When The Alpha Chose Her Over Our Son

Pain tore through me in relentless waves, each one threatening to pull me under into darkness. I gripped the hospital bed rails, my knuckles white with strain as another contraction ripped through my body.

"Luna Kehlani, you need to push!" Dr. Sarah Mitchell's voice seemed distant through the fog of agony. "Your wolf is too weak—she can't help with the healing. We need to get this pup out now!"

I bore down with all my strength, a scream tearing from my throat. Blood soaked the sheets beneath me—too much blood. My suppressed wolf whimpered weakly inside me, unable to lend me her strength. Years of hiding my true Alpha bloodline had weakened us both.

"The Alpha—has he been contacted?" I gasped between contractions.

Dr. Mitchell's expression tightened as she checked the monitor. "I've been mind-linking him for the past hour, Luna. He's not responding."

Another wave of pain crashed over me, but this time it wasn't just physical. The mate bond flared in my chest—a one-sided agony that burned like acid. Nathaniel was somewhere in the pack territory, probably with her. The thought made me push harder.

"I need to try again," Dr. Mitchell muttered, closing her eyes to concentrate on the mind-link. "Alpha Nathaniel, your Luna is hemorrhaging. The pup is in distress. You need to come to the hospital now!"

I turned my head, tears streaming down my face as I pushed again. The room spun around me, darkness creeping at the edges of my vision.

"Luna, stay with me!" Dr. Mitchell snapped her fingers in front of my face. "We're losing you both!"

Suddenly, her eyes widened. She was getting a response.

"Alpha, thank the Moon Goddess," she breathed. "Luna Kehlani is fading. You need to—"

Her face fell as she listened to his response. The silence stretched between us, broken only by my ragged breathing and the beeping of machines.

"What did he say?" I whispered.

Dr. Mitchell's hands trembled as she adjusted the IV drip. "He... he said he can't come."

Another contraction hit, and I screamed again, this time from both physical pain and heartbreak.

"He said Bridget is having a panic attack because she sensed a rogue at the borders," Dr. Mitchell continued, her voice tight with barely controlled anger. "He said I should 'just handle it' and that he has more important matters to attend to."

I laughed through my tears—a bitter, broken sound. More important than his mate giving birth to his child? Of course. Bridget always came first.

"I won't die," I growled, summoning what little strength remained. "My pup won't die. Not for him."

With one final, tremendous effort, I felt my son slip into the world. His tiny cry filled the room as Dr. Mitchell quickly cleaned and wrapped him.

"He's beautiful," she whispered, placing him in my arms. "Strong, despite everything."

I gazed down at my son's tiny face, his eyes squeezed shut as he wailed his arrival into this world. Something fierce and protective bloomed in my chest—the last flicker of my dormant Alpha blood.

Hours passed in a blur of pain medication and afterbirth contractions. I drifted in and out of consciousness, holding my son close. Dr. Mitchell had stepped out to handle paperwork, leaving us alone.

The door swung open, and the scent hit me before I saw him—Bridget's cloying floral perfume all over his clothes, his skin, his hair. Nathaniel strode in, his expression unreadable as he glanced at me and then at the bundle in my arms.

"You're awake," he said flatly.

"Our son," I whispered, my voice raw from screaming. "Meet your son."

He approached slowly, his eyes scanning Hollis's tiny form with clinical detachment. "He looks small."

"He's perfect," I countered, pulling Hollis closer protectively.

Nathaniel's nostrils flared as he leaned closer. "He smells weak. Like his mother."

The words cut deeper than any knife. I watched as his gaze drifted to the clock on the wall, already calculating his escape.

"You should rest," he said, not meeting my eyes. "I have... matters to attend to."

Before I could respond, his body stiffened. His eyes unfocused slightly—he was receiving a mind-link.

"Nathaniel?" I reached for his hand.

He jerked away as if burned. "Bridget needs me. She's in pain."

Without another word, without even touching his son, he turned and walked toward the door.

"Nathaniel, please," I begged, hating the desperation in my voice. "Just hold him once."

He paused at the threshold, his broad shoulders tense. For one heartbreaking moment, I thought he might stay.

Then his phone chimed with a message. He read it and his face softened—the expression I'd never seen directed at me.

"Bridget says it hurts too much. I have to go."

And just like that, he was gone—leaving behind only the lingering scent of another woman's perfume and the hollow ache in my chest where our bond should have been.