The Alpha's Fatal Kick

Mia POV

The guards did not take me to a guest room or a secure ward.

They took me underground.

Every flight of stairs stripped away another layer of warmth. By the time we reached the detention level, my injured hand had swollen twice its normal size and the thin blouse I wore from breakfast did nothing against the damp cold.

"I need the clinic," I told the guard on my left. "At least call Dr. Ellis."

He kept walking.

"The Alpha said no healer without authorization."

"I am pregnant."

His jaw tightened, but he did not look at me.

"You heard me tell him."

"I heard the Alpha issue an order."

The second guard opened the last iron gate.

The cell beyond it was a concrete box with a drain in the center and a narrow bench bolted to the wall. Water crawled down the stones in thin black lines. There was no mattress, no blanket, and no window.

"Inside."

I did not move.

"If you put me in there and something happens to the baby, every person in the hall heard me warn him."

The first guard finally met my eyes.

Shame flickered there.

Then duty won.

He pushed me across the threshold.

The gate slammed shut.

I stood still until their footsteps disappeared.

Only then did I sit on the bench and cradle my hand against my chest.

My wolf paced inside me, frantic and confused. She kept reaching for Damien through the mate bond and finding nothing. A fated bond was supposed to be an open channel in moments of danger. Instead, I could feel the deliberate barrier he had raised to shut me out.

I pressed my good palm over my lower stomach.

"Stay with me," I whispered.

A faint kick answered beneath my palm. At twenty-six weeks, the movements had only recently become strong enough to interrupt my sleep. Now every one of them felt like a private distress signal. I counted each shift the way Dr. Ellis had taught me at the clinic, terrified that the cold or the impact in the hall would make them stop. Speaking to the life inside me gave the silence a shape I could survive.

Hours passed.

No food came.

Near midnight, a young guard left a metal cup of water just inside the bars. He avoided my eyes while he did it.

"Please," I said. "Ask the clinic to check my file. You do not have to disobey him. Just verify the pregnancy."

He hesitated.

"Lady Chloe nearly died."

"That has nothing to do with my medical record."

"The Alpha believes you poisoned her."

"Do you?"

He swallowed.

"It is not my place to believe anything."

"That answer is how innocent people die in rooms like this."

He left without replying.

An hour later I heard him arguing at the guard station. He had called the clinic after all. A second voice came through the radio, clipped and furious. Dr. Ellis demanded access to me and cited the pregnancy test by date and patient number. Silas cut him off before he finished.

"No medical personnel enter detention without the Alpha's approval."

"Then put him on the channel," Dr. Ellis snapped.

"The Alpha is unavailable."

"Unavailable is not a medical order."

The transmission ended. Boots approached my cell, then stopped. The young guard stood beyond the bars with both hands clenched at his sides.

"He confirmed it," I said.

The guard looked sick. "I know."

"And you are still leaving me here."

He had no answer for that either.

The cold became worse after midnight. I curled on the bench with my knees drawn up, trying to keep pressure off my abdomen. Each time I drifted toward sleep, pain in my hand woke me again.

By morning, my fingers had turned purple beneath the swelling.

I tried the bond.

Damien.

Nothing.

I pushed harder, sending the memory of the clinic, the positive blood test, the terror I had felt when his boot struck my stomach.

For one heartbeat, the wall trembled.

He was there.

I knew he felt me.

Then the barrier slammed back into place.

I laughed once, quietly, because the alternative was screaming.

At noon, voices carried from the guard station.

"Lady Chloe woke up."

"Alpha hasn't left her room."

"He ordered flowers from the capital."

I closed my eyes.

That evening, a tray arrived with stale bread and broth. No doctor. No message.

On the second day, I started spotting.

At first it was only a faint pink mark when I used the cell's tiny washbasin. I stared at it until my vision blurred.

I called for the guard.

"I am bleeding."

The man outside approached reluctantly.

"How much?"

"Enough that I need a doctor."

He radioed upstairs.

Static crackled. Then Silas answered.

"The Alpha's order has not changed."

"Tell him it concerns the pregnancy," I said loudly enough for the radio to carry my voice.

The guard repeated it.

A pause followed.

"He says the prisoner has already used that claim. No medical transfer."

Prisoner.

Not mate. Not Luna. Not Mia.

The guard lowered the radio.

"I'm sorry."

"Do not apologize if you are still leaving me here."

He backed away.

By the third day, I had stopped asking.

My hand throbbed. The spotting had slowed, but a deep ache remained across my lower back. Hunger sharpened every smell in the corridor. My wolf had gone from frantic to eerily quiet.

That scared me more than the pain.

I lay on the concrete because the bench made my back spasm. Somewhere above me, the pack carried on with meetings, meals, and patrol changes. Damien remained with Chloe. I knew because the guards discussed his vigil every time they changed shifts.

Three days beside her bed.

Three days while his pregnant mate slept on stone.

Late that afternoon, the outer detention door opened.

Rubber wheels squeaked across the floor.

A soft female voice said, "Leave us."

I lifted my head.

A wheelchair stopped outside my cell.

Chloe smiled at me from beneath a white hospital blanket.