Pregnant by the Enemy Alpha

CHAPTER 5

The packhouse is quiet in that false way it gets before dawn, when everyone is still technically asleep but nothing feels at rest, and I move through my final routines like I’m afraid of waking something if I rush. I pack slowly, folding clothes with care that feels almost ceremonial, smoothing out wrinkles that won’t matter once they’re stuffed into a bag that suddenly feels too small for the life I’m leaving behind.

“This is ridiculous,” I mutter under my breath as I refold a shirt for the third time, because if I stop moving I might start thinking too hard about the fact that this is all I’m allowed to take.

The bag sits open on my bed, half-filled, and I stare at it for a long moment before adding a jumper I haven’t worn in years, the fabric still soft and faintly familiar, and a spare pair of boots that Levi insists I’ll need even though I don’t know where I’m going. I leave things behind without really deciding to, books, small keepsakes, the kind of objects that make a room feel lived in, because carrying them feels like pretending I’ll be back.

I close the bag and then open it again, rearranging the contents until everything fits neatly, even though neatness doesn’t change anything.

The bathroom light hums softly when I turn it on, and I step into the shower one last time, letting the familiar water hit my shoulders while I rest my forehead against the tile, breathing in the scent I’ve known my entire life. The heat loosens the tightness in my chest just enough that I can stand there without shaking, and I take my time washing my hair, memorising the feel of it, the pressure, the way the water sounds against the floor.

“Don’t cry,” I tell myself quietly. “You don’t have time.”

I wash until my skin feels too warm, then stand there a little longer anyway, because I don’t know when I’ll get to do this again without worrying about being watched or moved along or told to hurry. When I finally step out, I dry off carefully, dress slowly, and stare at my reflection like I’m trying to commit it to memory.

“You look fine,” I whisper. “You’re fine.”

The lie sits easily in my mouth now.

Levi knocks once before opening the door, not waiting for an answer, and Lincoln is right behind him, both of them already dressed, already braced, anger and restraint pulled tight across their faces.

“Ready,” Levi asks, even though it’s obvious I don’t have a choice.

I shoulder my bag. “As I’ll ever be.”

Lincoln reaches for it immediately, lifting it like it’s nothing. “I’ve got that.”

“Thanks,” I say, and the word feels inadequate.

We move through the packhouse together, footsteps quiet on familiar floors, passing doors I’ve walked past every day of my life without ever thinking I wouldn’t again. No one stops us. No one comes out to watch. It’s as clean and efficient as my father promised it would be.

Outside, the air is cool and sharp, the sky just starting to lighten at the edges, and we walk in silence for a while, the three of us falling into step the way we always have, like muscle memory hasn’t realised what’s happening yet.

Levi breaks first.

“This is bullshit,” he says flatly. “All of it.”

“I know,” I reply.

“We could still take you somewhere else,” Lincoln says. “Stay with friends. Somewhere safer.”

“Where,” I ask gently.

He doesn’t answer, because we all know the truth of that too.

We stop just short of the boundary, the invisible line etched into my bones even if my eyes can’t see it, and Levi finally turns to face me fully, jaw tight, eyes bright with anger he’s been swallowing since yesterday.

“Here,” he says, shoving a bundle into my hands. “Money. More than you’ll need for a bit. Don’t argue.”

“I wasn’t going to,” I say, fingers curling around it instinctively.

“And this,” Lincoln adds, pressing a small pack against my arm. “Food. Supplies. Just in case.”

“Just in case what,” I ask, trying for a smile that doesn’t quite land.

“Just in case,” he repeats.

Levi grips my shoulders then, hard enough to ground me. “This isn’t the end,” he says fiercely. “We’ll find you. I swear it.”

“You don’t know where I’m going,” I say quietly.

“We’ll figure it out,” Lincoln insists. “This doesn’t get to be permanent.”

I nod, because arguing won’t help, and because I don’t want to be the one who says out loud what we’re all thinking.

“Be careful,” Lincoln says, softer now. “Please.”

“I will,” I promise, even though I don’t know how.

Levi pulls me into a hug then, sudden and tight, and for a second I let myself lean into it, breathing him in, anchoring myself in the familiar solidity of my brother’s arms.

“I’m sorry,” he says roughly. “I should have done more.”

“You did everything,” I reply, voice muffled against his shoulder. “I know you did.”

He pulls back, eyes searching my face like he’s trying to memorise it, and then Lincoln hugs me too, gentler but just as fierce.

“Don’t disappear,” he says.

“I won’t,” I say, even though disappearing feels like the safest option.

They step back together, both of them hovering like they want to say more and don’t know how, and I know this is the moment, the one my body has been bracing for since the word exile was spoken.

I don’t look back toward the packhouse.

I already know who won’t be there.

I take one step forward, then another, crossing the boundary without ceremony, without announcement, because I refuse to give it more weight than it’s already taken from me.

The snap comes immediately.

It isn’t loud, or dramatic, or visible, but I feel it all the same, a sharp, sudden absence like someone has cut a cord I didn’t realise was keeping me upright, and my breath stutters as the bond to the land drops away beneath my feet.

“Oh,” I whisper, staggering slightly.

“Monroe,” Levi says sharply, reaching for me.

“I’m okay,” I say quickly, forcing myself to stand straighter even as the world feels wrong, flatter, quieter, like something essential has been muted. The air smells different here, thinner somehow, and the ground doesn’t answer me the way it always has.

The connection is gone.

I hadn’t understood how much of me was tied to it until it wasn’t there anymore.

My brothers stop at the boundary, unable to follow, and I stand a few steps beyond them, suddenly very aware of the space between us.

“We’ll be in touch,” Lincoln says again, voice tight.

“I know,” I reply, because I have to believe that.

Levi nods once, sharp and decisive, like he’s locking something into place inside himself. “Don’t let this break you.”

I manage a small smile. “Too late for that.”

They both flinch, and I regret it immediately.

“I mean,” I add quickly, “I’ll be okay.”

It’s not convincing, but they let it go, because there’s nothing else they can do.

I take another step back, then another, increasing the distance until they blur slightly, until the line between us feels as real as the one I just crossed.

“Go,” Levi says softly. “Before I do something stupid.”

I nod, turn, and start walking.

The ground feels unfamiliar under my boots, the silence pressing in around me as the pack’s presence fades completely, and with each step the reality settles deeper, heavier, until it’s no longer something I can pretend might be temporary.

I stop when I can’t feel them anymore, when the bond is nothing but an echo in my chest, and I stand there alone, bag heavy on my shoulder, money clenched in my hand, staring at a stretch of road that leads nowhere familiar.

There’s no plan.

No destination.

Just open space and the quiet understanding that this is mine now.

I take a slow breath, then another, because breathing is something I can still do, and I tell myself, firmly, that standing still won’t change anything.

When I finally start walking again, it’s not because I know where I’m going.

It’s because there’s nothing left behind me to return to.