After My Mate Stole My Son, I Swore Revenge

The pain of rejection still burned through my veins as Giovanna's voice sliced through the chaos.

"I have evidence," she announced, her red hair gleaming like blood in the dim light of the packhouse hallway. "Evidence of why Thomas really died."

She produced a small vial filled with purple liquid from her pocket. The crowd of pack members gathered outside Colton's suite drew back with gasps.

"This," Giovanna held the vial up to the light, "was found in Mariah's room this morning."

Elena, our pack healer, stepped forward. "That's—"

"Poison," Giovanna finished for her. "The same poison that was found in the pack's water supply yesterday. The stress of discovering his daughter's treachery triggered Thomas's heart attack."

I shook my head, blood still trickling from my nose where the rejection had physically wounded me. "No, I would never—"

"Silence!" Colton's Alpha Command hit me like a physical blow, stealing my words.

Elena's eyes met mine briefly, filled with doubt. "Alpha, I should examine—"

"You examined the water supply yesterday," Colton cut her off. "Did you not find traces of this same poison?"

"Yes, but—"

"And did you not state that such poison could cause cardiac episodes in those with weakened hearts?"

Elena hesitated. "Yes, but I never said—"

"Enough." Colton's voice was ice. "Take her to the cells. She'll be transported to Grimwolf at dawn."

Two Delta guards seized my arms. I could smell their disgust as they dragged me through the packhouse, past the horrified faces of guests who had come to celebrate what should have been my mating ceremony.

"Colton, please!" I cried out as they pulled me down the grand staircase. "It's not true!"

But he had already turned away, Giovanna's arm sliding possessively through his as she whispered something in his ear.

---

Three months into my sentence at Grimwolf Correctional Facility, I huddled on the thin mattress in my cell, trying to ignore the constant dampness that seeped through the silver-reinforced walls. The prison for rogue wolves was underground, the air thick with the scent of mold and despair.

I pressed my hand against my stomach, feeling the slight swell that had appeared despite the meager rations. Something was wrong—my cycle had stopped, and nausea plagued me each morning.

"Prisoner Ferguson," a guard called, unlocking my cell. "Medical check."

The prison medic, a sour-faced woman with dull eyes, examined me in the sterile infirmary. Her hands paused as she pressed against my abdomen.

"You're pregnant," she stated flatly.

The words echoed in my mind. Pregnant. With Colton's pup.

"Does the Alpha know?" she asked.

"No," I whispered. "But he should."

That night, I wrote a letter with a stolen pencil stub, explaining everything. The guard who collected it smirked as he took it from my trembling hands.

"I'll make sure he gets it," he promised.

But I never saw him again. Instead, I was moved to solitary confinement.

"Alpha's orders," the new guard sneered. "To hide your shame."

---

Six months later, the first contractions hit me like lightning bolts as a storm raged outside my solitary cell. I screamed, clutching my swollen belly.

"Help!" I cried as pain tore through me. "My baby's coming!"

The door burst open. Three guards entered, their faces grim beneath their helmets.

"Quiet," one ordered, injecting something into my arm.

Not a pain reliever—something to weaken me further.

"No," I begged as they forced me onto the cold floor. "Please, get a doctor!"

"Alpha Luna gave us instructions," the female guard said, her hands pressing roughly against my stomach. "This won't take long."

They were forcing labor prematurely. I fought them with every ounce of strength I had left, but months of malnutrition had weakened me beyond measure.

"Stop fighting," the guard hissed. "This will hurt more if you resist."

Something tore inside me as another contraction hit. Then came a new sound—tiny, defiant, alive.

My baby's cry.

"That's it," the guard said, reaching between my legs.

I felt a small body slip from mine, heard that strong, healthy cry again.

"Please," I sobbed. "Let me see my baby!"

But they were already backing toward the door, a bundle wrapped in a blood-stained sheet in the female guard's arms.

"Where are you taking him?" I screamed, trying to follow but collapsing from the sedative they'd given me.

The last thing I saw before darkness claimed me was my son's tiny fist, reaching out as they carried him away.

When I woke, the cell was empty save for a single guard standing over me.

"The pup?" I croaked.

"Stillborn," he said mechanically. "Incinerated as per protocol."

Something broke inside me then—something deeper than the mate bond, more primal than grief. As I curled around my empty womb, I made a silent vow: This would not be the end of my story. Somehow, someday, I would find my son. And I would make them all pay for what they had done.