When My Alpha Killed Our Baby, I Rejected Him

He didn't take me to the infirmary.

That was the first realization that cut through the haze of pain radiating from my twisted ankle. Wyatt’s grip on my upper arm was iron-tight, his fingers digging into my flesh with bruising force as he dragged me past the polished oak doors of the healing wing and shoved me toward the heavy, reinforced door that led to the dungeons.

"Wyatt, please," I gasped, stumbling as my injured foot dragged uselessly against the floor. "I need a healer. My ankle..."

"You don't deserve healing," he snarled, not breaking his stride. He threw the door open, the smell of damp stone and mildew rushing up to meet us. "You deserve to rot."

He hauled me down the spiral stone staircase, the air growing colder with every step. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat of terror. I had been a Luna, or at least I was supposed to be. Now, I was being dragged into the bowels of my own home like a criminal.

He stopped in front of the furthest cell, a cramped space with nothing but a cot and a bucket. He shoved me inside with enough force that I hit the opposite wall, collapsing onto the cold, unforgiving stone floor. A sharp cry tore from my throat as fresh pain exploded in my leg.

Wyatt stood on the other side of the silver bars, his chest heaving. His eyes were glowing a menacing crimson, his wolf fighting for control, but not to protect me. To destroy me.

"Tell me his name," he demanded, his voice dropping to a dangerous, guttural growl.

I pushed myself up to a sitting position, cradling my throbbing ankle. Tears streamed down my face, mixing with the dirt and dried blood from the rogue attack. "There is no one, Wyatt! I told you! It was an ambush. They were trying to hurt me!"

"Liar!" He slammed his fist against the bars, the metallic clang echoing through the empty dungeon. "You smell like him. You smell like a feral male. Did you let him touch you? Did you offer yourself to him to spite me?"

"I fought them off!" I screamed back, my voice cracking. "I fought them to survive! Why can't you smell the fear on me? Why do you only smell what you want to hate?"

He stared at me, his expression twisting into a mask of pure loathing. "You stay here, Arabella. No food. No water. You stay in the dark until you decide to give me a name."

With that, he turned on his heel and stormed out. The heavy door at the top of the stairs slammed shut, plunging me into silence.

I curled into a ball on the thin, moth-eaten mattress, shivering as the damp cold seeped into my bones. Hours ticked by in the darkness. My ankle throbbed with a dull, rhythmic ache, but as the adrenaline faded, another sensation took over.

The nausea.

It rolled over me in a sickening wave, stronger than the smell of the dungeon. I scrambled to the corner of the cell and retched into the bucket, my body convulsing. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, leaning my head against the cold stone wall to steady the spinning room.

It wasn't just fear. It wasn't just the smell of the cell.

My hand drifted instinctively to my lower abdomen. I did the math in my head, counting the weeks. The stress of the demotion, the grief over my father—I had blamed my missed cycle on the trauma. But the dizziness, the aversion to strong smells, the bone-deep exhaustion...

My breath hitched.

A soft scuffing sound came from the stairs. I froze, my heart leaping into my throat. Was Wyatt coming back to finish me off?

"Luna?" a tiny voice whispered.

I squinted into the gloom. A small figure crept toward the bars. It was Daisy, a young Omega who worked in the kitchens. She had always been kind to me, sneaking me extra bread when Nina wasn't looking.

"Daisy?" I whispered back, crawling toward the bars. "You shouldn't be here. If Wyatt catches you..."

"I brought you water," she murmured, sliding a plastic bottle through the bars. Her eyes were wide with fear. "And... I heard you sick. My mom, she... she gets like that when she's with child."

She hesitated, then reached into her apron pocket. "I stole this from the infirmary supply closet. I thought... maybe..."

She slid a small, white box through the bars. A pregnancy test.

My hands trembled as I took it. "Thank you," I choked out. "Now go. Please, before he hurts you."

Daisy nodded and scurried away, leaving me alone with the small plastic stick that held my fate.

I waited in the dim light, my heart pounding so hard it hurt. I prayed to the Moon Goddess, a prayer more desperate than any I had ever whispered before. If I was pregnant... if I carried his heir... he couldn't cast me out. He couldn't kill me. A pup was a blessing. A pup was the one thing that superseded all pack laws. It was a bridge. Maybe, just maybe, this baby could remind Wyatt of the love we were supposed to share.

I held the stick up to the sliver of moonlight filtering through the high, barred window.

Two pink lines.

Positive.

A sob broke from my chest, but it wasn't one of sorrow. It was hope. Fragile, terrifying, beautiful hope. I pressed my hand against my flat stomach, feeling a fierce protectiveness surge through my veins, stronger than the pain in my ankle, stronger than the cold of the dungeon.

"I'm going to protect you," I whispered into the darkness, tears hot on my cheeks. "Your father doesn't know yet, little one. But when he does... everything will change. He can't hate us. Not you."

For the first time in weeks, I didn't feel like a prisoner. I felt like a mother.