough” and force me into the role anyway.
And based on the iron grip this man had on my fate, I didn’t know which was more terrifying.
