After My Alpha Killed Our Baby, I Chose a Dying Man

Peace was a sensation I was still learning to navigate. It was in the hum of the centrifuge, the scratch of Trace’s charcoal pencil against paper, and the sterile, clean scent of the Berlin lab. For the first time in my life, the air didn't smell like expectations or disappointment. It just smelled like oxygen.

Trace was sitting on a stool near the window, sketching the intricate glasswork of the beakers on my station. He looked pale today, the dark circles under his eyes stark against his skin, but when he looked up and caught me watching, his smile was effortless.

"You're staring, Dr. Young," he teased softly.

"I'm observing," I corrected, a small smile tugging at my lips. "It's scientific."

Then, the air changed.

It wasn't a sound. It was a shift in atmospheric pressure, a sudden heaviness that made the fine hairs on my arms stand up. The scent hit me a second later—ozone, pine, and the terrifying, suffocating musk of an enraged Alpha. My stomach dropped. The beaker I was holding slipped from my fingers, shattering in the sink.

Trace flinched, dropping his sketchbook. "Talia?"

I couldn't answer. I could only turn toward the double doors just as they were thrown open with enough force to crack the plaster.

Jaxon stood there.

He didn't look like the polished Wall Street tycoon I had left in Manhattan. His suit was wrinkled, his tie missing, and a dark stubble shadowed his jaw. His eyes were wild, flashing between human hazel and wolf gold. He looked like a man who hadn't slept in weeks, a man unravelling at the seams.

"Found you," he rasped, his voice dripping with an Alpha command that made my knees buckle instinctively. "I knew you couldn't hide forever."

The lab technicians froze. Dr. Weber stepped forward, confused. "Excuse me, sir, you cannot be in here—"

"Silence!" Jaxon roared, unleashing a wave of dominance that sent the human staff stumbling back in fear. He stalked toward me, ignoring everyone else. "I had to hire five different investigators to track your signature. Do you know how much trouble you've caused?"

I gripped the edge of the lab bench, forcing my spine to straighten. "Get out, Jaxon."

He stopped three feet from me, his nostrils flaring as he inhaled my scent. Then, his gaze snapped to Trace. He looked at the frail human man, then back at me, his face twisting in disgust.

"This is why you left?" Jaxon spat, pulling a crumpled photograph from his pocket and throwing it onto the counter. It was a picture of me and Trace at the Christmas market, laughing. "You run from your Alpha to play nursemaid to a corpse?"

"I ran from a husband who poisoned me," I said, my voice shaking but loud. "I ran from a marriage that was a graveyard."

"I did what was necessary to protect the pack!" Jaxon slammed his hand on the counter. "And you left me with that—that fraud. Capri lied, Talia. There was no baby. She faked the pregnancy to get the Luna title. The pack is in chaos. They sense the imbalance. They need their true Luna."

He reached for me, his fingers closing around my wrist. "You are coming home. Now."

"No," I said, yanking my arm back. The bond was gone, severed by my rejection, and his touch no longer sent sparks through me. It just felt cold. "I am not your Luna. I am not your wife."

"You carry her heart!" Jaxon screamed, the veneer of sanity finally cracking. He pointed a trembling finger at my chest. "That heart belongs to me. It belongs to the Silver Pack. As long as it beats inside you, you are my property, Talia. You are nothing but the vessel that keeps Hadassah alive for me."

The words hung in the silence, cruel and absolute. But they didn't cut me like they used to. They just clarified everything.

I stepped closer to him, my own anger rising, hot and fierce. "Look at me, Jaxon. Look at my eyes. This heart pumps my blood. It keeps me alive. It is mine now. Hadassah is dead. And if you keep chasing a ghost, you’re going to die alone."

Jaxon looked stunned, as if the furniture had suddenly started speaking. He growled, a low, dangerous sound, and lunged forward.

"Hey!" Trace moved. It was a blur of motion I didn't expect. He shoved himself between us, his frail hands pushing against Jaxon's chest. "She said no. Leave her alone."

Jaxon looked down at Trace with pure incredulity. "Get out of my way, human, before I snap you in half."

"You'll have to," Trace wheezed, standing his ground even as his legs trembled. "Because you're not touching her."

Before Jaxon could strike, the security team Dr. Weber had silently summoned burst in. Four large men, carrying tasers. In Germany, supernatural laws were strict; an aggressive Alpha in a human medical facility was a serious offense.

"Mr. Morgan," the head of security barked. "Leave. Now. Or we will neutralize you."

Jaxon looked at the guards, then at me. His chest heaved. He realized he was outnumbered, out of his jurisdiction. He straightened his jacket, regaining a shred of his composure, though his eyes remained manic.

"This isn't over, Talia," he hissed, backing away. "You think you can just replace me? Replace us? That heart has an expiration date without its mate. You'll see."

He turned and stormed out, the doors swinging shut behind him.

The silence that followed was deafening. My heart hammered against my ribs—my heart, I reminded myself. Mine.

"Trace," I breathed, turning to him. "Trace, are you—"

Trace was clutching the edge of the counter, his knuckles white. His face had gone a terrifying shade of gray. He looked at me, his blue eyes wide and panicked, and opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out.

"Trace!" I screamed as his knees gave way.

I caught him before he hit the floor, but just barely. He was dead weight in my arms. His skin was clammy, cold sweat beading on his forehead.

"Code Blue!" Dr. Weber shouted, rushing over. "Get a gurney! Now!"

"Trace, look at me," I begged, slapping his cheek lightly. "Stay with me. Please, stay with me."

His eyes rolled back, his breathing shallow and rattling. The confrontation, the Alpha pressure, the physical exertion of standing up to a monster—it was too much.

We ran alongside the gurney as they wheeled him into the ICU. The rhythmic beeping of the monitors was erratic, a chaotic staccato that mirrored the panic rising in my throat. They pushed me back at the double doors. Protocol.

I stood there for an hour, staring at the frosted glass, my hands pressed against my chest. Jaxon was right about one thing: death was always chasing us.

When Dr. Weber finally emerged, he pulled his mask down. His expression was grave.

"Talia," he said softly. "His heart... it has decompensated rapidly. The stress caused a massive arrhythmia event."

"Stabilize him," I pleaded, grabbing the doctor's arm. "Just stabilize him, and we can adjust the meds."

Dr. Weber shook his head slowly. "Medication will no longer suffice. His heart is failing, Talia. It is done fighting. He needs a transplant immediately. We have maybe... maybe two weeks. If we don't find a donor by then, he will die."

I sank onto the waiting room chair, burying my face in my hands. I had escaped a man who wanted my heart for a ghost, only to fall in love with a man who needed a heart to live. The irony tasted like blood in my mouth.