Rejected by the Alpha, Claimed by the King

The silver moonlight filtered through the ancient oak canopy as I made my way deeper into the forest, my hand instinctively protective over the small life growing within me. Three months. Three precious months of carrying Drake's heir, and tonight—our tenth mating anniversary—I would finally tell him.

I'd planned this moment for weeks. A private ceremony at the sacred grove where we'd first met, just the two of us under the Moon Goddess's blessing. My fingers traced the delicate silver pendant at my throat, a gift from my mother that had been in the Morrison bloodline for generations. Drake deserved to hear this news somewhere meaningful, somewhere that honored both our bond and our future.

The forest felt different tonight. Too quiet. Even my wolf, Luna, stirred restlessly beneath my skin, her usual contentment replaced by an edge of unease I couldn't quite place.

"It's just nerves," I whispered to myself, continuing down the familiar path. "He'll be so happy."

The attack came without warning.

Shadows exploded from behind the trees—rogues, their eyes wild with bloodlust and something else. Something calculated. They moved with purpose, surrounding me before I could even shift. The largest one, scarred and reeking of violence, smiled as his claws extended.

"The Luna walks alone," he sneered. "How convenient."

Panic shot through me as his meaning became clear. This wasn't random. They'd been waiting. Watching.

I tried to shift, but another rogue was already on me, silver claws raking across my shoulder. The burn was immediate and devastating, silver poison racing through my bloodstream. My wolf retreated in agony, leaving me vulnerable in human form.

"Drake!" I screamed aloud before opening my mind-link, sending out a desperate call to my mate. "Drake, I need help! Rogues in the eastern grove—"

Nothing. The link hit a wall of silence.

Claws tore into my side, and I gasped, falling to my knees. Warm blood soaked through my dress—the white dress I'd chosen specially for tonight. My hands flew to my stomach as another rogue circled closer.

"Please," I whispered, then tried the mind-link again. "Drake! They're going to kill our—"

Blocked again.

The scarred rogue laughed, grabbing my hair and yanking my head back. "Your precious Alpha can't hear you, Luna. He's got more important things to worry about tonight."

His words sent ice through my veins, but I couldn't process their meaning. Not when claws were inches from my throat, not when my baby—our baby—was in danger.

I tried again. And again. Each mind-link call grew weaker as blood loss took its toll, but I kept trying. Ten calls. Twenty. Thirty.

"Drake, please... I'm dying..."

Forty calls. Fifty. The rogues toyed with me now, taking their time. One of them mentioned something about a distraction, about timing, but their words blurred together as darkness crept at the edges of my vision.

Sixty calls. Seventy. My wolf was barely conscious, the silver poison spreading through my system like liquid fire.

"Drake... our baby... please..."

Eighty calls. Ninety. I could barely form coherent thoughts anymore, let alone maintain a mind-link. But I had to try. He was my mate. My Alpha. He would come.

Ninety-five. Ninety-six. Ninety-seven.

The scarred rogue knelt beside me, his putrid breath hot against my ear. "He's not coming, Luna. He never was."

Ninety-eight. The link felt like pushing through concrete now, my consciousness fragmenting.

Ninety-nine.

Silence. Complete, devastating silence.

I lay there in the blood-soaked leaves, my dress ruined, my body broken, and felt something inside me shatter that had nothing to do with physical wounds. The mate bond that had sustained me for ten years suddenly felt like a chain around a drowning woman's neck.

The rogues were retreating now, their job apparently done. Not to kill me—that much was becoming clear. To break me.

"Tell your Alpha," the scarred one called over his shoulder, "that some debts can't be ignored forever."

I tried to understand, tried to make sense of his words, but pain was consuming everything. The cramping in my abdomen was getting worse, and with growing horror, I realized what was happening.

"No," I whispered, tears mixing with blood on the forest floor. "No, please, not my baby..."

But the Moon Goddess, it seemed, had already turned her face away.

Distant voices reached me through the haze—familiar accents, Morrison Pack scouts. They'd found me. But as gentle hands lifted me from the carnage, as concerned voices promised medical help, all I could think about was the silence.

Ninety-nine calls to my mate.

Ninety-nine times he'd chosen not to answer.

And somewhere in that devastating arithmetic, ten years of devotion began to die.