After My Mate Chose His Mistress, I Fought

Pain tore through my body as another contraction seized me. The dim lights of the infirmary cast long shadows across the sterile room, my screams echoing off the bare walls. I clutched the sides of the birthing bed, my knuckles white with strain.

"He's coming too early," I gasped, feeling my unborn pup shift violently within me. "Please, save him."

Lyra howled within my mind, her presence more forceful than I'd ever felt before. *Fight, Isabella! Our pup needs us to fight!*

My wolf sent surges of energy through my weakened body, each pulse bringing both strength and excruciating pain. I could feel her desperation as she tried to protect our child from the trauma inflicted upon us.

"The Luna is hemorrhaging," one of the healers announced, her voice clinically detached. "The trauma to her abdomen has triggered premature labor."

I bit back another scream as the door swung open. Marcus entered, his tall frame silhouetted against the hallway light. For one desperate moment, hope flared in my chest.

"Marcus," I reached for him, blood-stained fingers trembling in the air between us. "Our son... he's coming too soon. Please, help him."

He approached slowly, stopping several feet from the bed. His face betrayed nothing – no concern, no remorse, no love. Just cold, calculating assessment.

"You should have been more careful," he said, his voice flat. He made no move to take my hand.

*He doesn't care,* Lyra snarled. *He did this to us.*

Another contraction ripped through me, more violent than the last. I screamed, arching off the bed as the healers rushed around me.

"The pup's heartbeat is fading," the head healer announced. "We need to deliver now."

"Save him," I begged, tears streaming down my face. "Marcus, please, tell them to save our son!"

Marcus merely stepped back, giving the healers more room to work. His eyes drifted to the window, as if bored by the entire ordeal.

What followed was a blur of pain and desperation. I pushed when told, breathed when instructed, my body working on instinct while my heart shattered into a thousand pieces. The mate bond between us hung by a thread, stretched so thin I could barely feel it anymore.

Finally, a tiny, weak cry filled the room.

"Let me hold him," I demanded, arms outstretched.

The healer hesitated, exchanging a glance with Marcus before carefully placing my son in my arms. He was so small, his skin nearly translucent, his chest rising and falling in rapid, shallow breaths.

I cradled him close, feeling the faint flutter of his wolf spirit struggling to take hold. "Fight, little one," I whispered, pressing my lips to his forehead. "Your mama's here. Fight."

But with each passing moment, his breaths grew more labored. I could feel his tiny wolf spirit flickering like a candle in the wind.

"No, no, please," I sobbed, rocking him gently. "Stay with me, my love. Stay with mama."

Marcus finally approached, looking down at our dying son with detached curiosity rather than the anguish of a father. "These things happen," he said coldly.

I looked up at him through tear-blurred vision, searching for any sign of the mate I thought I knew. "How can you say that? This is our son!"

"We can try again," he replied with a shrug, as if we were discussing a failed business venture rather than the life of our child.

In my arms, our son took one final, shuddering breath. I felt the exact moment his spirit left, a tiny light extinguished before it had truly begun to shine. A howl of pure agony tore from my throat, echoed by Lyra's mournful cry within me.

Marcus turned away without a word, heading for the door.

"Where are you going?" I demanded, clutching our son's lifeless body to my chest.

"I have matters to attend to," he said without turning back. The door closed behind him with a soft click that seemed to echo in the sudden silence.

The healers moved around me in a somber dance, offering quiet condolences as they prepared to take my son's body. Exhausted and heartbroken, I allowed them to lift him from my arms, watching through a haze of tears as they carried him away.

Left alone, I drifted in and out of consciousness, my body depleted from the birth and my heart hollow with grief. Hours must have passed before I became aware of hushed voices near the door.

"Tonight, then?" one healer whispered. "The ritual for the essence transfer?"

"Yes," another replied. "Alpha's orders. The Cross female's wolf is failing. She needs the essence immediately."

"Using a pup's essence... it's forbidden. If the Council found out—"

"The Alpha has arranged everything. The Luna need never know her pup's essence will save his chosen mate's wolf."

My blood turned to ice in my veins. Through the fog of grief and pain, understanding dawned with horrifying clarity.

*They're going to use our son's essence for Vivian,* Lyra growled, her fury cutting through my despair. *Our pup died for this.*

I lay perfectly still, feigning sleep as the healers continued their whispered conversation. Inside, something fundamental shifted. The last fragile thread of the mate bond snapped, and in its place, a cold, implacable rage began to grow.

*They will pay,* Lyra promised, her voice stronger than I'd ever heard it. *We will make them all pay.*