My Mate Tore Up Our Baby’s Ultrasound Before Rejecting Me

The pack gossip network moved faster than any mind-link.

I knew that. I'd watched it work for five years, spreading rumors about my hearing loss, my bloodline, my worth. So when I caught three she-wolves whispering outside the dining hall two days after my clinic visit, I wasn't surprised. Just careful.

Amber's name floated through their conversation. Then mine. Then the word "pup."

I kept walking. Cinder stirred in my head, uneasy. *They know.*

*Let them,* I thought back. *It changes nothing.*

But it did. I could feel it in the way wolves looked at me now. Not with the usual contempt. With calculation. An Alpha heir meant power. It meant my Luna claim couldn't be dismissed anymore, couldn't be buried under Cruz's shame and Amber's ambition.

It made me dangerous.

I started taking different routes through the pack house. Avoided the main corridors during shift changes when bodies packed the hallways. Stayed out of rooms with only one exit. Old habits from my days as a border scout, back when I'd been valued for something other than the mark on my neck.

But I got careless.

The east wing stairwell was supposed to be empty at this hour. Most wolves were on the training grounds or in the kitchens prepping for the evening meal. I'd used this route a dozen times in the past week, slipping from the healer's wing down to the Omega quarters to check on my hidden vitamins.

I pushed open the stairwell door and started down.

The scent hit me halfway to the first landing. Jasmine. Cloying and artificial and too sweet.

I stopped. Tilted my head right, listening.

Footsteps above me. Light. Deliberate.

I turned.

Amber stood on the landing, one hand resting on the railing. She wasn't smiling. Wasn't scowling. Her face was blank, almost serene, like she'd just finished a pleasant conversation and was heading somewhere nice.

"Luna," she said. Her voice was soft. Friendly, even.

I didn't answer. My pulse kicked up. Cinder growled low in my chest. *Run.*

But I didn't run. I just stood there, one step below the landing, watching Amber descend toward me with that same empty expression.

She stopped two steps above. Close enough to touch.

"Congratulations," she said. "I heard the news."

I shifted my weight, angling toward the railing so I had space to move. "Thanks."

"It's a shame, really." She tilted her head, studying me like I was a puzzle she'd just solved. "All that effort. And for what?"

I opened my mouth to answer.

She moved.

Both hands shot forward, palms flat against my shoulders, and shoved.

I didn't have time to brace. Didn't have time to grab the railing or shift my weight or do anything except twist, instinct screaming to protect my stomach as the world inverted and concrete steps slammed into my spine.

Once. Twice. Three times.

My head cracked against the edge of a step. My ribs took the next impact. Then my hip. My wrist snapped back at an angle that sent fire shooting up my arm.

I hit the bottom landing and stopped moving.

The pain came in waves. Sharp and blinding and everywhere at once. I tried to breathe. Couldn't. My lungs wouldn't expand. My mouth tasted like copper.

Footsteps. Slow. Measured.

Amber descended the stairs, her heels clicking softly against the concrete. She reached the bottom landing and stepped over me, one foot on either side of my ribs. I tried to look up. Couldn't lift my head.

She paused. I felt her shadow fall across my face.

Then she kept walking. The stairwell door opened. Closed.

Silence.

I lay there, staring at the ceiling, watching the fluorescent lights blur and swim. My right hand was pressed against my stomach. Warm. Wet.

Cinder howled.

It wasn't a sound. It was a feeling, a soul-deep scream that tore through my chest and left nothing behind. She howled and howled and then, mid-cry, she just stopped.

Gone.

Not sleeping. Not hiding.

Gone.

I closed my eyes. The pain was fading now, replaced by a cold, spreading numbness that started in my stomach and crawled outward. My fingers were slick. The floor beneath me was slick.

I thought about the pup. Four weeks along. Strong aura, Evelyn had said.

Not anymore.

Footsteps again. Running this time. A voice, distant and frantic.

"Luna! Oh goddess, Luna, stay with me—"

Evelyn's face swam into view, her silver braid falling over one shoulder as she knelt beside me. Her hands moved quickly, checking my pulse, pressing something soft against my stomach. Her lips were moving but I couldn't hear the words. My right ear was ringing. My left ear was useless.

She lifted me. I didn't feel it. Just watched the ceiling slide past, the fluorescent lights strobing overhead, until we reached the clinic and the lights turned white and sterile.

Evelyn laid me on a table. Her hands were gentle. Her face was wet.

She worked in silence. I watched her mouth form words I couldn't hear. Watched her pull out instruments and vials and gauze. Watched her hands slow, then stop, then press against her own mouth as she turned away.

I already knew.

The pup was gone.

The room tilted. Evelyn turned back, her face composed now, professional. She cleaned my wounds. Bandaged my wrist. Pressed something cool against the back of my head. Then she pulled a thin silver seal from a locked drawer, wrote something on a document I couldn't see, and pressed the seal into the paper.

Lycan medical seal.

She tucked the document into an envelope, locked it in the drawer, and finally looked at me.

Her lips moved. I read them clearly this time.

*I'm sorry.*

I closed my eyes.

Somewhere deep inside, where Cinder used to be, there was nothing but silence.