My Mate Ordered Me to Poison Our Unborn Pup

The lower east wing was cold, smelling of damp limestone and neglected linen. I sat on the edge of the narrow twin bed, my two leather bags resting untouched against the bare wall.

At seven o'clock, the door swung open without a knock.

Dillon stood in the doorway. He was dressed in his dark formal suit, his silver cufflinks catching the dim light of the corridor. He looked like an Alpha about to claim the world, but his scent was poisoned by Giuliana's sweet, cloying lily.

His eyes swept over the bare room, lingering on my unpacked duffels before landing on me.

"You're still dressed in day clothes," he said, his voice clipped. "Good."

"I live here now, don't I?" I said quietly.

His jaw set, and his shoulders dropped slightly—the telltale predatory settle of weight he used before asserting authority.

"I came to make sure we understand each other," Dillon said, stepping into the room. "The pack is arriving upstairs. Giuliana is being introduced as the heart of Ironvale. I will not have any scenes, Everly. I will not have you lingering in the halls, looking like a martyr."

"I have no desire to watch you give away what isn't yours to give," I said.

A flash of anger darkened his eyes. He didn't argue. Instead, he drew a breath, and when he spoke, his voice vibrated with a deep, crushing resonance that shook the dust from the ceiling rafters.

*"You will stay in this room tonight,"* he commanded, unleashing the full weight of his Alpha tone. *"You will not open this door. You will not step foot in the banquet hall."*

The order hit my chest like an iron bar. My ribs compressed. The air vanished from my lungs, and my body locked instantly, compelled by the ancient, biological law of the pack. My chin dropped an inch against my will, my head bowing to the force of the command.

Dillon gave a satisfied nod. "Rest. We'll discuss your duties tomorrow."

He turned on his heel and walked out, closing the door firmly behind him.

The lock had clicked shut inside my marrow. But as his heavy footsteps faded down the hall, something strange happened.

Usually, when Dillon used his tone, my wolf retreated into the shadows of my mind, shivering and bruised. But tonight, she didn't whimper. She didn't curl into a ball.

Deep in my chest, she paced. Her hackles were raised, her fangs bared in a silent, vicious snarl. My physical body was trapped by the Alpha command, but my wolf's soul had completely rejected him. She wasn't submitting. She was waiting.

I took a slow, deliberate breath and filed that feeling away.

An hour later, the banquet began above me.

Even through the thick floorboards, the muffled roar of laughter and music filtered down. But worse than the noise was the mate bond. It remained an open, bleeding thread between us, one Dillon hadn't bothered to shield.

Through the link, I felt the exact second he took the stage. I felt his chest swell with pride.

Then came Giuliana’s soft, breathless giggle, echoing straight into my mind like a needle through silk.

*“To my Luna,”* Dillon’s voice rang out, vibrating through the bond with sickening warmth. *“To the future of Ironvale.”*

A thunderous cheer shook the ceiling above my head.

I sat in the dark and pressed my right thumb hard against my left pulse point. I pressed until the skin turned stark white, using the small, grounding pain my mother had taught me whenever fear threatened to swallow me whole.

I didn't cry. Tears were a luxury for someone who still had a mate.

*He called our baby a complication,* I thought, my hand drifting down to cover my belly. *He wanted me to swallow wolfsbane.*

I couldn't leave yet. Not blindly. Before I walked to that border, I had to know what the past forty-eight hours had done to the life inside me.

The next morning, an hour before dawn, the pack house was dead quiet. The warriors were sleeping off cheap whiskey and roasted meat.

I slipped out through the dispensary entrance and hurried down the frosted gravel path toward the pack clinic. The autumn air was biting, smelling of damp earth and approaching winter.

Inside the clinic, the lights were dimmed to a low amber glow.

Maren, our senior healer, was seated at the oak desk, grinding dried roots in a stone mortar. She was sixty, with silver woven through her braided hair and eyes that had seen three generations of Ironvale Alphas make fools of themselves.

She looked up when the door clicked. She didn't look surprised.

"Everly," she said quietly. "You shouldn't be here. Callum told the patrols you were on bed rest."

"Callum follows Dillon's orders," I said, closing the door behind me and locking it. "I need an exam, Maren. Alone."

Maren stared at me for three seconds. Then she set down the pestle and gestured to the examination table behind the linen curtain.

I sat on the paper-covered table and lifted my sweater. Maren warmed her hands with a quick rub, then placed her palms flat over my lower abdomen. She closed her eyes, letting her healer’s aura—warm and tinged with the scent of chamomile—sink into my skin.

For a long minute, the room was completely silent except for the humming refrigerator holding our cold serums.

When Maren opened her eyes, her brow was furrowed deep.

"The heartbeat is there," she murmured, keeping her voice barely above a whisper. "The pup is viable. But the protective margin around the sac is paper-thin, Everly. There’s an irregular pulse in the umbilical flow. The little one is absorbing your stress. What did Dillon give you?"

"He ordered me to take wolfsbane suppressants," I said, my voice ice-cold. "To hide the scent from Giuliana."

Maren’s jaw tightened. A sharp, angry breath left her nose. "That fool. That reckless, blind fool."

"I didn't take it," I told her. "I made an herbal mask instead. Peppermint, wild ginger, silver-leaf. But the ratio was rushed."

Without waiting for permission, I stepped over to Maren's private preparation counter. My hands moved quickly, catching the rhythm I had practiced for years. I pulled a vial of golden valerian extract and crushed two dried willow leaves between my fingers, dusting the powder into a small glass jar.

"Ten milligrams of willow to soothe the uterine wall," I said, my voice steady, clinical. "Five drops of valerian to steady the pup's rhythm."

Maren watched my hands. She was sworn to the pack. By law, any unauthorized medicine, any hidden pregnancy, was supposed to be reported to the Alpha immediately. Her mind-link was open; she could summon Dillon with a single thought.

She didn't move.

Instead, she reached into a locked drawer beneath the counter, pulled out a small dark bottle of white moss extract, and pushed it across the marble toward me.

"Take this," Maren said softly. "Two drops under your tongue every dawn. It will shield the pup’s aura without masking your natural heat. It will protect what little margin you have left."

I looked down at the bottle, then up into her tired eyes.

She wasn't coming with me. She couldn't fight Dillon. But she held my gaze for a long, heavy beat—a silent, unbroken promise between two women who had spent their lives mending what arrogant men broke.

"Thank you, Maren," I whispered.

"Pack your bags properly, little bird," she said, her voice dropping so low I almost didn't catch it. "Winter is coming early this year."