Rejected While Carrying His Heir

"Blood!" a duke shouted over the royal string quartet.

The music screeched to a halt.

I turned just in time to see Ivy crumple.

"Ivy!" Ethan’s voice tore through the grand hall. Raw. Frantic.

He caught her before she hit the marble floor.

I froze. My champagne glass slipped from my fingers and shattered. No one looked at me. Every eye in the royal court fixed on the Alpha heir and the frail she-wolf bleeding in his arms.

"Get a healer!" Ethan roared. He pressed his hands against Ivy’s neck.

Dark, unnatural veins pulsed beneath her pale skin. Her bloodline was rejecting her. Everyone knew Ivy was born weak, but no one expected a total collapse at the royal full moon celebration.

"Ethan," she whispered. Her voice sounded like dry leaves crushing together. "Take care... of him."

"No, don't speak. You're going to be fine," Ethan insisted. His hands trembled violently.

I took a step forward. "Ethan, we need to move her to the—"

"Stay back!" he snapped. He glared at me with wild, bloodshot eyes.

I flinched. I was his mate. His wife. But in his eyes, I was an intruder.

Ivy’s hand went limp. Her chest stopped moving.

"Ivy?" Ethan shook her shoulders. "Ivy, open your eyes!"

Silence swallowed the room.

Ethan buried his face in her neck. He let out a howl of pure agony that rattled the crystal chandeliers above us.

I stood there, surrounded by the elite of the kingdom, feeling completely invisible.

***

The funeral wrapped up three days later. Black silk, gray skies, and a terrifying silence from my husband.

I sat on the edge of our massive bed. I stared at the small plastic stick in my palm.

Two pink lines.

"A baby," I murmured. My thumb traced the result.

My wolf purred in my mind. A pup. Our pup.

Ethan and I had drifted apart for months. Ivy’s constant need for his attention drove a wedge between us. But now, maybe this child could bridge the gap. Maybe he would finally look at me the way he used to.

Heavy footsteps echoed in the hallway. Fast. Urgent.

I shoved the test into my pocket and stood up.

The heavy oak door swung open. Ethan stood in the frame. His black suit was soaked from the rain.

He wasn't alone.

He held a small, squirming bundle of blankets against his chest.

"Ethan?" I asked. My gaze dropped to the bundle. "What is that?"

"He," Ethan corrected. His voice sounded like a hollow rasp. "His name is Orion."

He walked past me, ignoring my outstretched hand. He laid the baby on our bed.

The infant let out a weak, raspy cry. He looked tiny. Fragile. His skin showed a faint blue tint around the lips.

"Whose child is this?" I asked. A cold knot formed in my stomach.

"Ivy’s," Ethan replied. He didn't look at me.

The word struck me like a physical blow.

"Ivy had a baby?" I took a step back. "With who? When?"

"It doesn't matter," Ethan said. He turned to face me. His expression was completely shut down. "He was born premature. He has her weak constitution."

"I don't understand. Why is he here? In our bedroom?"

"Because you are going to raise him."

I stared at my husband. I waited for the punchline. There was none.

"Excuse me?" I asked. My voice rose.

"You heard me, Serena. Ivy is gone. This is the only piece of her left in the world."

"And you brought him to me?" I laughed. The sound was sharp and bitter, scraping my throat. "I'm your wife, Ethan. Not your dead friend's nanny."

His jaw hardened. "Watch your mouth. She was a dear friend."

"She was a parasite who stole my mate!" I yelled. The pent-up anger of the last two years finally boiled over.

Ethan crossed the room in two strides. He grabbed my upper arm. His grip bruised my skin instantly.

"Never speak of her that way again," he warned. His tone was deadly quiet. "She died in my arms."

"And I'm standing right in front of you!" I jerked my arm free. "You brought her bastard into our home and demand I play mother?"

"He is not a bastard. He is royal blood," Ethan countered.

"Royal blood?" I scoffed. "From where? Ivy was from a minor, exiled pack. Unless..." I stopped. A horrible thought crept into my mind. "Who is the father, Ethan?"

"That is none of your concern."

"It is my concern if you expect me to mother him!" I stepped into his space, refusing to back down. "Tell me who sired this child."

"I said drop it, Serena."

"Was it you?" The question hung in the air, toxic and heavy.

Ethan's eyes flashed with pure rage. "Do not push me tonight. My patience is gone."

"Answer the question!"

"No! It wasn't me!" he roared. The sheer volume forced me to step back. "But he is her legacy. And I swore on her dying breath that he would be safe."

"Then let the royal wet nurses take him. I have my