After My Alpha Chose His Pregnant Mistress

The clinic smelled like antiseptic and lavender. I signed in at the front desk and took a seat in the waiting area. Eight months pregnant, every movement felt deliberate. The pup kicked against my ribs. I pressed my hand to my belly and smiled.

Then I saw her.

Daisy Sanders sat three chairs down, her hand resting on a visibly rounded stomach. Not as far along as me. Maybe five months. Maybe six.

She looked up and met my eyes.

I should have left. Should have walked out. But my wolf stirred, hackles rising, and I stayed rooted to the spot.

Daisy smiled. Soft. Sweet. The kind of smile that made people want to protect her.

"Natalie," she said quietly. "I was hoping we'd get a chance to talk."

I said nothing.

She stood and crossed the space between us, moving carefully, one hand cradling her belly. She sat down beside me. Too close. Her jasmine scent made my stomach turn.

"I know this is hard for you," she said. "But Damian loves us both. In different ways. There's room for both of us in his life. In the pack."

My hands clenched into fists.

"You're carrying his pup," I said. My voice came out flat.

"Yes." She looked down at her belly, her expression tender. "He's so happy about it. He says this pup will be strong. A future Beta, maybe."

Something cold slid through my chest.

"He shoved me down the stairs to protect you," I said. "Did he tell you that part?"

Her smile faltered. Just for a second. Then it came back, softer than before.

"He was scared," she said. "You were so angry at the banquet. He thought you might hurt me. Hurt the pup."

I stood up.

She flinched back, one hand flying to her belly in a gesture of protection that was pure performance.

"Stay away from me," I said.

The clinic door opened.

Damian walked in.

He saw us both and froze. His gaze darted between me and Daisy. Then he moved toward us, his face tight.

"Natalie," he said. "What are you doing here?"

"Prenatal checkup," I said. "What's *she* doing here?"

Daisy stood, her movements slow and careful. She looked up at Damian with wide eyes.

"I just wanted to talk to her," she said softly. "To explain. But she's so angry—"

"I'm angry?" My voice rose. "You hired rogues to corner me in the basement. You took my father's healer suite while he was dying. And now you're sitting here telling me there's *room* for both of us?"

Damian stepped between us.

Not beside me. Between us. Shielding her.

"Natalie, calm down," he said. His Alpha tone bled into the words.

I stared at him.

"Move," I said.

"Not until you calm down."

I stepped forward.

He shoved me.

Not hard. Not violent. Just enough to move me back. To create space between me and Daisy.

But I was eight months pregnant. My center of gravity was already off. My foot caught the edge of the waiting room rug.

I fell backward.

The stairs were right behind me.

I remember the first impact. My shoulder hitting the edge of a step. Then my hip. Then my head. The world spun. Pain exploded through my belly.

I heard Damian shout my name.

Then everything went dark.

***

I woke to white ceiling tiles and the smell of disinfectant.

My hand flew to my belly.

Flat.

Too flat.

No.

I tried to sit up. Pain lanced through my abdomen. A hand pressed gently on my shoulder, easing me back down.

Damian sat beside the bed. His face was haggard. His eyes red.

"Natalie," he said. His voice cracked. "I'm so sorry. I'm so—"

"Where's my pup?"

He looked away.

The silence told me everything.

I didn't cry. I couldn't. My wolf had gone completely silent. Not dormant. Just... gone. Like she'd retreated so far inside me I couldn't feel her anymore.

"The healer said the trauma was too much," Damian said quietly. "The fall caused—"

"You pushed me."

He flinched.

"I didn't mean—"

"You pushed me to protect her."

"Natalie, please—"

"Get out."

He didn't move. Instead, he leaned forward, his hands reaching for mine.

"There's something I need to ask you," he said. "The healer found something. In the pup's cord blood. Rare properties. They could treat Daisy's wolf-blood disease. She's deteriorating fast, and this—this could save her."

I stared at him.

"You want my dead pup's blood," I said slowly. "For her."

"It would be the pup's final gift," he said. "A way to—"

"Get. Out."

His hands closed around my wrist.

Pain exploded across my skin. Not the ache of a bruise. Something deeper. Hotter. I looked down and saw silver-like welts rising where his fingers touched me.

He jerked his hand back, staring.

"Your wolf—"

"My wolf is gone," I said. "Because of you."

He opened his mouth. Closed it. Then stood slowly.

"I'll come back tomorrow," he said. "When you've had time to think about it."

He left.

I lay there in the dark, staring at the welts on my wrist.

***

That night, after the healers dimmed the lights and left me alone, I reached for my bag.

The wolfsbane cloth was tucked in the bottom, right where I'd left it. I'd started carrying it after the banquet. After his touch first burned me.

I pulled it out. The fabric was damp, the scent sharp and bitter.

I pressed it to my wrist. Where his fingers had been.

The sting was immediate. Clean. Honest.

I scrubbed. Slowly. Methodically. Until the welts were raw and red and I couldn't feel his fingerprints anymore.

Then I moved to my shoulder. My forearm. Everywhere he'd touched.

I didn't cry.

I didn't make a sound.

When I finished, I tucked the cloth away and lay back down.

The ceiling tiles were still white. Still blank.

I stared at them until the sun came up.