Chapter 103

The crisp morning air carried the scent of pine as Lillian stepped onto the balcony of Sebastian Blackwood’s estate. The sun had barely risen, casting a golden hue over the sprawling gardens below. She tightened the silk robe around her, the fabric whispering against her skin.

Last night’s events replayed in her mind—Donovan’s sudden reappearance, the venom in his words, the way his new mate, Evelyn, had smirked at her with undisguised triumph. Lillian’s fingers curled into fists. She had thought she was past this, past the pain of betrayal. But seeing them together had reopened old wounds.

A soft knock at the door startled her.

“Lillian?” Beatrice’s voice was muffled through the wood. “Are you awake?”

Lillian exhaled, forcing her shoulders to relax. “Come in.”

The door creaked open, and Beatrice slipped inside, her dark curls tousled from sleep. She carried a tray with steaming coffee and fresh pastries. “Thought you might need this,” she said, setting it down on the bedside table.

Lillian managed a small smile. “Thanks.”

Beatrice studied her for a moment before plopping onto the bed. “You look like you didn’t sleep at all.”

“I didn’t.” Lillian turned back to the balcony, watching as a pair of sparrows darted between the trees. “I keep thinking about what Donovan said. About how I was never enough.”

Beatrice scoffed. “Please. That idiot couldn’t recognize a diamond if it hit him in the face.” She grabbed a croissant and took a defiant bite. “You’re better off without him.”

Lillian sighed. “Logically, I know that. But it still hurts.”

A comfortable silence settled between them, broken only by the distant chirping of birds. Then Beatrice’s phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen and groaned. “Ugh. Cassandra’s at it again.”

Lillian raised a brow. “What now?”

Beatrice rolled her eyes. “She’s spreading rumors that you only got into the advanced combat class because of Sebastian.”

Lillian’s jaw tightened. Of course she was. Cassandra had been relentless ever since Lillian had outperformed her in the last sparring session.

“Ignore her,” Beatrice said, waving a hand. “She’s just jealous.”

Lillian nodded, but the words still stung. She had worked hard to prove herself, to show that she wasn’t just some helpless werewolf clinging to the Lycan chairman’s coattails.

A sudden knock at the door made them both turn.

“Miss Lillian?” Theodore Whitmore’s deep voice filtered through. “Mr. Blackwood requests your presence in his study.”

Lillian exchanged a glance with Beatrice. What could Sebastian want this early?

“I’ll be right there,” she called.

As Theodore’s footsteps faded, Beatrice smirked. “Maybe he wants to whisk you away to some secret Lycan retreat to escape all this drama.”

Lillian swatted her with a pillow. “Shut up.”

But as she dressed, she couldn’t help the flutter in her chest. Whatever Sebastian wanted, she had a feeling it was about to change everything.

Even in his wolf form, it took Donovan nearly the entire night to reach the rogue hideout—a decrepit house swallowed by the wilderness. Several rogue villages dotted the area, but the most dangerous ones never mingled with the rest. They thrived in isolation, free to indulge in their twisted desires. The mere thought of those filthy rogues laying a finger on what belonged to him sent molten rage coursing through his veins.

He would rip out their throats one by one. Make them choke on their own blood for daring to touch Lillian Montague.

Rational thought vanished as his wolf seized control. The beast was still bound to Lillian by their mating bond, making her scent as easy to track as a beacon in the dark. Donovan had a rough idea of the rogues' location, but once he drew close, the terrain blurred into an indistinguishable haze. His wolf, however, had no such trouble. Lillian’s scent—sweet, intoxicating—guided him unerringly to a rotting shack buried deep in the fog-choked forest.

The place reeked of rogue filth. A stagnant swamp festered nearby, its stench mingling with the sour tang of unwashed bodies. Donovan’s stomach churned, bile rising in his throat, but he swallowed it down. No guards stood watch outside—foolish, but he wasn’t about to complain.

He crashed through the front door, claws scraping against warped floorboards as he tore through the house, nostrils flaring. Then—there. Her scent. Thick. Wrong.

His wolf nearly buckled beneath the weight of it.

Desire. Heat.

Holy hell.

Lillian was in heat.

Around unmated rogues.

A snarl ripped from his throat as laughter echoed from the basement—crude, triumphant.

"That aphrodisiac worked fast," one of them crowed. "I call first dibs."

"Relax," another sneered. "We’ll all get a turn with her."

Rage turned Donovan’s vision red. He didn’t want to imagine Lillian’s breathless whimpers, her pleas for release, wasted on these animals. He’d slaughter every last one of them.

"Shit! There’s a wolf!"

A rogue at the stairwell gaped at him.

"Fuck—an Alpha!"

One shifted instantly, lunging, but Donovan dodged with lethal grace. His jaws clamped around the rogue’s throat, tearing through flesh with a sickening crunch. Blood sprayed as the body collapsed.

"Fuck!" The last rogue—standing too close to Lillian—snarled, positioning himself between her and Donovan.

Mistake.

The challenge only enraged Donovan’s wolf further. He lunged—only for another rogue to intercept, slamming into his side. The two wolves clashed, teeth bared, claws slashing.

"I mindlinked the others!" the rogue near Lillian taunted. "They’ll be here any second!"

Donovan didn’t care. He twisted, snapping his opponent’s neck with a brutal jerk. The body hit the floor with a thud.

The last rogue shifted back, eyes wide—then ran.

Donovan gave chase, but the stench of approaching rogues hit him at the top of the stairs.

They were out of time.