My Ex Alpha Tried to Take My Babies

Duncan sent his own healer the next morning.

I didn't see her arrive. Sena mentioned it in passing during the twins' routine check — a Silverfang pack healer named Brenna had requested temporary lodge credentials for "collaborative consultation." The phrasing was careful. Neutral. The kind of thing you said when you wanted to avoid admitting someone was being planted.

I said nothing. I let Sena finish the exam, watched her leave, and made a mental note to keep the nursery door closed.

Brenna was younger than I expected. Mid-thirties, dark hair pulled back tight, the kind of face that had learned not to show much. She wore Silverfang's healer crest on her collar and moved through the lodge like she was cataloging every door, every hallway, every scent that passed her.

I saw her twice that first day. Once in the common hall, where she nodded politely and didn't speak. Once near the east wing staircase, where she paused just long enough to glance toward the nursery corridor before continuing on.

The third time, I didn't see her at all.

I'd stepped out of the suite for less than five minutes — just long enough to meet the Lycan Crown attendant in the hall and sign off on a supply delivery. When I came back, the nursery door was still closed, the twins still asleep in their cradles, everything exactly as I'd left it.

But the air felt different. Disturbed. Like someone had passed through and left a wake.

I stood in the doorway a long moment, breathing slow, and then I closed the bond and reached for Caleb.

*She's here.*

His reply came fast. *Who?*

*Duncan's healer. She got close enough to scent them.*

A pause. Then his voice, low and edged. *And?*

*She doesn't know what she smelled. But she will.*

I felt his wolf stir, felt the tight coil of his control pulling tighter. *I'm two hours out.*

*I know.*

I closed the link and went to check on the twins. Reuben's tiny fist was curled against his cheek. Maia's mouth worked in her sleep, dreaming of milk. They were fine. Untouched. Safe.

But someone had stood in this room without my permission, and the knowledge of it sat in my chest like a shard of ice.

That evening, I sent word to Sena requesting a private consultation.

She came to the suite an hour later, healer's bag in hand, her face carefully neutral. I gestured her to the sitting area and poured tea neither of us would drink.

"I have a question," I said. "Academic."

Sena's gaze flicked to the twins, asleep in the nursery beyond, then back to me. "Of course."

I set my cup down and folded my hands in my lap. "Ancestral Luna relics. Moonstone-set silver, keyed to a specific bloodline. What happens if someone outside that bloodline wears them?"

Sena went very still. For a moment she didn't answer. Then she cleared her throat softly.

"True Luna moonstones attune to blood," she said quietly. "On the right wearer — the bloodline they were made for — they activate. Warmth. A faint glow, if you know where to look. Protective wards that respond to intent."

"And on the wrong wearer?"

"The wards go dormant." Her voice was flat, factual. "Dead stone. No warmth. No pulse. The relics can't be deceived."

I nodded slowly. "Thank you."

Sena stood. She didn't ask why I wanted to know. She didn't need to. At the door, she paused and looked back at me, her face unreadable.

"Whoever's wearing them now," she said quietly, "they've been wearing corpse jewelry for three years."

She left. I sat alone in the suite, hands folded, and let the knowledge settle.

Coraline found me in the garden courtyard the next afternoon.

I'd taken Maia outside for air, the wrap snug around my chest, her small warmth pressed against my sternum. The courtyard was empty — most guests avoided the midday sun — and I'd let my guard down just enough to close my eyes and breathe.

Then I heard her footsteps on the gravel.

I opened my eyes. She stood three feet away, arms crossed, belly rounded under a dress that looked expensive and uncomfortable in equal measure. The public sweetness was gone. Her face was cold. Precise.

"You're going to sign the asset division," she said. No preamble. "Duncan's terms. The relics. The eastern hunting grounds. All of it."

I didn't move. "No."

Her jaw tightened. "If you don't, I'll invoke my Luna authority. I'll declare those pups illegitimate rogues. Strip them of any pack protection under Silverfang law."

She placed one hand on her belly. The other went deliberately to her wrist — to the moonstone cuffs. My mother's cuffs. The gesture was theater. Ownership and threat performed simultaneously.

I looked at the cuffs. At her wrist. At the dull, lifeless gleam of stone that should have been glowing.

Something behind my eyes went very still.

"Those cuffs," I said quietly, "have been dead stone since the moment you put them on."

Coraline blinked. "What?"

"You've spent three years wearing a corpse's jewelry," I continued, my voice flat and without inflection, "and calling it a crown."

Her face drained of color. Her hand jerked away from the cuffs like they'd burned her.

I turned and walked away. Maia stirred against my chest. I kept my pace steady, my breathing even, my face blank.

But the moment I stepped into the corridor, out of Coraline's sight, my hands started shaking.

I pressed them flat against the wall. Counted my breaths. Felt the cold stone under my palms until the tremor stopped.

Then I went back to the suite, closed the door, and held my daughter until the tightness in my chest finally eased.