Pregnant With His Heir, Buried by His Lies

My father's voice crackled through the scent-record—a ghost summoned from silence.

"So you're Vesper? The pup you're carrying may not even be his. Give me five million moons, or I'll ruin you."

Every muscle in my body turned to stone. The last thread tethering me to reason snapped clean. Somewhere beneath my ribs my wolf went rigid, hackles rising at a sound it knew was false.

Impossible.

The recording was fabricated. A lie dressed in my father's stolen voice.

My father had lain unconscious since the night they broke him—since Dorian's enforcers had beaten him into stillness on that rain-slicked border-dock. I had pored over the mind-link recording from the patrol-posts dozens of times, frame by frame, until my eyes burned. That sentence had never existed. Those words had never left his lips.

Vesper's brow furrowed, her voice trembling with the practiced fragility of a cornered dove. Under the false fear, her scent reached me—candied jasmine layered over something faintly rotten, a thread of cold wolfsbane beneath it all.

"Your father threatened me. I barely escaped with my life."

Dorian pulled her into his arms at once, his voice cold as the black stone floor of the meeting-hall beneath us—absolute, final.

"Seraphina, I will never forgive you. Your father being crippled is his own retribution. The Pack's justice has been served."

Then came the parade of forged evidence. Falsified ledgers. Fabricated witness oaths. Accusations of extortion, threats, and violence against a heat-bearing she-wolf carrying the heir to the Valecrest bloodline.

The presiding elder—a wolf whose den had long been lined with Valecrest tribute—didn't bother to examine anything closely. A few perfunctory words, the strike of the council staff against stone, and the verdict descended like an executioner's blade.

I lost.

In the space of a heartbeat, my father and I became the villains of this carefully scripted tragedy. Monsters who had failed at extortion and then sought to harm an innocent she-wolf out of spite.

The snickers and whispered mockery from the gathered pack cut through me like silver needles. I clenched my fists until my nails carved crescents deep into my palms, blood welling hot against cold skin.

The moment the tribunal ended—before we could even cross the threshold of the council hall—a crush of onlookers and the keepers of the spirit network had already choked the entrance. Someone had sent word ahead. Someone had staged this spectacle.

Vesper emerged into the chaos surrounded by flashing crystal orbs and outstretched hands dripping with sympathy. Tears glistened in her eyes like morning dew, her palms pressed together as though she were a martyred saint walking toward her persecution.

The crowd's fury and pity detonated at once. Fingers stabbed toward me and my mother like accusations made flesh.

I stood in the center of the storm, the cold wind off the high ridges numbing my already frozen face. The chill seeped through my coat, through my skin, into the marrow of my bones.

This wasn't justice.

This was a tribunal they had orchestrated from the first lie.

Dorian wrapped Vesper protectively in his arms, his voice dripping with a tenderness I had once believed was reserved for me alone.

"Vesper, don't worry. I won't let anyone threaten you. I'll protect you—you and our pup. That's the oath I swore under the Moon."

The crowd's emotions crested like a wave preparing to break.

Someone in the mob caught my scent and knew me. A rotten egg sailed through the air and burst against my shoulder, the foul stench blooming around me.

Then came the bucket.

A cascade of foul-smelling blood—pig's blood, I realized dimly, dragged from some butcher's back room—splashed down over my head. It ran down my neck in thick rivulets, soaking through my collar, staining my pale blouse crimson and black. The stench was overwhelming. Metallic. Humiliating. Every wolf nose in that crowd would carry it for hours, and they knew it.

"She's a she-wolf too, yet she tried to use another's name as leverage! Does she even have a conscience!"

"If the elder hadn't been fair, that poor girl would have been ruined forever!"

"Her father deserved to be crippled! A daughter like that will never meet a good end! The Moon herself has turned from her!"

The curses pierced my ears like ice picks.

I bit down on my lip until the taste of my own blood mingled with the stench flooding my throat. I would not scream. I would not give them the satisfaction. My wolf pressed hard against the inside of my skin, wanting to bare teeth, and I held it down.

Only then did Dorian finally deign to glance my way. His eyes swept over me—the blood matting my hair, the yolk sliding down my cheek—and his lip curled with disgust, as though he were examining something scraped off the bottom of his boot. His scent drifted past, scorched oak and tarnished copper gone slightly sour, and even that turned my stomach now.

"Stop resisting, Seraphina." His voice was low, meant only for me, though the crystal orbs caught every word. "If you behave—if you accept your place—I can still consider our past and let you live peacefully. A quiet life. Away from all of this."

My voice emerged hoarse, barely holding together like frayed rope.

"Impossible." The word tasted like iron and defiance. "Even if it costs me everything—my name, my blood, my last breath—I'll fight you to the end."

Dorian's expression darkened, shadows pooling in the hollows of his face. For a heartbeat his Alpha aura pressed outward, thick enough that the wolves nearest him flinched and dropped their gazes.

"Still refusing to repent. Still refusing to kneel." He shook his head slowly, as though mourning something already dead. "You never did know when to bend."

Vesper bent down slightly, positioning herself at my eye level with the grace of a performer hitting her mark. She gave me a gentle, pitying look—the kind reserved for a broken stray too far gone to save.

"I'm sorry about your father, Seraphina. Truly. But even if time went backward, even if I could change everything... I still wouldn't agree to his demand for five million moons. Some prices are too high to pay."

Dorian followed her words seamlessly, playing the righteous wolf, the honorable Alpha heir defending his bloodline.

"I'm your oath-mate, Seraphina. But I stand for justice—for the Pack's honor. I cannot allow wickedness to spread. Not even from one bound to me."

The crowd ignited like dry brush meeting flame.

"What a good Alpha! Why do good wolves always end up with this kind of mate!"

"A she-wolf like her would drive anyone to break the bond! To worse!"

"The Valecrest name deserves better!"

Watching Dorian's performance—watching him remake himself into a saint while standing on the bones of my father's broken body—made bile rise in my throat.

My legs suddenly buckled beneath me. The world tilted. I stumbled forward, reaching out instinctively for something to steady myself.

Dorian shoved Vesper aside and drove his foot into my chest.

The kick was precise. Brutal. The kind of blow a wolf learns to deliver when he's been raised to settle every dispute with violence.

"You're trying to fake an injury before the council too?" His voice dripped with contempt. "How was I ever blind enough to fall for someone so disgusting? How did I ever bring you into my bloodline?"

Pain exploded through my ribs, driving the breath from my lungs in a single agonized gasp. I crumpled to the cold stone of the hall steps, the chill biting into my palms.

But deeper inside—in that hollow space he had once occupied, that chamber of my heart I had foolishly given him—it hurt even more. Where the half-formed bond had once warmed, there was only a cold and silent emptiness now, as though something had been carved out and left to bleed.

Three years ago, when his enemies had cornered him in that warehouse on the border-waters, when a rival pack's blade had flashed toward his throat, I had thrown myself between him and death. The scar still traced a pale line across my shoulder blade—a permanent record of my devotion, set near the very place a mate's mark should have sat.

And now, the only thing he remembered was how to crush me.

Vesper tugged gently on his sleeve, her soft voice instantly commanding his attention like a leash pulling a trained hound.

"Dorian, my belly hurts again. The stress..." She pressed a delicate hand to it. "Can you make me some of that broth? The way you used to? You cook so well. It always settles me."

He agreed at once, his entire bearing shifting from cold executioner to devoted mate in the span of a heartbeat.

"Of course. Anything for you. Let's get you home."

He guided her away, his arm wrapped protectively around her shoulders, her head nestled against his chest.

I watched their silhouettes fade into the waiting black carriage—watched its lamps disappear around the bend like the last ember of a dying fire.

Something inside my chest shattered.

Not all at once, but piece by piece, like a moon-glass window struck by stones. Each fragment fell away, leaving nothing but cold air and the taste of blood. And somewhere deep beneath the wreckage, my wolf made a sound I had never heard it make before—a low, broken keening that had no name.

The crystal orbs continued to flash.

The crowd continued to jeer.

And I remained there on the council steps, covered in pig's blood and humiliation, watching the wolf I had once loved walk away with the she-wolf who had stolen everything.

This isn't over, I promised myself, the words forming in the silence of my shattered heart.

This is only the beginning.