Alpha's Unwilling Mate Book 2: A Rogue's Secret

Three months on the run, and you’d think I’d be used to the adrenaline rush by now. But no, my lungs—or rather, my wolf’s lungs—feel like they’re on fire, as my frantic breaths refuse to slow down. The relentless running all morning is taking its toll on us again, and I need to be careful not to let my wolf exhaust us both.

I’ve lost track of our location, only vaguely aware that we’re heading north toward the border. I’m just praying we make it there in time. Viktor, I’m sure, is still hot on our heels, and it would be foolish to think I’ve managed to shake him off, despite our best efforts.

Our journey has been twice as long, looping around towns, farms, and forests—anywhere that might throw him off our scent. I’ve even tried blending in with the humans again, but fear keeps me from staying in one place for too long, especially while we’re still in the States.

Viktor, the rogue pursuing us, is powerful—too powerful. And I’ve stupidly dangled the ultimate prize in front of him, to the point where he’d rather die than give up the chase. I was a naive fool to have fallen for his charm, but I was desperate.

With my mother recently deceased, I was alone, marked by the scent of a rogue and burdened with a life-threatening secret that seemed to grow heavier with each breath. Initially, I aimlessly wandered from state to state, begging as a human and foraging as my wolf. It’s not the life my mother would have wanted for me, but I had no other choice.

It wasn’t a pack, like the ones my mother reluctantly told me about after my wolf first appeared, but it was better than nothing. So, I eagerly complied. I don’t know why she despised the idea of a pack so much. Well, actually, I do. But I wish she’d taught me that not all rogues were like us—that some couldn’t be trusted, and it wasn’t always about freedom.

Instead, I was raised on tales of white witches, fairy godmothers, and the belief that good always triumphs in the end. She probably thought it was better to tell me these stories instead of the truth, fearing the terror my secret might breed. But her efforts seem to have done more harm than good, leading me to trust those I shouldn’t have.

I stayed with Viktor for nearly two years, becoming part of his large, dysfunctional family and learning about our world, as he liked to call it. He saw himself as a king, despising the term Alpha still used in packs today. No one questioned him when a similar hierarchy formed among us. But in reality, we were just another pack without the vow.

He was kind to me then, probably because of my wolf’s size and power, which I was oblivious to. So, I grew comfortable around him. Too comfortable. On some level, I must have seen him as the father I never had, which makes my skin crawl now. But it did allow me to understand his methods, and that knowledge has been invaluable in escaping as far as I have.

There have been many others, less appealing prizes caught in his web, and not many have been as successful in escaping. It must be driving him mad—or madder? It’s no secret that I eventually revealed my secret to him: my paternal name and potential birthright. That confession changed everything in an instant, and the rest, as they say, is history.

Now, here I am, practically killing myself to reach Canada, where his spies won’t be as effective. I can’t really explain how I’ve managed it; it’s all been a blur of running and hiding in fear. I’m sure my blood relatives would be appalled, but I couldn’t care less. Their disdain means nothing to me. Being a Neville is a curse in itself.