Bled Dry for His First Love

When Carter lost his claim to Blackthorn, everyone told me to leave him.

I stayed.

I sold my mother's moonstone bracelet so we could eat through one brutal winter.

Years later, he became Alpha, pinned the Luna crest to my dress, and swore I would never sacrifice for him again.

I believed him.

We raised our son, Eli, in the house we once thought we would never have.

Then Carter's first love, Sienna, came home sick.

My seat at dinner became hers.

My husband became her protector.

My son started asking why I could not be more like her.

I was ten weeks pregnant when Sienna collapsed and the clinic discovered I was the only Moon Blood match.

I said no to a dangerous draw.

Eli dropped to his knees in front of me.

“She's ten weeks pregnant,” Dr. Mira warned. “A heavy draw could cost the baby.”

Carter asked, “How much can Lena safely give?”

“Only a limited amount.”

“Then take the maximum,” Carter said. “Sienna may not have another chance.”

***

I walked into the dining room holding the roast lamb, my thumb brushing the wooden box in my pocket that contained my ten-week ultrasound. The words of my surprise announcement dried on my tongue. My usual chair--the one I had claimed for five years--was occupied by a knitted shawl and a stack of orange pillboxes.

My husband, Alpha Carter, dragged my heavy oak chair to the far corner near the kitchen door.

"Look, Aunt Sienna, wolf ears!" My seven-year-old son, Eli, giggled, holding up a folded linen napkin.

"Carter, why is my seat by the door?" I asked, setting the platter on the table.

Carter did not even glance my way. He adjusted a water glass next to the pillboxes. "Sienna gets dizzy spells. She needs to sit next to me so I can catch her if she falls."

Five years ago, trapped in a freezing border cabin, I sold my mother's moonstone bracelet to buy our winter rations. Carter had gripped my ice-cold fingers that night, swearing I would never lose another thing for his sake. Now, he dictated my place in my own home without a single question.

I pulled out the relocated chair. The wood scraped loudly against the floorboards. "When is Sienna moving back to the recovery house?"

Carter dropped his fork. The silver clattered against his ceramic plate. "She has no family to rely on, Lena. As the Luna of this pack, you should understand how to care for our members."

"I can leave," Sienna whispered.

She pushed herself up from the table, swayed violently, and gripped the mahogany edge. Carter crossed the space in a second, wrapping his arm around her waist to steady her.

Eli jumped up and planted himself between me and the two of them. "Why do you have to be mean when she's sick, Mom?"

I stared at my son's defensive posture, then at my husband's protective grip on the other woman. This was not a temporary guest occupying a spare room. This was a father and son silently demanding I surrender my territory.

"Nobody is leaving tonight," Carter told Sienna, his voice dropping to a gentle murmur. He guided her back into my old chair. He looked up at me, his jaw tight. "Let us just eat in peace. Please."

Dinner passed in suffocating quiet. I ate near the swinging kitchen door, watching them share the center of the table. Carter cut Sienna's meat into small pieces. Eli showed her how to balance a pea on his spoon. I chewed my food, tasting nothing but ash.

Afterward, Eli tugged a wrinkled sheet of paper from his school bag. "My Family," he announced, smoothing it out on the coffee table in the living room.

Carter leaned over the couch. "Let me see that, buddy. Wow, you drew the whole pack house."

"I want to see," I said, stepping closer.

Crayons depicted four figures. Alpha Carter stood tall in the middle, wearing his ceremonial coat. Eli stood next to him, holding his hand. Right beside Carter was Sienna, drawn with a bright yellow dress and a smile. I was sketched at the far edge of the paper, tiny and isolated, holding a gray plate.

"Why am I all the way over there?" I asked.

"Aunt Sienna helps me practice my shift breathing," Eli explained cheerfully, completely oblivious to the sting of his words. "You're always busy doing chores."

My chest tightened. "Eli. Do you remember who sat by your bed for three straight nights when you had your shift fever last year?"

He blinked. His small brows furrowed as he stared at the drawing. "Um..."

A wet, hacking cough echoed from the hallway.

"Aunt Sienna!" Eli snatched the drawing off the table and sprinted toward the sound.

I stood alone in the living room. My silent years of care had dissolved into background noise to them. A mother's sacrifice was expected, but a stranger's basic attention was a prize.

Sienna leaned against the archway, pressing a hand to her chest. She offered a frail smile. "I should help clear the plates."

"Sit down," Carter ordered, his tone softening instantly. He pointed to the armchair. He waved a hand toward the dining table. "Lena will handle the mess. You need to conserve your strength."

He expected me to clean up after them. It was a given.

I walked to the table. I picked up my plate and my silver fork. I picked up Eli's half-eaten meal. I carried them to the sink. Then, I grabbed a damp cloth, returned to the dining room, and wiped my spot clean.

I left Sienna's dirty dishes exactly where they were.

Carter frowned, his eyes tracking my empty hands as I walked back into the living room. "What are you doing?"

"The guest room has a service bell," I told him, tossing the cloth onto the counter. "If the patient needs care, she can ring for the duty staff."

Carter stood up. "It's just one plate, Lena."

"Then you can wash it."

"Are we really doing this?" he demanded, stepping toward me. "Are we fighting over a dirty dish?"

"We are not fighting over a dish," I said, keeping my voice level. "I am simply reminding you that I am your Luna, not your maid."

His jaw locked. He glared at me, searching for a command to issue, but found none. I turned my back and walked up the stairs.

Night fell over the pack house. The small wooden box sat untouched on my vanity.

Carter pushed the bedroom door open, rubbing the back of his neck. He did not look at the box. He did not ask what I had planned for the family dinner, or why I had seemed so eager for us to all sit together.

"Her condition is worse than we thought," he muttered, unbuttoning his shirt. "I need you to stop creating extra pressure right now."

I turned around on the vanity stool. "Is a wife asking for an explanation considered extra pressure?"

He stopped. His broad shoulders slumped, exhaustion lining his face. "Lena, you have everything. Right now, she only has us."

"I have everything?" I repeated.

"You have your health. You have your title. You have Eli and me." He threw his shirt into the hamper. "Just give her some grace. That is all I am asking."

He walked into the bathroom and shut the door. The shower turned on, the water hitting the tiles in a steady rush.

I stared at the closed door.

I reached for the wooden box. I opened the lid, stared at the grainy black-and-white image of our second child, and closed it. The satisfying click of the latch echoed in the quiet room.

I pulled out my phone and found Mira's contact.

Cancel the family surprise, I typed. Book me for a private checkup tomorrow.

I hit send.

Three seconds later, the screen lit up with her reply.

Done. Also, there is a discrepancy with your blood type workup. I need to show you the physical file tomorrow.