My Alpha Abandoned Our Son for the Pack’s Healer’s Boy

The antiseptic smell of the pack infirmary burned my nostrils as I held Nash's trembling body against mine. Elena worked with practiced hands, her fingers gentle as she stitched the gash on my son's forehead.

"Almost done, little Alpha," she murmured, her eyes filled with a compassion that made my chest tighten. "You're being so brave."

Nash didn't cry. He hadn't cried since the accident. His silence worried me more than tears would have.

"Where's Dad?" he finally asked, his voice small.

I swallowed hard. "He's... checking on Talon."

Elena's hands stilled for just a moment—a telling pause that spoke volumes. She'd been in the pack long enough to understand what was happening.

"Luna," she said quietly, "this needs to stop."

I nodded, unable to speak past the lump in my throat.

When Elena finished, I helped Nash down from the examination table. His knees buckled slightly, and I caught him, my heart breaking at how light he felt in my arms.

"Let's find your father," I said, though the words tasted like ash.

We found them in the waiting area. Joseph sat in one of the comfortable chairs, Talon perched on his lap. The boy looked perfectly fine—not a scratch on him—yet Joseph was whispering comforts into his hair.

"It's okay, buddy. You're safe now," he murmured, his large hand cradling the back of Talon's head.

Carla sat beside them, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue. When she saw us, her lips curved into a smirk so quick I almost missed it.

"There you are," Joseph said, looking up. "How is he?"

"Seven stitches," I replied coldly. "How is Talon?"

Joseph's brow furrowed. "He's shaken up. The accident was traumatic."

"Nash has a concussion," I said, my voice rising despite my efforts to control it. "He hit his head hard enough to lose consciousness."

"Mom," Nash tugged at my hand. "Can we go home?"

I nodded, but before we could leave, I grabbed Joseph's arm and dragged him into the hallway.

"What the hell was that?" I hissed once we were alone.

"What was what?" he asked, confusion crossing his features.

"You protected Talon instead of Nash!"

Joseph ran a hand through his hair. "Talon is weaker, Sophia. He needed protection."

"And Nash didn't?" My voice cracked. "He's your son! Your heir!"

"Nash is a born Alpha," Joseph replied, his tone maddeningly reasonable. "He can take a hit. Talon can't."

I stared at him, truly seeing him for the first time. "You rewired your biological instincts for another woman's child."

"It's not like that—"

"It's exactly like that," I cut him off. "You failed your son today."

From the doorway behind us came a small sound. I turned to see Nash standing there, his bandaged head tilted slightly as he listened.

"Dad thinks I'm strong enough to get hurt," he said quietly.

"Nash—" Joseph started forward.

My son turned his face to the wall. "I'm tired, Mom."

Later that evening, as I tucked Nash into bed, he looked up at me with solemn eyes.

"Is Dad mad at me?"

"No, sweetheart." I smoothed his hair back from his forehead. "He's just... confused."

"Because I'm not Talon?"

The innocence in his voice broke something inside me. "No, baby. Because he's forgotten what matters."

---

The next morning, Joseph cornered me in the kitchen, his expression determined.

"I've made arrangements," he announced. "We're going to Le Lune tonight."

I raised an eyebrow. "The French place downtown?"

He nodded eagerly. "Just the three of us. No pack business, no interruptions."

"A restaurant? That's your solution?"

"It's more than that," he insisted. "I've reserved the private dining room. We'll have a proper family dinner, just like Nash wanted."

I crossed my arms. "And Carla?"

His expression faltered for just a moment. "What about her?"

"You're not inviting her too?"

"Of course not," he said quickly. "This is about us. About making things right."

I studied his face, searching for sincerity and finding only desperation. "Fine."

"Really?" Relief flooded his features. "I'll make sure Marcus handles any pack business tonight."

"And no Carla," I reiterated firmly.

"Absolutely no Carla," he agreed, though something flickered in his eyes—something that made my wolf growl in warning.

As he walked away, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was walking into another trap. But for Nash's sake, I had to try.

My phone buzzed with a text from Marcus: *Healer says Nash's concussion is worse than expected. Keeping him overnight for observation.*

I looked up to see Joseph typing furiously on his phone, a small smile playing at his lips.

*Who are you texting, Joseph?* I wondered. *And why do I smell Carla's perfume again?*

The second strike was coming, and somehow, I knew it would be even worse than the first.