Silence crashed over us—heavy, suffocating.
I stepped back, vision blurring. No. No, this couldn’t be happening.
Brexon’s entire body locked up. His jaw tightened, his knuckles whitening as his claws threatened to break through. “Is this some kind of sick joke?”
“I’m sorry,” Lyssa whispered. “I never wanted it to come out like this.”
“How long?” His tone was pure frost.
She inhaled shakily. “Eight cycles.”
I flinched. Nyra was eight.
Brexon’s breath hitched, sharp and dangerous. “And it never once crossed your mind to tell me?”
“I had to protect him.” Tears streamed down Lyssa’s cheeks.
A dark laugh slipped from Brexon—cold, empty, twisted at the edges. “Protecting him… from me?”
She shook her head, voice barely a whisper. “From my mate—my dead mate. If he had discovered Orrin wasn’t his bloodline, he would’ve ripped our throats out without hesitation.”
Harlan’s voice cut through the suffocating silence.
“Alpha… we’re out of time. Two pups are fading. Both need your blood.”
Two. The word sliced through me like claws through flesh.
Brexon’s face remained unreadable, a mask of steel, but his fists clenched at his sides, knuckles whitening.