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Alpha Denied My Dying Child Novel Cover

Alpha Denied My Dying Child

When her young daughter faces a terminal diagnosis, a heartbroken mother turns to the only man who can help: the formidable Alpha who abandoned them years ago. Despite her desperate cries for mercy, he cruelly denies his paternity and refuses to offer aid. Now, she must navigate a web of pack politics and his bitter resentment to save her child's life. This emotional journey explores the depths of betrayal and a mother's ultimate sacrifice.
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Chapter 2

The silence in the basement was deafening after Ayden's last breath. I sat motionless beside his small body, my fingers still curled around his hand, waiting for a sound that would never come again. The cold seeped through the thin walls, but it was nothing compared to the ice spreading through my chest.

I reached for the bucket of water I'd drawn earlier, preparing for the ritual I'd rehearsed in my mind a thousand times but never thought I'd actually perform. The water was freezing, stolen from the pack's supply lines during one of my rare trips above ground. For a moment, I hesitated, my hands hovering over Ayden's still form.

'I'm sorry, baby,' I whispered, though I knew he couldn't hear me anymore. 'I should have protected you.'

The first splash of water against his skin made me flinch. He was so cold already, and the water made him colder. I forced myself to continue, my fingers tracing the contours of his face, memorizing every feature I could no longer see. His cheekbones, so sharp now that he was wasting away. The curve of his nose. The shape of his mouth, frozen in a stillness that would haunt me forever.

I washed him with the gentleness of a mother and the precision of a Luna, even though I wore neither title anymore. My fingers found the places where his wolf should have stirred—the base of his neck, the center of his chest, the spaces behind his ears. But there was nothing. No warmth, no presence, no sign of the inner wolf that should have awakened at birth. He had died before his wolf could even say hello.

'Your wolf loved you,' I told him, my voice breaking in the darkness. 'Even if no one else did.'

When I finished, I wrapped him in the only clean blanket we had left. It wasn't enough, but it was all I had to give him. Then, with shaking hands, I reached for the pack mind-link.

Kellen. My brother. Beta of the Moonveil Pack. The man who should have stood beside me when the world fell apart. I pushed my thoughts toward him, focusing on the familiar thread of our bond.

'Kellen,' I projected, my mental voice weak but determined. 'Ayden is gone. He died tonight. As Beta, I formally request—'

The rejection hit me like a physical blow. His mind slammed shut, the connection severing with brutal finality. I gasped, clutching my head as the pain lanced through me.

I tried again, this time reaching for Dr. Rowan Hale. The pack healer who had refused my pleas for treatment. Who had watched my son die from a distance.

'Healer Hale,' I called through the link. 'A pack member has died. I request—'

His rejection was even colder. 'The Alpha has forbidden pack rites for rogue pups,' his voice echoed in my mind, clinical and detached. 'You will receive no assistance.'

I slumped against the cold wall, the reality crashing over me. No burial plot. No rites. No dignity for my son in death, just as there had been none in life.

I couldn't leave him here. The basement would become his tomb, and I couldn't bear the thought of him rotting in this dark, forgotten place. With new resolve, I gathered what little strength I had left and crawled toward the door.

The rain hit me the moment I emerged, freezing droplets that soaked through my thin clothes. I didn't care. I had to find a place for him, somewhere he could rest with the dignity he deserved.

I made my way to the small clearing behind the basement, where the earth was hard and unforgiving. On my hands and knees, I began to dig, my fingers breaking against the frozen ground, mud mixing with blood as I clawed at the dirt.

One handful at a time. One inch at a time. I would bury my son with my own hands if I had to.

But my body, weakened by years of exile and the sacrifice of my wolf's aura, betrayed me. My vision blurred, darkness creeping in from the edges. My arms gave out, and I collapsed face-first into the mud, the rain washing over me like a cruel baptism.

As consciousness slipped away, one thought burned through the fog: I had failed him. Again.

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