When My Alpha Let Me Lose Our Child for the Pack

The pack house loomed before me, its once-warm lights now seeming cold and distant as I dragged myself through the front doors. My body felt hollow, emptied of both life and hope. The metallic scent of my own blood still clung to my clothes despite the days that had passed since I'd lost our pup in that frozen Northern wasteland.

"Luna Sarah!" One of the younger pack members gasped as I stumbled into the foyer. "You're back!"

I nodded weakly, unable to summon even a smile. My wolf remained eerily silent within me, her grief mirroring my own.

"Where is Alpha Alistair?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

"In his office with..." The girl hesitated, her eyes darting nervously toward the eastern wing where Azalea's quarters were located.

I didn't need her to finish. I knew exactly where Alistair would be.

The sound of vehicles approaching drew my attention to the windows. A convoy of trucks emblazoned with my father's pack logo pulled up outside, men in uniform unloading crates of supplies.

"Sarah!"

My father's voice cut through my exhaustion like a beacon of light. Elder Alpha Marcus Peterson strode through the doors, his commanding presence filling the room. One look at my face sent him rushing to my side.

"My God, what have they done to you?" His hands gently cupped my face, his eyes—so like my own—swimming with tears.

"Dad," I whispered, collapsing into his embrace. "I lost the baby."

His arms tightened around me, his chin resting on my head. "I know, sweetheart. I felt it through our bond."

That explained his sudden appearance. The familial bond between us had alerted him to my distress.

"The pack is starving," I murmured against his chest. "Winter was harder than expected. Many families have nothing left."

My father's expression hardened as he surveyed the pack house. "I've brought emergency supplies—food, medicine, blankets. Enough to see you through until spring."

He turned to his men. "Unload everything. And contact my bank—I'm authorizing an emergency transfer of funds to Silver Claw's account."

Relief washed through me. My father's pack was prosperous; his intervention would save countless lives.

"Come," he said gently. "Let's get you to bed. You need rest."

---

I awoke to the sound of hushed voices outside my door.

"The transfer codes are right here," Azalea's honeyed voice drifted through the wood. "All you need to do is sign the authorization."

"What's this for again?" Alistair's deep voice rumbled in response.

"Your new estate on the coast, darling." Azalea's voice dropped to a seductive purr. "Think about it—a private retreat where we can be alone together. No pack duties, no interruptions."

I struggled to sit up, my mind foggy from the sedatives Dr. Hartwell had given me. What were they talking about? My father's relief funds?

"A true Alpha deserves to display his wealth," Azalea continued. "Besides, the pack will never know. The funds are earmarked as 'emergency supplies.'"

I pressed my ear against the door, heart pounding. Through the thin wood, I heard the scratch of a pen on paper.

"You're right," Alistair said. "A true Alpha deserves better than this drafty old pack house."

---

Three days later, I was strong enough to venture downstairs. The pack house was eerily quiet—no sign of the expected relief supplies or medical equipment my father had promised.

"Where are the supplies?" I asked a passing Delta warrior.

He avoided my eyes. "I don't know, Luna."

A commotion from Alistair's office drew me down the hallway. The door was ajar, and through it, I could see my father standing over Alistair's desk, his face contorted with rage.

"You stole from your own pack?" My father shouted, slamming his fist down. "Those funds were meant for food, medicine—for my daughter!"

Alistair leaned back in his chair, unperturbed. "The pack has everything it needs."

"Everything it needs?" My father's voice cracked with disbelief. "While you build yourself a coastal mansion?"

I stepped into the doorway just as my father clutched at his chest, his face draining of color.

"Dad?" I whispered, a cold dread washing over me.

His eyes found mine, wide with pain. "Sarah... I'm sorry..."

He collapsed to the floor as Alistair rose slowly from his chair, annoyance flashing across his face.

"Call the healer," I screamed, rushing to my father's side.

But Alistair moved too slowly, reaching for his phone with deliberate slowness. "What's the hurry? He's just having a moment."

My father's hand found mine, squeezing weakly. His lips moved, forming words I couldn't hear.

"I'll call them now," Alistair finally said, dialing with exaggerated patience.

I felt it the moment my father's heart stopped—a violent snap inside my chest as our familial bond severed. A scream tore from my throat, primal and raw, echoing through the pack house as darkness closed in around me.