Chapter one

The Pool of Blood

POV: Elena

The wind was a roaring beast in my ears, tearing violently at my clothes, and ripping the very breath from my lungs. Forty stories of empty, terrifying air rushed up to meet me as the glittering lights of the New York skyline blurred. I remember the absolute terror. I remember the sickening, bone-crushing impact against the concrete pavement. I remember the cold, total darkness that swallowed me whole.

Then...gasp.

My eyes snapped open. I sucked in a desperate lungful of oxygen, my entire body convulsing as if a million volts of electricity had just been shot straight through my veins.

I wasn't dead. I wasn't broken at the bottom of a skyscraper.

I was lying flat on my back on the impossibly soft rug of my bedroom suite inside the Vance Hotel room. The morning sun was streaming warmly through the curtains, casting peaceful, golden bars across the familiar furniture. The air smelled faintly of lavender, entirely normal and safe.

A dream? My mind spun in a chaotic haze of confusion. Was it all just a horrific, twisted nightmare?

I lifted a trembling hand to my face, my skin covered with cold sweat. The memory of my fiancé, Julian, and my half-sister, Chloe, standing on that high balcony was so vivid it made my chest ache. I could still see the cruel, triumphant smirks on their faces right before Julian’s hands shoved hard against my shoulders, sending me over the edge.

But before I could even try to push myself up from the rug to check the calendar, a sudden, blinding agony exploded deep in my lower abdomen.

It was a twisting contraction so brutal that a ragged scream tore from my throat. My vision went completely black for a split second. My body buckled under the sheer force of the pain, rolling off the rug and tumbling onto the cold floor that connected to the master bathroom.

The pain wasn't a dream. It was entirely too real.

What the fuck was this? Why was it happening? I survived, didn't I? So what the hell was this pain?

I crawled toward the bathroom, my fingernails scraping uselessly against the tile as a thick, warm rush of red soaked through the fabric of my nightgown. It pooled around my thighs, bright red and terrifying against the white stone.

No. No, no, no.

I sat slumped against the base of the tub, sobbing in raw, hollow agony as the fragile life inside me was ripped away forever. My baby. The innocent child I had promised to protect with my life as I plummeted through the air. Gone. Lost in a pool of dark blood on the bathroom floor.

I pressed my trembling, blood-stained palms flat against my suddenly empty stomach, the tears burning my eyes as I rocked back and forth in the suffocating silence. The grief was practically crushing the air right out of my lungs.

Because of this pregnancy, I had been forced to quit school, had to step down from work. Because of it, I had been forced to watch my people hurl insults at me or talk behind my back, but it never once got to me. It was my baby afterall, a proof of my love for Julian, my spark of hope in this world where I always felt invisible. Now, there was nothing left but blood.

I stared at the crimson on my fingers, suddenly feeling useless, maybe I should just end it here. Kill myself, then I might be able to reunite with my child.

But suddenly, a loud, aggressive knock came shattering my thoughts.

The bathroom door swung open without a single hint of an invitation. Julian Cross stepped into the room, looking impossibly handsome. His tailored navy suit was completely spotless, his dark hair styled perfectly, every inch of him screaming elite wealth.

The mere sight of his face, the exact same face that had smirked at me right before he pushed me off the roof, made my heart lock in pure terror. My wolf, dormant and weak for twenty-two years, let out a faint, terrified whimper deep inside my chest.

Julian didn't look down at the floor. He didn't even see the blood hidden behind the partition. He just glanced at his gold Rolex, his voice tight with irritation.

"Elena, what the hell are you doing? The caterers for the gala are already downstairs, and your stepmother is losing her mind over the seating arrangements. You need to get dressed and be quick. We have a strict schedule to keep today."

He paused, his eyes finally tracking the sound of my ragged breathing. He stepped deeper into the bathroom, his brows furrowing as he took in my disheveled state. I was still huddled against the tub, my face deathly pale, my hands glued tightly to my stomach as the tears tracked through my cheeks.

"What happened to you?" he asked, his voice dropping slightly, though it held more annoyance than actual worry. "Why are you crying on the floor? You look a total mess."

In that split second, the ghost of the old Elena, the pathetic, desperate girl who had loved him unconditionally for three years, surfaced. I looked up at my fiancé through a blur of tears, desperately craving comfort from him. I wanted a gentle hand on my shoulder. I wanted him to tell me we would handle it together. I knew what he was capable of in the future, but right now, the agonizing pain of losing a child was too vast to carry alone. I needed to see if there was any soul left in the man I had agreed to marry.

"Julian...the baby. I...I just lost our baby."

I braced myself for him to drop to his knees, to pull me into his arms, to ruin his expensive suit just to hold me while I broke down. I expected him to call for the pack doctors, to show a single hint of the shattering grief that was currently ripping my soul to pieces. He knew about the pregnancy. He knew what I had sacrificed for this baby.

Instead, he just stood there.

His face didn't turn pale. His deep blue eyes didn't fill with sorrow. He didn't even take his hands out of his pockets. He simply let out a long, slow breath, looked at the blood, then back at my face, his expression completely blank.

"Honestly, Elena? It's for the best. That bastard child would have only complicated the trustee meeting tomorrow anyway.