Page 90 of Taken By the Alpha Priest

I start to shift out of pain and adrenaline alone, but not even my lycan form is strong enough to pull me out of this stupor. I’m hauled onto the back of a horse and I feel the strong arms of someone else holding me up, a pang of agony shooting through me as we start to canter.

“Easy, buddy,” a voice says. “I’ve got you.”

Grant. Grant is here, despite my instructions.

I try to tell him he wasn’t supposed to come, but I can’t seem to even form the words. I sense three others as well, catching glimpses of them from the corners of my eyes. Elijah, Frankie, and Charlotte.

Someone is missing.

“Tilda” I groan.

No one hears me.

31

TILDA

There’s no doubt about it: I’m a prisoner.

The truth slams into me as hard as the grip of the guards’ hands on my arms. They pull me away from the gates, their fingers digging into my flesh with enough force to bruise. Around me, the residents of Homestead gather, their faces a mixture of disdain and disgust. Their eyes burn into me, silent accusations in every glare, as if I’ve become something less than human—some kind of traitor who no longer belongs here.

I can practically see their thoughts…they think I “whored myself out” to the Alpha Prime.

I’m as good as dead.

I try to twist free, my instincts screaming at me to fight, but Patrick’s voice stops me cold. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be, Tilda,” he says. “You’ll just make it worse for yourself. Or for your sister.”

My heart drops into my stomach as I glance back at Enid. She’s screaming my name, her face red and streaked with tears. She looks so small, so fragile, her fists pounding uselessly against David’s chest as he holds her back. Every fiber of my being wants to run to her, to shield her from this madness, but I freeze in place.

Patrick's threat echoes in my head.

They could hurt her too.

I can’t let that happen. Not Enid. Not the little sister I swore to protect.

The fight drains out of me like water through a sieve, and I stop struggling. The guards jerk me forward anyway, dragging me through the town square. The weight of Patrick’s gaze follows me, and when I glance back, I see a flicker of something cruel in his eyes, a triumph that chills me to the bone.

He’s not just trying to neutralize a threat—he’s enjoying this.

I focus on Enid instead. Her cries tear at me, each one a dagger to my heart. “Tilda!” she screams, her voice breaking. “Don’t hurt her! Don’t you dare hurt her!”

“It’s okay!” I shout back, though the words feel hollow even to me. “It’s going to be okay, Enid, I promise!”

But is it?

I don’t even know if Reyes is still alive. My thoughts ricochet back to the gunshot, the way he staggered, the blood that soaked into his shirt before the wolves dragged him away. My stomach churns, bile rising in my throat.He could be dead,I think, the possibility so horrifying I almost lose my footing.My own people might have killed him.

A rough shove from one of the guards snaps me back to reality. “Keep moving,” he growls.

I stumble, my boots scraping against the cracked pavement. The familiar sights of Homestead blur around me, warped by the red haze of the Celestial Curtain. The streets feel alien now, every building and every face turned hostile. The people here—my people—don’t see me as one of them anymore. They see me as a threat.

Patrick follows at a leisurely pace, his hands clasped behind his back like he’s presiding over a parade.

The bastard. I’ll fucking kill him.

I’m hauled into the old courthouse, the building looming over me like a ghost of the pre-Convergence world. Its stone walls are cracked and weathered, ivy crawling up the sides, but the heavy oak doors still hold firm. The inside smells of mildew and damp wood, the air thick and oppressive. Every step echoes down the empty corridors, the sound bouncing back at me like a warning I can’t ignore.

The guards keep a bruising grip on my arms as they lead me toward the basement, their boots clomping heavily against the warped wooden floorboards. I glance around as we descend the narrow staircase, the dim light from a single hanging bulb casting eerie shadows on the walls. The courthouse has always been a place of judgment, but now it feels more like a tomb.

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