My Alpha Used Me as His Breeder

I stared at our wedding photograph hanging on the bedroom wall, my fingers tracing the silver frame. Five years ago, I'd been radiant in white silk, my hand clasped in Ryker's as we stood before the pack altar. The woman in that picture had been whole—able to hear the sacred vows, feel the pack bonds singing through her veins, shift into her wolf form under the full moon.

That woman was a stranger to me now.

The memory crashed over me like a tide I couldn't stop. September twenty-third, five years ago. The rogue attack had come without warning, silver-tipped claws and fangs cutting through our border patrol like they were nothing. I'd been in the kitchen when the alarm howled, but by the time I reached the battleground, Ryker was already surrounded.

A silver blade had whistled through the air, aimed straight for his heart.

I hadn't thought. Hadn't hesitated. My body moved on instinct, throwing itself between the weapon and my mate. The blade caught me across the side of my head, silver burning through flesh and bone like acid. The pain had been indescribable—a white-hot agony that stole my breath, my sight, my very sense of self.

When I'd woken up three days later, the world had gone silent.

No more laughter echoing through the pack house. No more wind rustling through autumn leaves. No more of Ryker's voice whispering my name in the dark. The silver had severed something vital, something that connected me not just to sound but to my wolf, to the pack bonds that made us whole.

Ryker had sat beside my hospital bed, his face etched with guilt and something that looked like love. His hands had moved in clumsy sign language—he'd been learning, he explained through writing, so he could still talk to me. His fingers spelled out promises: *I will never leave you. I will love you forever. You saved my life.*

I'd believed him. God help me, I'd believed every word.

The bedroom door creaked open behind me, jolting me back to the present. I turned, schooling my expression into the serene mask I'd perfected over five years of silence. Ryker stood in the doorway, and for a moment, my treacherous heart still skipped at the sight of him. Tall and broad-shouldered, with dark hair that fell across his forehead and eyes the color of storm clouds. He was beautiful in the way that dangerous things often were.

"You've been up here a long time," he said, his voice carrying that gentle concern I now recognized as performance art. "I brought your morning tea."

He held out the delicate china cup, steam rising from the amber liquid inside. My daily ritual. The special blend he'd insisted would help with my pregnancy symptoms, boost my energy, keep our baby healthy.

I'd drunk it faithfully for months.

"Thank you," I signed, accepting the cup with steady hands. The porcelain felt warm against my palms, innocent as a loaded gun.

Ryker moved to the window, his back to me as he adjusted the curtains. "The pack healer wants to see you next week. Just routine checks, but we want to make sure everything's progressing well."

I nodded, bringing the cup toward my lips while watching his reflection in the window glass. He was relaxed, confident. Why wouldn't he be? His deaf, broken mate had never given him reason to suspect anything.

The tea smelled of chamomile and honey, with an underlying bitterness I'd always attributed to herbs. Now I wondered what else lurked beneath that innocent facade. What had he been feeding me all these months? What slow poison had I been welcoming into my body while he smiled and signed sweet words?

I waited until he turned away completely, then quietly poured the entire cup into the potted fern beside our bed. The plant had been looking sickly lately—yellowed leaves, drooping stems. I'd thought it was just the approaching winter.

Now I suspected it was something else entirely.

"Feeling better today?" Ryker asked, turning back to me with that perfectly calibrated expression of husbandly concern.

*Much better,* I signed, forcing a smile. *The baby's been very active.*

His eyes lit up with what looked like genuine pleasure. "Good. That's exactly what we want to hear."

What *we* want. Not what *I* want. The distinction felt sharp as broken glass.

He crossed to me, cupping my face in his hands with a tenderness that once would have melted my heart. Now it made my skin crawl. "I love you, Harper. You know that, right?"

I nodded, leaning into his touch like the devoted wife I was supposed to be. Inside, something cold and calculating began to take shape. If Ryker wanted to play games, I could learn the rules.

After he left for his Alpha duties, I sat on the edge of our bed and stared at the floorboards beneath my feet. Something had been nagging at me since last night—a memory of Maisie's mental voice, sharp with childish impatience: *When is that deaf woman going away?*

And Ryker's response: *Patience, princess.*

But there had been something else. A warning, whispered in the pack bond when he thought I couldn't hear: *Never let her find the box.*

What box?

I dropped to my knees, running my hands along the wooden planks. Most were nailed down tight, but near the foot of the bed, one board felt different. Looser. I pressed down on one end and the other lifted slightly, revealing a gap just wide enough for my fingers.

Inside the hollow space beneath, my fingertips brushed against cold metal.

I pulled out a small iron box, maybe eight inches square, with a heavy padlock securing the lid. It was heavier than it looked, and something rattled inside when I shook it gently. My heart hammered as I turned it over in my hands, searching for any clue about its contents.

Footsteps echoed in the hallway outside.

Panic shot through me as I shoved the box back into its hiding place and pressed the floorboard down. I scrambled to my feet just as the bedroom door opened.

Maisie stood in the doorway, her dark hair in pigtails, wearing a pink dress that made her look like an angel. But her eyes—Selene's eyes—watched me with an intelligence far too old for her five years.

"What are you doing?" she asked, tilting her head like a curious bird.

"Just resting," I signed, hoping she couldn't see the tremor in my hands.

She stepped into the room, her gaze sweeping across the floor where I'd been kneeling. For a terrifying moment, I thought she might have seen something. But then she smiled—that sweet, innocent expression that had fooled me for months.

"Daddy says you need lots of rest," she said. "For the baby."

"That's right."

"When will my brother be born?"

The question hit me like a physical blow. *My brother.* Not *the baby* or *your baby.* Mine and Ryker's child was already *her* brother in her mind. Already part of their real family.

I was just the vessel carrying him.

"Soon," I managed to sign.

Maisie nodded solemnly, then skipped out of the room as quickly as she'd appeared. But something in her parting glance made my blood run cold. She knew. Maybe not everything, but she knew I was different now. Changed.

I waited until her footsteps faded before returning to the loose floorboard. The iron box felt heavier this time, weighted with secrets I wasn't supposed to discover. Whatever was inside, Ryker was desperate to keep it from me.

Which meant it was exactly what I needed to find.

I pressed my ear to the bedroom door, listening for any sign of movement in the hallway. The house was quiet except for the distant sound of Ryker's voice drifting up from his office below. Perfect.

I had work to do.