I reached the front gates of the packhouse, ignored the guards’ horrified faces, and stumbled into a taxi, leaving streaks of blood on the seat. I told the driver one word. “Hospital.”
When the doctor came out hours later, his face told me everything before he even spoke.
“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “The baby couldn’t be saved.”
My world went silent. No heartbeat. No future. Nothing but hollow ache.
Alpha Jeremiah never came. Not that night. Not the next morning. Not even after the pack healer sent word. I waited. I hoped. I broke.
And when the third sunrise came, something inside me shifted. The ache turned cold. The bond between us still hummed faintly, but I felt it thinning—like a thread ready to snap.
Three days later, he finally called for me.
There was to be a celebration, his birthday, and a gathering of Alphas from neighboring packs. He told me to “be presentable.”
I stood before the mirror, pale and ghostlike.
When he saw me before the event, his tone was softer. “You’ve been quiet lately,” he said. “That’s good. I like it when you’re obedient.”
I smiled faintly, but it never reached my eyes. “Of course, Alpha.”