Page 3 of Marking Mia

On my hands and knees, I crawl deeper into the forest, away from the lights and voices. Every few minutes, another contraction hits, and I freeze, biting down on my sleeve or forearm to keep silent. Blood and fluid trickle down my legs, soaking my sleep shorts and drenching my thighs.

This is all my fault. If I had just mated with the alpha chosen for me- then Liam, Theo, and Ezra would be safe. But I was selfish. I loved them all, and now Ezra is dead. Liam and Theo might be, too.

I keep moving, driven by pain, fear, and the desperate need to protect my baby. In the distance, I can see torches through the trees. They’ve brought reinforcements.

Hours pass in a blur of agony and tears.

I lose track of where I am, only knowing I need to keep moving away from the cabin, away from the men who killed Ezra. Soon, I reach a narrow road.

I collapse next to the ditch, unable to go any further. The contractions are constant now, my body bearing down with irresistible force.

With shaking hands, I pull off my ruined shorts. Thebaby is coming, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it. I brace myself against a tree trunk, legs spread, and push with the next contraction.

The pain is unlike anything I’ve ever felt, and I scream, no longer caring who hears me. Let them come. Let them find me. I want this to be over.

I push again, feeling something tear inside me. Warm blood gushes between my legs, but the baby still isn’t coming. I reach down, feeling her head just beginning to crown.

“Oh, moons,” I gasp, tears and sweat pouring down my face. “Come on, baby girl. Your daddies need you to live.”

With one final, excruciating push, she slides from my body in a rush of fluid and blood. I catch her with trembling hands, pulling her to my chest.

She’s tiny and purple, covered in white vernix and blood. For one terrible moment, she doesn’t move, doesn’t cry. I rub her back frantically, clearing mucus from her nose and mouth.

“Please,” I sob. “Please breathe, baby. Please.”

She lets out a tiny cough, then a wail—the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard. I laugh through my tears, cradling her close. “Oh, thank God.”

I wrap her in my coat. She’s perfect—ten fingers, ten toes, a tuft of dark hair like Ezra’s.

Headlights appear in the distance, and a car approaches on the lonely road. I try to move, to hide, but my body refuses. I’ve lost too much blood, pushed beyond my limits. I can barely hold my daughter, let alone run.

The car slows, then stops. An older couple steps out—a man and woman, ordinary-looking, with concerned faces.

“Oh my God,” the woman gasps, rushing toward me. “Harold, call an ambulance!”

“No!” I clutch my baby tighter. “No hospitals. They’llfind us.”

The human woman kneels beside me. “Who will find you? You’re hurt. You need help.”

I’m fading fast, darkness creeping in at the edges of my vision. I have seconds, maybe, to make the most critical decision of my life.

“Take her,” I whisper, holding out my daughter. “Please. They’ll kill her if they find her.”

The woman hesitates, then carefully takes the bundle.

“What’s her name?” she asks as she cradles the bundle in her arms. I look at my daughter’s face one last time, memorizing every detail.

“Mia,” I say, the name we chose together, the four of us, lying in bed and dreaming of a future we’ll never have. “Her name is Mia.”

The last thing I see is my daughter’s face, cradled in a stranger’s arms before darkness claims me completely.

one

. . .

Twenty-Two Years Later

Mia

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