Bled Dry for His First Love

The next morning at the Moon Clinic, Mira shoved a thick manila folder across her metal desk.

"Your fetus is developing perfectly," Mira said, tapping a silver pen against the grainy printout. "But your blood work is a massive red flag."

I paused, my fingers hovering over the wooden box containing my new ultrasound. "What is wrong with my blood?"

"You carry a highly unusual Moon Blood subtype," Mira explained, opening the folder to reveal lines of highlighted data. "Ordinary tests never caught its true value. Pregnancy has spiked your blood activity to dangerous levels."

She leaned forward, her expression hardening into absolute medical authority.

"Listen to me, Lena. Under no circumstances can you do heavy blood donation right now. No forced shifts. Absolutely no high-intensity mate stabilization."

"I have never needed to stabilize Carter," I said, frowning at the charts.

"I am putting this in your permanent prenatal record," Mira insisted. She slid a single sheet of paper toward me. "If anyone in this pack asks you to act as a donor, my medical veto is not enough. You must sign this refusal waiver yourself."

I picked up the pen and signed my name on the dotted line.

"Keep that safe," Mira warned, taking the paper back.

I slipped the wooden box into the front pocket of my leather tote. I planned to go home, set the box on Carter's desk, and force him to look at the child we created.

I stepped out of the office and walked down the sterile white corridor.

"Add Sienna to Room Four," a nurse called out from the reception desk. "Alpha Carter just brought her in."

My pace slowed. I rounded the corner toward the urgent care wing.

Carter stood by the water cooler, holding a beige trench coat over his arm. Eli sat in a plastic chair next to Sienna, swinging his legs.

"Why is my son not in school?" I asked, stopping three feet away.

Carter spun around, nearly dropping the coat. "Sienna had severe chest pains at dawn. We rushed over."

"And nobody thought to call me?"

"I did not want to waste time waking you up," Carter replied, his tone defensive.

I kept my face completely blank. I did not mention that I had stared at the ceiling until sunrise. I did not mention the tiny, undeniable flutter I felt on the ultrasound table just an hour ago.

Eli jumped up and grabbed Sienna's hand. "Aunt Sienna hates needles, Mom. I had to come hold her hand so she would not cry."

Sienna offered a weak, apologetic smile. Her eyes darted to my wrist. She stared at the bright green patient identification band strapped to my skin.

"Lena, are you unwell?" Sienna asked softly.

"Routine checkup," I said.

It was a simple lie, but it felt monumental. It was the first time I actively shielded my medical information from my own family.

Mira walked out of Room Four holding a digital tablet. She glanced at Carter, then at Sienna.

"The test results are clear," Mira announced, her voice echoing in the quiet hall. "Sienna's chronic condition is entirely manageable with her current stabilizing medications. There is zero clinical indication for a blood transfusion right now."

Sienna nodded meekly, staring at the floor. "Thank you, Doctor."

Carter exhaled a loud, rushing sigh. His rigid posture relaxed. "Good. Then she continues her recovery at the Alpha House. Any relapse needs immediate handling by our staff."

"No," I said, my voice cutting through his relief. "If she requires immediate handling, she belongs in the pack recovery center."

Carter straightened to his full height. His eyes darkened, the gold rings of his wolf flashing in the fluorescent light.

"This is the Alpha House," Carter stated, his voice dropping into a heavy, resonant register. "It is the core residence of this pack. I have the authority to arrange temporary housing for a vulnerable member."

He used his Alpha command tone. On his mate. On his wife.

The argument was no longer about a guest overstaying her welcome. He had publicly weaponized his rank to crush my boundaries.

I pulled my phone from my pocket. Under the cover of my tote bag, my thumb typed three words into the browser search bar.

Sever mate bond.

I locked the screen and shoved the phone away.

Carter touched Sienna's elbow, guiding her toward the examination room for her final vitals.

"Carter, wait," I said, stepping into his path. "I actually have important family news to discuss with you."

Carter glanced at Sienna. He looked at her pale cheeks and trembling hands. He did not look at me.

"Tonight, Lena," he dismissed, waving a hand toward the exit. "Go home and prepare a light dinner for her stomach. We can talk later."

He walked past me, leading Sienna into the room.

I did not chase him. I did not pull the ultrasound photo out to demand his attention. A child was not a bargaining chip to win a man's focus when he refused to even listen.

I unzipped my tote bag. I reached into the front pocket, grabbed the small wooden box, and shoved it deep into the bottom compartment, burying it under my keys and planner.

Then, I opened the pack health application on my phone.

I navigated to the family sharing settings. I found Carter's profile, linked to mine for five years, and swiped the toggle to off. My medical data vanished from his access pool.

It was not an act of revenge. It was an act of preservation. My body and my child belonged to me now.

I turned and walked toward the exit.

As I passed the secondary waiting area, I saw Eli standing by the vending machines with Sienna.

"Here," Eli said brightly, tying a braided silver cord around her wrist. "Now when you get scared, you know we are all right here."

I stopped walking. I recognized the silver clasps and the twisted thread. It was the craft material I promised to buy him last week for the family moon banquet. I had been too busy managing the pack ledgers to drive to the store.

Sienna smiled softly. She reached out to ruffle Eli's hair.

As she lifted her arm, her loose sleeve slid down toward her elbow.

Right above her joint, a square stabilizing medication patch clung to her skin. The shiny plastic backing was still fully attached to the adhesive side. It was completely unpeeled.

Before I could step closer, Sienna yanked her sleeve down, hiding her arm.

Mira appeared beside me, holding a stack of discharge papers. She stared directly at the spot where the patch had vanished.

"If she took her medication on schedule," Mira stated, her voice dropping to a low, hard register, "she should never have deteriorated this fast."