Page 37 of The Alpha's Auctioned Pregnant Mate

Of course, that's why they can't escape. There's no running from your own soul.

The realization hit her like a physical blow, leaving her feeling hollow and defeated. She let out a breath, barely more than a sigh, and closed her eyes again. Articus’s presence was a small comfort, but it did little to chase away the despair gnawing at her.

I'm so fucked.

Articus gently laid her down on what she assumed was a bed, the softness beneath her a welcome feeling. She blinked, trying to focus on his face. His blue eyes, usually so sharp and intimidating, were clouded with concern.

Articus’s voice broke through the fog in her mind, low and soothing. “How are you feeling, Wren?” he asked, his tone gentle, as if he were afraid of causing her more pain.

Wren wanted to laugh at the question, but she didn't have the energy.

Was she okay?

She'd just had her soul nearly torn apart by magic. She was bound to a man she barely knew, trapped in a world she didn't understand. No, she wasn't okay. She wasn't sure she'd ever be okay again.

“I don’t know,” she whispered, her voice hoarse from disuse. “I just... I don’t know.”

Articus nodded as if he understood, though Wren doubted anyone could truly grasp her despair. He helped her to sit up, tucking the blankets around her more securely before rising to his feet.

His hand brushed her arm in a surprisingly comforting gesture. “I’ll get you some tea,” he said, his tone still soft. “It might help you feel a little better.”

She didn’t argue, didn’t protest. She simply nodded, too exhausted to do anything else, closing her eyes as he left the room.

Her mind drifted back to the moment when Juniper had tried to break the magic, her power surging through her body like a storm. It had felt like thousands of tiny hooks, latching onto her soul and pulling, stretching, tearing.

It had been agony. The pain had been so intense, so deep, that Wren thought she might die from it. And maybe that would have been better.

Wren shuddered, wrapping her arms around herself. She'd always prided herself on her strength, her ability to withstand pain and hardship. But this... this had broken something inside her.

I’m so tired.

The door opened, and Articus returned with a steaming mug. The scent of chamomile wafted through the air as he approached, sitting on the edge of the bed. He helped her sit up, supporting her back with one hand while offering the tea with the other.

"Here," he said softly. "This should help."

Wren took the mug with trembling hands, the warmth seeping into her cold fingers. She took a small sip, the hot liquid soothing her parched throat.

Articus watched her closely, his face a mask of guilt and concern. "I'm so sorry, Wren," he said after a moment, his voice low. "I didn't know it would be like that. If I had known, I never would have asked Juniper to try. I never wanted to hurt you."

Wren lowered the mug, meeting his gaze. Despite everything, she believed him. She'd seen the shock and horroron his face when the spell had gone wrong. "It's okay," she whispered, her voice hoarse. "I know you were trying to help."

He nodded, relief flickering across his features. “Truly, I was. I am.”

She wanted to believe him. God, how she wanted to believe him. But hope felt dangerous, a luxury she couldn't afford.

"Why?" she asked, finally meeting his gaze. "Why do you care what happens to me? I'm just a rogue you bought at auction. Why not just... use me and be done with it?"

Articus recoiled as if she'd slapped him, his blue eyes widening with shock and what looked like hurt. "Is that what you think of me?" he asked quietly.

No.

Wren shrugged, looking away. "I don't know what to think anymore. I don't know you, Articus. I don't know any of this." She gestured vaguely at the opulent room around them. "This isn't my world."

Silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken words and conflicting emotions. Finally, Articus spoke, his voice low and intense.

"I care because it's the right thing to do," he said. "Because you're a person, Wren, not a possession. And because..." he hesitated, seeming to struggle with his words. "Because I see something in you. Strength. Resilience. You've been through hell, and you're still fighting. I admire that."

Wren felt her cheeks warm at his words, a confusing mix of emotions swirling in her chest. She didn't know how to respond, so she reached for the tea instead, taking a long sip to hide her face.

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