After My Mate Chose His Mistress Over Our Child

The glass shattered against my elbow, sending a spiderweb of pain shooting up my arm, but I barely felt it. The only thing I could feel was the phantom tether in my chest, pulling me toward the nursery. Toward Thea.

Rain lashed against my face as I scrambled through the broken window of the Omega quarters, dropping onto the muddy grass below. My surgical scar—the jagged line where Alessia had stolen my wolf—burned like fire, but I forced my legs to move. I ran around the side of the Pack House, the bass of the party music thumping against the walls like a second, cruel heartbeat.

They were celebrating. While my baby was dying, they were popping champagne.

I burst through the side service entrance, dripping wet and bleeding. Two Delta guards were stationed at the bottom of the servants' stairs. They stepped forward, blocking my path, their faces impassive.

"Omega Isabelle," one grunted. "You are confined to quarters."

"Get out of my way!" I screamed, clawing at the Alpha command that used to be in my voice. It came out as a desperate, human shriek. "She’s dying! Thea is dying!"

They didn't move. They were following Rhys’s orders.

Desperation clawed at my throat. I had no wolf, no voice, no authority. But I still had the bond. The mate bond, tattered and rejected, still existed deep in the marrow of my bones. I closed my eyes, gathering every scrap of pain, every ounce of terror, and I hurled it into the void where Rhys used to be.

*Rhys!* I screamed into the mental link, the effort making my nose bleed. *Rhys, listen to me! Thea is dying! Help us! Please, just this once, hear me!*

For a heartbeat, the music downstairs seemed to falter in my mind. I felt him. I felt a flicker of confusion, a hesitation on the other end of the line. He heard me. He was there.

*Rhys, please—*

Then, it happened. A wall of ice slammed down between us. It wasn't a drift; it was a violent, deliberate shut-out. He didn't just ignore me; he crushed the connection. I felt the distinct sensation of him turning away, choosing the sweet, fake scent of his mistress over the agony of his mate.

He blocked me.

"No!" I howled, the sound ripping from my chest.

I threw myself at the guards. I didn't fight like a Luna; I fought like a mother. I bit the hand that grabbed my arm. A heavy fist slammed into my side, right over my healing incision. White-hot agony exploded in my gut, doubling me over, but I used the momentum to scramble past them, crawling up the stairs on my hands and knees.

I didn't stop. I couldn't stop.

I crashed into the nursery, the door banging against the wall. The room smelled of ozone and scorched sheets—the scent of a shift gone wrong.

"Thea!"

She was on the floor. She must have fallen from the crib in her convulsions. Her tiny body was arching, her back bowing at an impossible angle. Her skin was gray, burning with a heat that radiated across the room.

I scooped her up, ignoring the way her fever blistered my cold, wet skin. "Mommy's here, baby. Mommy's here."

Her eyes were wide open, the gold of her wolf flickering and dying, leaving behind a dull, flat brown. She was shaking so hard her teeth clicked together.

"Hold on," I sobbed, rocking her back and forth. "Don't go. Please, Thea, don't go. Daddy is coming. He's coming."

It was a lie. We both knew it.

Thea’s gaze drifted past me, toward the door, searching for the Alpha aura that should have been there to anchor her. She let out a small, wet breath. Her hand, tiny and trembling, reached up to touch my cheek.

"Daddy?" she whispered.

Then, the tension left her body. The heat vanished in a single, terrifying second, replaced by a stillness that was heavier than the storm outside. Her hand fell from my face.

"Thea?" I shook her gently. "Baby?"

Silence.

Outside, thunder cracked, shaking the house to its foundations. But inside the nursery, the world had ended.

***

I didn't move for hours. I sat on the floor, holding her cold body against my chest, staring at the shadows dancing on the wall. The party music had finally died down. The storm had passed.

The door creaked open.

Light from the hallway spilled in, blinding me. Rhys stood there. He was disheveled, his shirt unbuttoned, a glass of whiskey in his hand. He smelled of expensive cologne and Alessia’s cloying vanilla perfume. He swayed slightly, a goofy, intoxicated grin on his face.

"What is this drama now, Isabelle?" he slurred, squinting into the dark room. "Alessia said you were throwing a tantrum. Why is the baby on the floor?"

He didn't smell it yet. The death. The drugs Alessia had pumped into him masked everything.

I didn't look at him. I just smoothed Thea’s hair, over and over.

Rhys stumbled forward, annoyance rolling off him in waves. "I’m talking to you. Put her back in the crib. You’re spoiling her."

He reached down to grab Thea’s arm. His fingers brushed her skin.

He froze. The glass slipped from his hand, shattering on the floorboards, splashing amber liquid near my knees.

"Thea?" His voice sobered instantly, the Alpha command trying to assert itself. "Thea, wake up."

She didn't move.

Rhys fell to his knees. He snatched her from my arms, shaking her limp body. "What did you do?" he roared, turning on me, his eyes wild with panic and confusion. "What did you do to her?"

"I called you," I whispered, my voice dead. "I screamed for you."

"Liar!" He clutched Thea to his chest, but he wasn't comforting her; he was hoarding her, as if he could squeeze the life back into her lungs. "You didn't call! I would have known!"

"You blocked me," I said, looking right into his eyes. "You felt me, and you blocked me to go back to her."

Guilt flashed across his face—a quick, ugly thing—before it hardened into rage. He couldn't accept it. He couldn't be the villain in his own story.

"No," he snarled, standing up with Thea’s body, towering over me. "This is your fault. Her blood was weak. She got those defective genes from you. If you hadn't been so hysterical, if you hadn't panicked..."

He backed away from me, looking at our daughter’s corpse with a mixture of horror and disgust. "She was weak stock. Just like her mother."