I Faked My Death to Escape My Alpha

The healer's cottage sits at the edge of pack territory, tucked between ancient oaks that shield it from prying eyes. I wait until well past midnight before slipping out of the pack house, my heart hammering against my ribs.

Elena answers on the first knock, her silver hair loose around her shoulders. She takes one look at my face and pulls me inside.

"How far along?" she asks, guiding me to the examination table.

"Eight weeks. Maybe nine." My voice shakes. "I need to know if... if everything's okay."

Her hands are gentle as she examines me, but her expression grows more troubled with each passing minute. Finally, she steps back, wiping her hands on a clean cloth.

"The pup is alive," she says, and relief floods through me so fast I nearly sob. "But Aspyn, this pregnancy is high-risk. The stress you're under, the lack of a mate mark—your body doesn't know if it's safe to carry this child. Your wolf is confused, weakened."

I press my palm to my stomach. "What do I do?"

"Tell Desmond." Elena's voice is firm. "An Alpha heir changes everything. He would have to—"

"No." The word comes out sharp. "You don't understand. If Khloe finds out, she'll—"

"She'll what? Harm the Alpha's heir?" Elena shakes her head. "Desmond wouldn't allow—"

"Desmond doesn't care." The truth tastes bitter. "He made me a wager, Elena. Seven years of proving he's stronger than the mate bond. You think he'll suddenly care about a pup he never wanted?"

Elena's face softens with something that looks like pity, and I hate it. "Then what will you do?"

"Survive." I slide off the table. "Just... help me keep the baby safe. Please."

She sighs, moving to a cabinet filled with bottles and herbs. "Prenatal vitamins. Take them as iron supplements if anyone asks. And Aspyn?" She presses the bottle into my hands. "If anything feels wrong—bleeding, cramping, anything—you come to me immediately. Promise me."

I promise, even though we both know I might not be able to keep it.

A week later, I'm crammed into the back of an SUV with luggage piled around me like a barrier. Desmond insisted on inspecting the northern border, and of course, Khloe had to come. For status, he said. To show the neighboring packs his chosen Luna.

I'm here to handle logistics. To carry bags and set up camp like the glorified Omega I've become.

Khloe sits in the front passenger seat, her laugh grating as she touches Desmond's arm. I focus on the trees blurring past the window, one hand resting protectively over my stomach beneath my jacket.

The attack comes without warning.

One moment we're driving through dense forest. The next, a massive gray wolf slams into the side of our vehicle. The SUV swerves violently. I'm thrown against the door, my head cracking against the window.

Glass shatters. Metal screams.

Rogues pour out of the trees like shadows given form—at least a dozen of them, their eyes wild and hungry. Our driver shifts immediately, bursting through the windshield to meet them. Desmond's roar shakes the air as he throws open his door.

"Stay in the car!" he shouts, but I don't know if he's talking to me or Khloe.

Khloe screams, high and piercing, as a Rogue lunges at her window. Desmond shifts mid-leap, his massive black wolf form crashing into the attacker. They roll away in a tangle of fur and fangs.

I try to open my door, but it's jammed. Another impact rocks the SUV. I'm thrown forward, then back, my seatbelt cutting into my chest. Through the broken windshield, I see chaos—wolves tearing into each other, blood spattering the forest floor.

A Rogue breaks through the back window.

I scream, scrambling away, but there's nowhere to go. Claws rake across my arm. Pain explodes white-hot and blinding. The Rogue grabs my jacket, dragging me through the shattered window.

I hit the ground hard. Rocks and roots dig into my back as the Rogue looms over me, saliva dripping from its jaws.

Then I'm falling.

The ravine appears out of nowhere—a steep drop hidden by underbrush. I tumble down, my body slamming into rocks and tree roots. Something in my leg snaps with a sound that makes my stomach turn.

I land at the bottom in a heap, pain screaming through every nerve. Blood soaks through my jeans, hot and sticky. My leg is bent at an angle that's all wrong.

Above me, the sounds of battle continue. Snarls. Screams. Khloe's voice, crying for Desmond.

I reach for the mind-link, that golden thread that should connect me to my mate. It's there, faint and frayed, but there.

*Desmond,* I push through the bond, my mental voice breaking. *Please. I'm hurt. Our pup—*

The link goes dead.

Not blocked. Not ignored.

Deliberately severed.

I lie there in the dirt, bleeding and broken, and feel the exact moment my mate chooses someone else over me. Over our child.

Above, Khloe's crying gets louder. I hear Desmond's voice, rough with concern: "I've got you. You're safe."

And I realize—he's not coming.

He was never going to come.