The Fake Luna: Marked By The Alpha King

Chapter 220: Chapter 220 Hunted by rogues

The guest room in Ronan’s pack house smelled of pine and unfamiliar wolves.

I lay propped against the headboard, my ribs bound tight, every breath a dull blade sliding between them. The healers said I was lucky. I didn’t feel lucky. I felt like a caged animal.

My eyes kept dragging back to the window, to the dark sky above the tree line. Ronan had left hours ago.

So where the hell were they?

*They should be here by now,* I told my wolf, for what had to be the tenth time. *He made contact at midnight. Even if she hesitated—*

*You’ve counted the minutes twice over,*the wolf said. *Counting them a third time won’t spin the rotors faster.*

I shoved off the blankets and made it to the window, ribs snarling in protest. Nothing but black forest and stars.

*What if something went wrong? What if they were followed—if whoever’s hunting us got to her first—*

*Ronan knows what he’s doing.*

*Or what if—* I stopped. The uglier thought slid in anyway, cold and quiet. *What if she just... didn’t come?*

The wolf was silent for a long moment.

*She will.Now stop tearing yourself apart and rest.*

I wanted to believe him. Desperately.

But the silence was deafening.

The worst part was having nothing to do but wait.

And remember.

My mind kept dragging me back to that night—the one where everything went to hell.

---

The water had been so cold it felt like knives.

I remembered the impact. The shock of it. Ribs screaming. Saltwater flooding my lungs. Blood clouding the water around my head.

I remembered surfacing—barely—gasping and choking. The cliff face impossibly high above me. Voices shouting. Rick’s voice, raw with panic.

And then the current had taken me.

I’d tried to shift. Tried to let my wolf take over and heal the damage. But between the broken ribs and the head injury, my body had simply... shut down. Refused.

Every time I reached for the shift, agony ripped through me and dragged me back under.

So I’d done the only thing I could. I’d let the sea carry me.

Hours. It had been hours of drifting in and out of consciousness, my wolf fighting to keep us afloat, keep us breathing. The coastline a distant blur. The sun sinking lower and lower.

By the time I’d washed up on that beach, I’d barely been alive.

The town had been small. Remote. The kind of place that probably wasn’t even on most maps.

I’d woken up in someone’s living room, wrapped in blankets that smelled like lavender and wood smoke, with an elderly woman pressing a cup of herbal tea into my hands.