My Alpha Chose My Killer Over Our Unborn Child

The first sensation was cold—bone-deep, river-chilled cold. Then came the pain, a symphony of agony that played through every nerve ending in my body.

"Holy shit, there's someone here!"

The voice pulled me from darkness. I tried to open my eyes, but only my right one responded, the other sealed shut with dried blood and mud.

"Is she breathing?" Another voice, younger and uncertain.

"Barely. I can't get a pulse."

I wanted to scream that I was alive, but my mouth wouldn't work. My vocal cords felt like shredded tissue.

"She's not a rogue, is she?" The first voice again, closer now.

"Hard to tell. Her scent's all messed up—all I smell is blood and mud."

I tried to reach for them, to make some sound, anything to show I was still fighting. My fingers twitched against cold stone.

"There! Did you see that? She moved!"

Rough hands rolled me over, sending fresh waves of agony through my broken body. I bit back a scream that would have torn my damaged throat further.

"Female, early twenties maybe. Look at these wounds—claw marks."

"Could be a rogue attack victim. Or maybe she was trespassing."

"Either way, she's still alive. Barely."

Their voices faded as consciousness slipped away again. The last thing I heard was one of them saying, "We'll take her to the infirmary. If she survives the night, we'll figure out who she is."

* * *

I awoke to sterile white walls and the antiseptic smell of the pack infirmary. My own infirmary. The place where I'd healed countless others.

Now I was the patient.

Bandages covered every inch of my body, turning me into a mummy. Only my right eye and mouth were visible through the wrappings. My left eye throbbed with each heartbeat, swollen shut.

"She's awake," someone whispered nearby.

I tried to speak, to call out for help, but only a raspy breath escaped my lips. My vocal cords were destroyed.

"Don't try to talk," a young healer said, leaning over me. "Your throat is badly damaged. We've given you something for the pain."

I recognized him—Samuel Cross, one of my junior healers. He didn't recognize me.

"The Alpha will be glad to hear you're stable," he continued, checking my IV. "He's been worried about all the recent attacks."

Attacks? What was he talking about?

Before I could process this, the infirmary intercom crackled to life.

"Attention all pack members," Gunner's voice filled the room, that familiar Alpha tone that once made my heart race with love now turning my blood to ice. "It is with deep regret that I must inform you of a tragic loss to our pack."

My body tensed despite the pain. Something was wrong.

"During last night's rogue invasion of our borders, our beloved Luna Lucia Peterson fought bravely to defend our territory."

Invasion? What invasion? The attack had been staged—by him.

"She suffered catastrophic injuries and..." His voice broke perfectly, a performance worthy of an award. "She did not survive."

The monitor beside me beeped as my heart rate spiked. Samuel rushed to adjust something in my IV.

"The pack will observe a week of mourning for our fallen Luna," Gunner continued. "Her bravery will be remembered forever."

Bravery? He'd left me to die. He'd kicked me down a ravine after ordering rogues to tear out my unborn child.

"She died a hero," he finished solemnly.

I wanted to scream, to shatter the glass of the observation window with my rage. But all I could do was lie there, wrapped like a corpse, while my mate declared me dead to the world.

* * *

Weeks passed in a blur of pain and silence. My body slowly healed, but my wolf remained dormant, hiding deep within me where even I couldn't reach her.

I learned to communicate with Samuel through gestures and writing on a pad he provided. He called me "Jane Doe" since we still didn't know who I was.

One day, the infirmary door swung open, and a familiar scent hit me—vanilla and amber, now tinged with something else. Power. Ambition.

Rayne walked in wearing my favorite blue dress, the one Gunner had bought me for our fifth anniversary.

"How's our charity case doing today?" she asked Samuel sweetly.

"She's stable, Luna," he replied, bowing his head respectfully.

Luna. She was already using my title.

Rayne approached my bed, her perfectly manicured nails trailing across the blanket covering my legs. "Such a shame about your face," she murmured, leaning close enough that I could smell the mint on her breath. "The healers say you'll never look the same again."

I stared at her through my one good eye, memorizing every detail of her smug expression.

"I heard you were found near the border," she continued conversationally. "Were you running away from something? Or someone?"

She laughed lightly, unaware that the bandaged monstrosity before her was the woman she'd tried to kill.

"Never mind," she said, standing up. "No one's coming to claim you anyway. You're just another sad story in a world full of them."

As she turned to leave, her eyes met mine for a brief moment. Something flickered there—recognition? Doubt?

But it was gone before I could be sure.

"What's your name, anyway?" she asked casually.

I couldn't answer, but something cold and determined settled in my chest.

Soon, Rayne Fox would learn exactly who she'd been speaking to.