My Mate Killed Our Pups

The mahogany table in the conference room felt cold under my fingertips, grounding me as I faced the circle of Elders. Being Alpha of the Silver Crescent Pack was my birthright, a title passed down through blood and iron, yet lately, I felt less like a leader and more like a figurehead painted in fading colors.

"We need to reinforce the northern perimeter," I stated, projecting my voice to reach the end of the long table. "The rogue sightings near the river are increasing. I want Gamma team on a rotation starting tonight."

Silence followed my command. The Elders didn't look at me; they looked past me.

"Actually, Morgan, that’s hardly the most efficient use of our resources," a smooth, condescending voice cut through the air.

Orion. My chosen mate. He sat to my right, adjusting his glasses with a practiced air of superiority. He wasn't an Alpha—he was barely stronger than a standard Delta—but he spoke with the confidence of a king. "I've already reallocated the budget. The northern perimeter is fine. We’re focusing on internal infrastructure."

My wolf, usually dormant these days, bristled. "Orion, security is not infrastructure. It's survival."

"You’re being emotional, darling," he sighed, signaling to the door. "Besides, I’ve brought in some help to manage these tedious logs so you don't have to stress your pretty head. Come in."

The door opened, and the scent hit me first—cloying, artificial vanilla trying desperately to mask the musk of the wild. Harlow Henderson sauntered in. She was petite, with wide, innocent eyes that didn't match the smirk tugging at her lips. An Omega. A former Rogue.

"Harlow will be my new personal assistant," Orion announced, gesturing for her to sit. "She'll handle the sensitive pack logs."

"A Rogue handling our security logs?" I stood up, my chair scraping loudly. "Absolutely not."

Orion didn't even stand. He just looked up at me, his eyes cold behind the lenses. "She has been vetted, Morgan. Stop being so paranoid and possessive. It’s unbecoming of an Alpha to be so insecure."

I looked around the room. The Elders looked down at their papers. No one backed me. I sat down, the fight draining out of me like water from a cracked jar.

***

That night, I clung to a secret that I prayed would change everything.

In the privacy of our suite, I had prepared a dinner of roasted lamb, Orion’s favorite. The candles were burning low when he finally walked in, smelling faintly of that sickly vanilla perfume. I pushed the jealousy down. I had something better than jealousy. I had hope.

I placed my hand on my flat stomach. "Orion, I have news."

He loosened his tie, looking bored. "Make it quick, Morgan. I have reading to do."

"I'm pregnant," I whispered, a smile trembling on my lips. "Twins. I felt their spark today."

The silence that followed was suffocating. I waited for him to cross the room, to hug me, to let his wolf rejoice in the continuation of his line. Instead, he groaned. He actually groaned.

"Now?" He rubbed his temples. "Morgan, look at you. You can barely command a room of old men. How do you expect to raise two pups?"

My heart stuttered. "What?"

"It's a distraction," he said coldly, picking up his wine glass. "A distraction we cannot afford. You are failing as an Alpha. Adding 'mother' to your list of failures isn't wise. You need to reject the pregnancy. For the good of the pack."

The cruelty of his words slapped me harder than any physical blow. I stared at him, seeing him clearly for the first time in years. This wasn't partnership. This was hatred.

***

A week of silence followed. I walked through the Pack House like a ghost, protecting the two tiny sparks of life inside me with every breath. But the final straw broke on a Tuesday afternoon.

I returned to the Alpha Suite early to find the door to my master walk-in closet open. Inside, Harlow was humming, her fingers trailing over my silk robes. She was moving her cheap, ragged clothes onto *my* shelves.

Something inside me snapped. The ancient Alpha blood, suppressed for so long, boiled over.

"Get out!" I roared. It wasn't my voice; it was the Alpha Voice, a command that shook the walls.

Harlow squeaked, dropping a hanger.

Orion came sprinting from the study. "What is going on?"

"She is moving into my closet!" I screamed, pointing a shaking finger. "Get this Omega out of my territory!"

"She needs space, and you have plenty!" Orion stepped between us, shielding her. Shielding the mistress against his pregnant mate.

"I am the Alpha!" I stepped forward, my eyes flashing silver. "And I command—"

"You are nothing!" Orion shouted.

He shoved me.

It wasn't a playful push. It was a violent, two-handed shove meant to assert dominance. He forgot—or maybe he didn't care—that I was off-balance. I stumbled back, my feet tangling in the rug.

Time seemed to slow down. I saw Orion’s face twist, not with regret, but with annoyance. I saw Harlow smirk behind his shoulder. Then, the world spun.

My lower back and abdomen slammed hard into the sharp corner of the heavy oak desk.

The sound was sickening—a dull, wet thud.

I collapsed to the floor, the breath knocked out of me. A sharp, tearing pain ripped through my womb, hotter than fire, colder than ice. I gasped, clutching my stomach, curling into a ball.

"Stop being dramatic, Morgan," Orion spat, adjusting his cuffs. "Get up."

But I couldn't get up. I felt a warm, terrifying dampness spreading between my legs. The connection—the two tiny, beautiful sparks I had felt just hours ago—flickered violently, and then... simply vanished.

Silence. Absolute, hollow silence where two heartbeats used to be.

I looked up at him through a haze of agony, seeing the blood pooling on the hardwood floor. Orion finally looked down, and for a second, he paled. But he didn't kneel. He didn't help.

Darkness clawed at the edges of my vision, a mercy I gladly accepted.