Chapter 4
The fever didn't burn like a sickness; it burned like an execution.
For a week, I had been drifting in and out of consciousness in Enzo’s cabin, my body a battleground of fire and ice. Dr. Elena said it was the grief, the physical shock of the miscarriage combined with the toxic withdrawal from the *Alpha’s Ruin*. My body was shutting down.
But in the delirium, I wasn't in the Neutral Lands. I was back *there*.
*The image was hazy, viewed through a tunnel of smoke. I saw Damon standing in the center of the Alpha suite—our suite. But it didn't look like ours anymore. The calming blue drapes were gone, replaced by garish red velvet. Piles of fabric swatches covered the desk where he used to work.*
*"Damon, darling, don't be so dour," Amelia’s voice floated through the room, grating and high. She held up a gold tassel. "The induction ceremony needs to be perfect. The press will be here in three days."*
*Damon was pacing, his hands pressed against his temples as if trying to crush his own skull. He looked awful. His skin was grey, his eyes bloodshot. He growled low in his throat, a sound of pure irritation.*
*"Enough, Amelia," he snapped, swatting the tassel away. "My head is splitting. stop the noise."*
*"You're just stressed," she huffed, stepping closer. The scent of her—that cloying, artificial mix of roses and vanilla—rose up like a suffocating cloud. She reached out to massage his shoulders. "Let your Luna help."*
*As soon as her skin touched his, Damon flinched violently. He shoved her back, his lip curling in disgust. "Don't touch me! You smell... you smell too sweet. It's making me sick."*
*He turned away, his chest heaving, his wolf whining for a scent that wasn't there. He was searching for rain. He was searching for cedar. He was searching for me.*
I woke with a gasp, the vision shattering into a million shards of pain.
"Rosalie!" Enzo’s voice was right beside my ear, tight with panic.
I arched off the mattress, a scream tearing from my throat. This wasn't the fever anymore. This was something else. It felt like my skeleton was being pulverized with a sledgehammer. Every joint, every bone, every fiber of my being was snapping.
"Elena!" Enzo roared, his hand hovering over me, terrified to touch. "She's seizing! Her heart rate is spiking!"
"Hold her down!" Dr. Elena’s voice was grim. "Her body is rejecting the trauma. She's not going to make it, Enzo. She's too weak."
*No,* I thought, the word a desperate plea in the center of the agony. *I won't die. Not like this. Not as a victim.*
A deep, primal heat exploded in the center of my chest. It wasn't the *Alpha's Ruin*. It was older. Wild.
*Snap.*
The sound of my own femur breaking echoed in the small cabin.
"Gods above," Elena whispered. "Look at her eyes."
I couldn't see my eyes, but I could feel the change. My vision sharpened, the dim cabin suddenly exploding with detail—the grain of the wood in the ceiling, the dust motes dancing in the firelight. The pain reached a crescendo, a blinding white light that consumed everything.
My body contorted, reshaping, rebuilding. Where there was weakness, muscle knit together. Where there was a human, a beast rose.
With one final, earth-shaking crack, the pain vanished.
I wasn't lying on the bed anymore. I was standing on four paws, my claws digging into the quilt. I shook my head, feeling the weight of thick fur. I opened my mouth to speak, but what came out was a howl—a long, haunting sound of pure mourning that vibrated through the walls of the cabin. It was a song for my lost baby, for my lost life, for the girl who had died in the snow.
Enzo stood frozen near the hearth, his eyes wide.
"A white wolf," he breathed, sinking slowly to his knees. "I’ve never seen... Rosalie?"
I looked at him. For the first time, I didn't just see Enzo the rogue. I smelled him. Beneath the scent of woodsmoke and pine, I smelled *him*—ancient earth, loyalty, and a deep, abiding love that tasted like dark chocolate on my tongue.
My legs wobbled. The shift was too new, too sudden. I collapsed onto the bed, the world spinning as my human form returned in a wash of exhaustion.
Someone draped a blanket over me immediately. I blinked up, trembling, my senses still dialed to maximum. The smell of the cabin was overwhelming now, but Enzo’s scent... it was an anchor.
"You shifted," Enzo said softly, sitting on the edge of the bed. He looked like he had seen a ghost. "You were supposed to be wolfless. The trauma... it must have forced a survival instinct."
I curled my fingers into the blanket, staring at my hand. It looked the same, but it felt stronger. "I heard her howling," I whispered, my voice raspy. "Inside me. She was crying for the baby."
Enzo’s face crumpled slightly, but he composed himself. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a leather cord. Hanging from it was a piece of raw amber, glowing warm and golden in the firelight. It wasn't a diamond. It wasn't a pack crest. It was rough, real, and beautiful.
"In the packs," Enzo said, his voice thick with emotion, "an Alpha gives a collar. A mark of possession."
He held the necklace out to me, his hands steady despite the intensity in his gaze.
"But rogues... we don't own each other, Rose. We choose. This is a Promise Necklace. It means that as long as you wear it, my claws are yours. My life is yours. Not because you ordered it, but because I offer it."
I looked at the amber, then up at his dark eyes. There was no demand there. No Alpha command waiting to crush my will. Just a question.
I slowly turned my back to him, sweeping my hair up to expose my neck—the neck Damon had never marked, the neck Amelia wanted to adorn with jewels.
"Put it on," I whispered.
I felt the cool leather settle against my skin, followed by the warmth of Enzo’s fingers as he tied the knot. He lingered for a second, his breath hitching, before pulling away.
I turned back to face him, clutching the amber stone. For the first time in two years, the crushing weight in my chest lightened. I wasn't an Omega anymore. I wasn't a paid mate.
I was a wolf. And I was free.
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