My stepmother is pregnant with my mate's child

Chapter 2

“You want to break the bond,” the voice sounded—deep, magnetic, and dangerously smooth. The timbre now laced with boredom. "That's all you ask for?"

"I want to regain my inheritance from Lyra and Isaac. Reclaim my authority on the pack and keep their skeleton into prison for eternity–ofcourse after skinning them alive."

"I want you to help me." I added, my voice contradictory to the situation, commanding.

“Now, that sounds interesting. However, It’s an act of war, and it costs more than I owe you.”

I sank onto the edge of the bed, the prenatal report still crinkling in my hand. “The cost doesn’t matter,” I choked out, fighting the raw emotion that threatened to shatter my carefully constructed façade. “Just tell me the price, Elias."

"You will come to my territory, not as a guest, but as my Luna."

"You can do whatever you want with Wilson or Lyra. But, you won't be the little princess of the Nightshade Pack anymore, you will be the Queen of Crimson Claw Pack."

"Do you agree?" He asked.

"You have my word, Elias." I said, "After I'm done handlng things here, I'm all yours."

"Finish them soon. I can't wait too long." He said, his tone commanding, "You have one week, Elara. After that, I'll come to claim you myself."

***

The first thing that I did after getting up the next morning, was grabbing a suitcase and packing my necessities.

I opened the wardrobe of my room, and took those things out.

My pregnancy report. My mother's bracelets. The blessing gifts given by the elders on my previous pregnancies.

A pink blanket from Elder Bonnie. She had seen my hands and told me that it was a baby girl. She had woven the blanket by her own hands to keep the baby warm.

But, who knew that the baby would never get to feel its warmness. I couldn't even hold her in my hands, let alone protecting her in the blanket.

A talisman given by Elder Victor on my second pregnancy to keep the bad eyes away. However, it failed to protect the baby from his own father.

After two failed pregnancy, they had stopped sending gifts to me, in case hurting my sentiments. Guess they had accepted the fact that I couldn't be a mother anymore.

Tears were formed in my eyes as I packed everything in a small luggage. Just then my gaze fell on a wooden box. I had decorated with red silk. To my old self, it was the precious thing in the whole world.

Now, the sight of the box was as a knife cutting deep through my heart. I took the box out, my claws scratching the wood aggressively as I finally opened it.

There laid a golden ring Isaac had proposed to me with. A diamond bracelet he had won in a beta combat for me. And finally, the most precious gift he had ever given to me, the certificate of our mating ceremony.

Those items once so close to my heart was now the reminder of my mate's betrayal, my stepmother's dark ploy and of loss of my four babies.

I simply grabbed the box and put it on fire.

I watched, mesmerized and numb, as the beautiful fabric curled into black crusts. The fire wasn't just consuming wood and fabric; it was devouring the last fragments of a belief I’d desperately clung to.

Tears, which had only welled before, now streamed down my face, hot and unchecked. This wasn't just rage; it was a purification. It was the frantic, desperate tearing out of a deep root that had poisoned my entire life.

Just then door of my room was pushed open and a deep male voice sounded, laced with surprise and concern.

"Elara... Just what the hell are you doing?" Isaac yelled before rushing in to put the fire off.

I watched as his hands were burned red in a failed attempt of saving the last stray of the box. But, I felt nothing.

"I'm merely disposing of the trash..." I replied, my voice cold and distant.

Isaac flinched, not just from the sharp, immediate pain in his hands, but from the glacial detachment in my voice.

His instincts told him that something was a miss or else how can the woman who could not stop throwing herself as soon as he arrived home, clinging to every strap that reminded her of him, now stood ashen watching him burn his hands saving those memories.

He stared in a daze as the fire engulfed the remnants of the wooden box smoked on the marble floor, a heap of ash and twisted, blackened metal—the ring, the bracelet, the burned remnants of our mating certificate.

His initial shock turned to a cold, sinking realization of what he was seeing.

"Trash?" Isaac's voice, which had been loud with surprise, dropped to a strained whisper. He looked from the destroyed items at my direction, which was utterly devoid of its usual warmth—a porcelain mask of indifference.

"Elara, what are you talking about? That was our... our memories."

I finally shifted my gaze from the dying embers to him. There was no pain, no fury, no sorrow—just a vast, terrifying emptiness.

"Some memories are meant to be destroyed, Isaac." I said, my voice a low, steady monotone that was far more unnerving than a scream.

His eyes narrowed, clueless. He then moved his gaze to the other direction of the room.

He saw the packed suitcase by the bed, the missing items from the wardrobe, and the terrible finality of the burned box. Panic began to claw at his chest.

He rushed to my side. Grabbing my hands, he asked, his voice laced with shock and concern that almost seemed genuine for a moment, "Elara, is everything alright?"