I escaped, Claimed by the Alpha King

Silver's POV

The car reeked of stale cigarettes and cheap cologne that made my stomach turn.

I pressed myself against the door, fingers fumbling for a handle that wouldn't budge, my heart hammering as the driver's eyes found mine in the rearview mirror.

"Please," I whispered, hating how my voice shook. "Please just let me out."

Fatso Ray twisted in his seat, shirt half-unbuttoned, exposing a hairy chest that made bile rise in my throat. His two friends boxed me in from either side, cutting off any escape.

"Don't worry, sweetheart," Ray said, his smile wet and obscene. "We're gonna take real good care of you."

I'd only wanted to use my last bit of cash to reach downtown. Hadn't expected these pathetic scammers posing as ride-share drivers. Three human men who thought I was easy prey—some runaway girl with an Appalachian accent and a flip phone.

They were about to learn how wrong they were. Even without a wolf, even as an omega, I was still stronger than humans.

"I warned you," I said, voice steadier now as I forced down the fear clawing at my throat. "I'll really hurt you if you don't stop."

Ray laughed, reaching for my thigh. "Baby girl, I'm counting on you being really mean with us."

His hand never made contact. My body moved with brutal precision. My foot connected with Ray's groin—bone cracked audibly over his screaming. The man behind me grabbed my shoulder, and I drove my elbow back into his face, felt cartilage crunch.

"I'm sorry!" The words tore from my throat even as I kept moving, even as Nessa's voice echoed from years ago—my best friend from the pack: Don't stop until those who hurt you can't get up.

My locked hands came down on Ray's temple. Another crack. He went limp.

The third man scrambled out, shouting. I grabbed my canvas bag and ran, bursting into the humid night. Behind me—cursing, car doors slamming, then the roar of an engine as they threw the SUV into gear.

Headlights swept across the pavement as they came after me. If I'd been human, they would've caught me in seconds. My legs pumped harder, carrying me through darkness with speed that kept me just ahead.

Two miles later, I stumbled through abandoned warehouses, lungs burning, cheap red dress clinging to sweat-soaked skin. My silver-white hair—that cursed inheritance from a mother I'd never known—caught sickly yellow streetlights like tarnished moonlight.

Three hours in Manhattan and it had already shown me its teeth.

My bare feet slapped cracked pavement, shoes long abandoned. The pain barely registered beneath the phantom burn at my neck—Slade's mark, forced on me when the Blood Moon ritual collapsed.

I could still feel his teeth tearing in, still hear his rage when the Moon Goddess rejected our bond because I didn't love him.

The mark throbbed with sickening heat. As long as it remained, Slade could track me.

I didn't trust the Moon Goddess—not after what she'd let happen to me, to every woman in Blackwood Ridge who'd been traded like livestock. And I sure as hell didn't believe in fated mates or permanent marks.

Even if some destined partner existed out there, I'd never submit to fate's script. I wouldn't let the universe decide who owned me. My life was mine. My choices were mine. No bond, no mate, no goddess would take that from me.

Behind me, the engine roared closer. Then the landscape suddenly changed. Lights cascaded from a building that looked carved from dreams.

Black-suited guards stood sentinel, radiating authority that made me think of safety, protection, everything Blackwood Ridge had never been.

I forced my battered body forward, leaving bloody footprints on pristine concrete. "Please!" I grabbed the first guard's sleeve. "Please help me, there are men—"

His face remained impassive, eyes sliding past me like I was invisible. I stumbled to the next, then the next, pleas growing frantic.

"She's disrupting the guests." A man in his forties descended the steps, tailored suit radiating dismissal. "Remove her."

Behind him, another figure emerged.

The street seemed to hold its breath. The suited man who'd intervened straightened instantly, his posture shifting from lethal efficiency to deference.

Tall, broad-shouldered, his navy three-piece suit tailored to emphasize the predatory build beneath—lean muscle and controlled power wrapped in civilized fabric. Frameless glasses. Ice-blue eyes that swept over the scene with detached interest, as though he commanded not just this moment but the very air around it.

When those eyes found mine, I forgot how to breathe.

Then something inside me stirred—a voice that wasn't mine, something deeper, wild and certain.

It's him. He'll save us.

I froze. Who's talking? Is that—my wolf?

Run to him. Now!

No. Impossible. I didn't have a wolf. I'd never had one. This had to be panic, desperation playing tricks on my mind.

But the voice had felt so real.

My body responded before my mind could process, stumbling toward the stranger. Guards intercepted me, hands firm on my arms. I struggled weakly. "Please! Please help me..."

For a long moment, he simply stared, something unreadable flickering across his face.

Then he raised one hand. "Let her go."

His voice was silk wrapped around steel—not loud, but carrying absolute authority. The guards released me instantly. My legs gave out, and I crumpled to the ground in an awkward kneel.

He descended the steps toward me, and I noticed the ripple of shock through the crowd. His assistant's eyes widened. The guards exchanged glances as if they'd witnessed something impossible.

I looked down at myself: barefoot, bloody, dress torn and filthy. I must've looked like a complete lunatic.

But that voice inside insisted: Don't be afraid. He won't hurt us.

I lifted my chin and met his eyes. Up close—sharp jaw, dark hair styled with casual perfection. His scent hit me: sun-warmed earth after rain, like forests in summer heat, overwhelming and intoxicating. It made my head spin, made the mark on my neck pulse with different heat.

"Who hurt you?" he asked, something dark and possessive in his tone.

Behind me, an engine roared. Car doors slammed. "There! That's her! Grab the bitch!"

I spun. The three men were stumbling out, faces twisted with rage.

"No," I breathed, backing into something solid—the stranger's chest. His hand caught my arm, grip firm but gentle.

"Stay behind me," he said quietly.

He looked at his assistant. "Callum. Handle this."

Within seconds, all three men were on the ground, restrained and dragged into the shadows.

"They won't bother you again," the stranger said. His eyes were no longer ice-blue but darker, flickering with crimson light like the color of blood. His scent intensified, wrapping around me like a blanket.

His arm was sliding around my waist as he pulled me upright. "Easy. You're safe now."

"What's your name?" he asked.

I hesitated. I'd never had a real name in the pack. Just slurs—dirty halfbreed, mongrel bitch.

Nessa and Slade called me Silver, which was better but still felt like a label for something I owned rather than who I was. I'd sworn to leave all those names behind.

I fell silent, unable to answer. The weight of everything I'd left behind pressed down on me, too heavy for words.

He studied me for a long moment, those ice-blue eyes seeing far too much. Then he nodded slowly.

"You can tell me when you're ready," he said quietly.

His hand moved to my neck, fingers brushing my collar. He could feel Slade's mark beneath. His expression went cold. "Who marked you?"

I shrank back. "His name is Slade—he's the alpha of my pack. I ran from our mating ritual. When it failed, when the Moon Goddess rejected us, he bit me anyway, and it won't stop burning—"

"Come with me," he said, jaw clenching. His eyes burned crimson. "I'll help you deal with it."

Not a question. A command.

Wolf? I tried calling inward, desperate for guidance. But there was only emptiness where she'd been moments ago.

Disappointment crashed through me. Of course. It had been a hallucination, desperation playing tricks on my mind. I should've known better—I'd turned eighteen two years ago, and if I had a wolf, she would've awakened then. She never did. She never would.

"Okay," I whispered. "I'll come with you."

Triumph flashed across his face. His fingers interlaced with mine, sending sparks up my arm.

"Good girl," he murmured, and the praise made warmth bloom in my chest.

No one's ever called me that before.

He led me to a sleek black car, and his hand was never leaving mine. Callum watched with shock flickering across his professional mask.

"What's your name?" I asked softly.

He smiled. "Rhydian. Rhydian Vaughn."

The name meant nothing to me, but from reactions around us, I knew it should have.

As the car pulled away and Manhattan's lights blurred to gold streams, Rhydian turned to his assistant. "Callum, the shoes."

Callum handed back a sleek box. Rhydian opened it, revealing soft leather flats. He set them beside me.

I slipped them on. They fit perfectly.

Only then did Rhydian turn to face me fully, his ice-blue eyes catching the passing streetlights.

"Now," he said quietly, "tell me why you ran from your pack."