Draven stepped in front of me and, in a gesture so unlike him, gently wiped the cold sweat from my brow. His handkerchief was warm, he scented faintly of cedar and wolf musk.
“If it hurts, scream,” he murmured. “Just bear with it. This is for the future of the pack. Think of it like you are also saving our child.”
I closed my eyes. I didn’t want to see him.
Our child?
Would he still call it ours when the pup is born and he marks Freya instead?
A scream pierced the silence from the upper floor. It was Freya’s voice—sharp, trembling.
Draven’s face automatically darkened.
He turned back to the doctor and barked, “Another four hundred.”
The doctor paled. “That could kill her!”
“She’s already fading—”
“Freya is my Luna-to-be. She comes first,” Alpha Draven snapped, already moving toward the door.
I could barely speak, but I forced the words out. “Draw it.”
The physician froze.
“It’s settled,” I whispered. “Once this is done, let me go.”
Alpha Draven turned slowly. His eyes, golden and narrowed, burned into mine. Then he strode over and gripped my chin hard enough to bruise.
“You’d run away over this?” he sneered.
Freya’s whimper echoed again and, without another word, he shoved me away and disappeared.