Page 31 of The Alpha's Auctioned Pregnant Mate

He owns you. Don't forget that.

The courtyard was bustling with activity, wolves in training gear and simple outfits milling about. Wren felt painfully out of place, her damp hair hanging loose around her shoulders.

Articus led her through the crowd, his hand hovering near the small of her back but never quite touching her. Wren wasn't sure if she was grateful for that or not.

They reached the outside of the mansion, where the cold morning air was a sharp contrast to the oppressive warmth of the interior. The chill bit at Wren’s skin, heightening her sense of discomfort.

The street outside was clean and well-maintained, nothing like the grimy alleys she was used to.

"This way," Articus said, gesturing to a black SUV idling nearby.

Wren climbed into the backseat, Articus sliding in beside her. The driver, a broad-shouldered man with a stern face, nodded at them in the rearview mirror before pulling away from the curb.

After about an hour of driving, they arrived at a small airfield. A sleek helicopter sat on the tarmac, its blades already spinning. The sight of it did little to calm her nerves; if anything, it only deepened her sense of foreboding.

As they approached the helicopter, Wren felt a flutter of anxiety in her chest. She'd never flown before, had never even been this close to an aircraft. The hum of the blades created a low, persistent noise that seemed to vibrate through her bones.

Articus must have sensed her hesitation because he paused, turning to look at her. "Are you alright?"

Wren squared her shoulders, refusing to show weakness. "I'm fine."

He studied her for a moment longer before nodding and helping her into the helicopter. The climb into the helicopter felt like an ascent into a new level of her predicament, one she was not entirely prepared for.

Articus moved with the ease of someone accustomed to such opulence, his casual demeanor a stark contrast to her tense and uncertain state.

Of course, he is used to this.

The interior was plush and comfortable; the leather seats and polished surfaces were nothing like the utilitarian machine she'd imagined.

As they took off, Wren's stomach dropped, and she gripped the armrests tightly. Articus watched her, a hint of concern in his eyes, but said nothing.

The aircraft lifted off with a powerful shudder, and Wren’s gaze was drawn to the window. As they ascended, the view of the blizzard-covered mountains spread out below was both beautiful and terrifying.

The snow-covered ridges and valleys were a stark reminder of the dangers of the terrain, and her mind raced with thoughts of travelers who had been lost to the harsh elements.

How many have died trying to cross these mountains?

The thought sent a chill down her spine. She'd heard stories of rogues attempting to make the journey on foot, never to be seen again. From up here, she could see why. The terrain was treacherous, and the weather was unpredictable.

But as they approached the mountains, the landscape changed dramatically. Snow-capped peaks loomed before them, their jagged silhouettes stark against the blue sky. As they flew higher, the air grew colder, and Wren shivered despite the helicopter's heated interior.

If he wanted to get rid of me, all he'd have to do is open the door.

The thought came unbidden, and Wren tensed, eyeing Articus warily. But he seemed completely at ease, his gaze fixed on the horizon.

Just when Wren thought the journey would never end, they crested the highest peak, and suddenly, everything changed.

The dark grey of her side of the mountains disappeared as if it had never existed. The transformation was dramatic, the harsh, snow-covered landscape giving way to clear blue skies and sunshine. Below them stretched a patchwork of green fields and sparkling rivers.

The view from the air was breathtaking. Wren couldn't help but gasp as they soared over lush forests and sparkling lakes. It was like nothing she'd ever seen before. In the distance, Wren could make out the outlines of towns and cities, their structures gleaming in the sunlight.

It was the light side of the mountain. The land of the original packs.

Wren's breath caught in her throat. It was beautiful, more beautiful than she'd ever imagined. But with that beauty came a rush of bitter realization.

This is where he's from. He's one of them.

Articus, with his privileged background and apparent disregard for the lives of those from the harsher side of the mountain, seemed to embody everything she resented about the elite.

---