Pregnant and Rejected by My Fated Alpha Mate

The moon was high and mocking by the time the door to the suite finally creaked open. I hadn’t moved from the spot where I’d stepped out of my wedding dress. I sat in a simple oversized t-shirt and leggings, staring at the wall, my hand resting protectively over the microscopic life growing inside me.

Jonas stumbled in. He looked exhausted, his tie loosened, his hair a mess. But it wasn’t his disheveled appearance that made my stomach turn. It was the scent.

It hit me before he even spoke—a cloying, suffocating wave of synthetic lilies and salt water. Amoura. He was covered in her. It was in his clothes, in his hair, clinging to his skin like a second layer. It made the air in the room feel poisonous.

He saw me and let out a long, heavy sigh, running a hand down his face. "Leslie. Thank the Goddess you’re still up."

He walked toward me, his arms opening as if he expected to pull me into a hug. As if he hadn't left me standing alone at the altar four hours ago. "It was a nightmare. She was on the edge of the roof, Leslie. hysterical. I had to talk her down. I had to hold her until the sedatives kicked in."

I stood up, taking a sharp step back. His arms fell to his sides, and a flicker of confusion crossed his face.

"Babe, come on," he said, his voice thick with that patronizing tone he used when he thought I was being unreasonable. "Don't be like this. I saved a life tonight. Isn't that what an Alpha does? She’s fragile. She doesn't have what we have."

"What we have," I repeated, my voice flat. It wasn't a question.

"Yes!" He stepped closer, invading my personal space with that nauseating lily stench. "Look, I know the ceremony was... interrupted. It’s a mess, I know. But I’ve already mind-linked the Council. We can reschedule for next week. Tuesday, maybe? It’ll give Amoura time to stabilize so I don’t have to worry about leaving her alone."

Tuesday.

He was talking about our mating ceremony, the most sacred moment of a werewolf’s life, like it was a dentist appointment he needed to shift around. He was prioritizing the comfort of another woman over the eternal bond of his mate. Again.

My wolf didn't growl. She didn't whimper. She just stood up inside me, tall and cold as ice. She knew what we had to do. For the pup.

"There will be no Tuesday, Jonas," I said softly.

He frowned, a nervous chuckle escaping his lips. "You're tired. You're emotional. I get it. I embarrassed you. I'll make it up to you, I promise. But you have to understand, Amoura needs—"

"Amoura needs you," I cut him off. The power in my voice surprised even me. It wasn't a shout; it was a command. My Alpha blood, inherited from a long line of warriors, surged through my veins. "And you have made your choice."

"Leslie, stop it. You're my mate."

"Not anymore."

I straightened my spine, looking him dead in the eye. I needed to do this now. Before he touched me. Before I crumbled.

I drew a deep breath, drawing on every ounce of strength I had left. The air in the room grew heavy, charged with the static of gathering magic.

"I, Leslie Hamilton," I began, my voice echoing with a supernatural resonance that shook the window panes.

Jonas’s eyes went wide. The color drained from his face. "No. Leslie, don't—"

"Reject you, Alpha Jonas Black, as my mate."

The silence that followed lasted a heartbeat, but it felt like an eternity. Then, the snap happened.

It was a physical sound, like a whip cracking in the center of the room. A tearing sensation ripped through my chest, agonizing and hot, as if someone had reached inside and pulled out a vital organ. I gasped, clutching my stomach, forcing myself to stay standing. *For the baby. Stay standing for the baby.*

Jonas wasn't so lucky.

A guttural scream tore from his throat. He collapsed to his knees, clutching his chest, his fingers digging into his shirt as he howled in pure, unadulterated agony. The severance of the bond, initiated by the female, was a crushing blow to an Alpha's spirit. He curled into a ball on the floor, gasping for air, tears streaming down his face.

"Leslie..." he wheezed, reaching a trembling hand toward me. "Please... make it stop..."

I looked down at him. My heart was bleeding, my soul felt raw and exposed, but my mind was clear. The bond was gone. The pull was dead.

"Goodbye, Jonas," I whispered.

I didn't wait for the pack healer. I didn't wait to see if he got up. I turned and walked out the door, leaving my mate writhing on the floor of our bridal suite.

I moved through the shadows of the pack house, slipping out the back servants' entrance. My father’s car was idling in the alleyway, the headlights off. As soon as I slid into the passenger seat, my mother reached from the back and grabbed my hand, her grip like iron. Her face was wet with tears, but her eyes were fierce.

"Did you do it?" my father asked, his voice tight. He didn't look at me; his eyes were fixed on the road, scanning for patrols.

"It's done," I said, my voice trembling now that the adrenaline was fading.

My father, the Beta of the Dark Moon Pack, the man who had sworn his life to serve the Alpha bloodline, put the car in gear. He handed me a thick envelope—cash and a passport with a name I didn't recognize.

"God forgive me," he whispered, more to himself than to us. Then he slammed his foot on the gas.

We sped toward the territory line, racing against the inevitable howl that would signal the pack that their Alpha was down. I didn't look back. I kept my hand on my stomach, feeling the tiny spark of life there, and prayed that the darkness of the night would be enough to hide us.