My Alpha Rejected His Pregnant Luna

Marcus came three days after Alexander knelt in the snow.

I was in the small library off the east wing when Franklin found me. I'd been reading—or pretending to read—a book on Lycan territorial law that I barely understood. My wolf was restless. She'd been restless since the border confrontation, pacing under my skin like she was waiting for something.

"Alina," Franklin said from the doorway. "Shadowvale's Beta is here. He's asking to see you."

I looked up. "Marcus?"

"He came alone. Unarmed." Franklin's grey eyes were steady. "He says he has information. I can send him away if you want."

I should have said yes. I should have wanted nothing to do with anyone from Shadowvale. But Marcus had been the only one who'd warned Alexander against the rejection. The only one who'd looked at me with something other than pity or dismissal in those final weeks.

"I'll see him," I said.

Franklin nodded once. "I'll be outside the door."

Marcus entered five minutes later. He looked the same—squared shoulders, controlled expression, the posture of a Beta who'd spent years managing crises. But there was something different in his eyes. Something tired.

He stopped a respectful distance away. Didn't sit until I gestured to the chair across from me.

"Luna," he said quietly.

"I'm not Luna anymore."

"You are to me." He reached into his coat and pulled out a cloth-wrapped bundle. Set it on the table between us with careful precision. "I need to show you something."

I looked at the bundle. Didn't touch it.

Marcus unwrapped the cloth slowly. Inside was a water ladle—the kind used in the pack house kitchens—and a folded piece of paper. The ladle had a faint discoloration along the handle.

"This is from the Solstice feast preparations," Marcus said. His voice was flat, factual. "The water that burned you came from this ladle. I tested it three days after you left. Wolfsbane residue. Concentrated. Enough to end a pregnancy if administered directly."

My stomach turned cold. My hand moved instinctively to my belly.

Marcus unfolded the paper. "This is a transaction record. I traced Callie's movements through the rogue trade routes on Shadowvale's eastern border. She purchased the compound from a disgraced apothecary two weeks before the Solstice. Paid in pack currency. There's a witness."

I stared at the paper. The handwriting was cramped and precise. The date was there. The amount. Callie's name.

"Why are you showing me this?" My voice came out quieter than I meant it to.

"Because Alexander dismissed it as an accident." Marcus looked at me directly. "Because I told him it wasn't and he didn't listen. Because I've spent ten years serving a pack, and I won't serve a pack that protects someone who tried to murder a pup."

The word hung in the air between us. Murder.

"You're defecting," I said.

Marcus nodded. "I'm asking to join your coalition. If you'll have me." He paused. "And I'm asking you to bring this before the Lycan Council. Callie's crime isn't pack misconduct. It's attempted murder of—" He stopped. His gaze sharpened slightly. "Of whatever you actually are. Because your scent's been changing since you crossed into Nighthollow, and every wolf in this territory knows you're not just an unmated Luna."

I didn't answer. I couldn't.

Marcus stood. "I'll leave these with you. Prince Franklin knows I'm here. I'll wait for your decision."

He turned to go.

"Marcus," I said.

He stopped.

"Thank you."

He nodded once. Then he was gone, and I was alone with the ladle and the paper and the proof that Callie hadn't just hurt me. She'd tried to kill my pup.

I pressed my palm flat against my belly. The pup shifted—alive, strong, mine.

I picked up the paper with shaking hands and read it again. And again.

Then I stood and went to find Franklin.

---

The Lycan King arrived the next morning.

I didn't know he was coming until Franklin found me in the courtyard and said, very quietly, "The King is here. He's asked to see you."

My breath stopped. "Why?"

"I don't know." Franklin's expression was unreadable. "But when the Lycan King requests an audience, you don't ask questions. You say yes."

I followed him through corridors I barely registered. My wolf was awake now—fully awake, alert in a way she'd never been before. She wasn't afraid. She was expectant.

We entered a private sitting room I'd never seen before. Warm light. High ceilings. And standing near the window, his back to us, was a man whose presence filled the room before he even turned around.

The Lycan King.

He turned slowly. His face was composed—regal, controlled, the expression of someone accustomed to being obeyed without question. But when his eyes met mine, something in them flickered.

He went very still.

I felt Franklin step back slightly, giving us space. The King moved toward me—not quickly, but deliberately. Each step measured.

He stopped three feet away. His nostrils flared slightly. I saw his chest rise and fall, once, like he was breathing something in that he'd been searching for.

"May I?" he asked quietly.

I didn't know what he was asking. I nodded anyway.

He reached out slowly and tilted my face toward the light. His hand was warm. Steady. He studied my features with an intensity that should have been uncomfortable but wasn't.

Then he closed his eyes.

The room was silent. I heard my own heartbeat. I heard the pup shift under my ribs.

When the Lycan King opened his eyes again, they were wet.

"Elara," he said. His voice was rough. "Your birth mother named you Elara."

My knees went weak. Franklin moved forward instinctively, but I stayed standing.

"I don't understand," I whispered.

The Lycan King's hand dropped from my face. He took a breath that looked like it hurt. "You were stolen from the Lycan Court twenty years ago. Taken by enemies who knew that a Lycan Princess with Alpha-blood lineage would one day be an unassailable power. Your adoptive parents were paid to hide you. To suppress your scent. To keep you invisible."

The room tilted. I heard the words but they didn't make sense. Couldn't make sense.

"You're my daughter," the Lycan King said quietly. "And you've been lost for twenty years."

I stared at him. At his face—the lines around his eyes, the grey threading through his dark hair, the way he was looking at me like I was something he'd been holding his breath for.

"I'm not—" I started. Stopped. "I'm just—"

"You are Lycan royalty by blood-right," he said. His voice was steady now, formal. "You rank above every Alpha in this region. Above Alexander Duncan. Above every wolf who dismissed you."

My hand pressed flat against my belly. The pup kicked.

The Lycan King's gaze dropped to my hand. To the curve of my abdomen. Something in his expression cracked.

"You're carrying an heir," he said softly. "To two bloodlines."

I nodded. I couldn't speak.

He looked at Franklin. "Prepare a formal announcement. The Lycan Council will convene within the week." His gaze returned to me. "And you, Elara—Alina—" He stopped. Started again. "You will stand before them as what you are. My daughter. A Lycan Princess. And no one will ever make you bow again."

I stood there in the warm light with my hand on my belly and Franklin's steady presence behind me and the Lycan King's words ringing in my ears.

Princess.

Daughter.

Mine.

And for the first time since Alexander spoke those rejection words, I felt my wolf settle. Not in defeat. In recognition.

She'd been waiting for this. For him. For the truth.

I looked at the Lycan King—my father—and I said the only thing I could.

"Okay."