The Alpha Who Signed Her Rejection

I pulled on my sleeping robe and padded barefoot down the third-floor corridor of the Alpha's Keep, pausing at the carved stone railing to peer down at Aurora's chamber on the floor below.

The heavy oak door stood half-open.

I watched Fenris carefully spooning warm broth into her mouth, the kind meant to ease the aftereffects of too much ceremonial wine.

She pouted and wrinkled her nose in distaste. He patiently blew on each spoonful to cool it before offering it again. When she complained that her silver-blonde hair was tangled and wild, he set aside the bowl and picked up an ivory brush, gathering the strands into a neat tail at the base of her neck. His movements were practiced, almost tender—the gestures of someone who had done this many times before.

My claws extended without thought, pricking into my palms. I couldn't feel the sting.

I remembered the time I'd pushed myself through an alliance dinner, drinking wolfsbane-laced wine until my stomach bled internally to close a territory deal for him. The next morning, he'd simply had the Den Keeper bring me a bowl of healing broth. I'd once asked him to help me braid my hair for a Pack Council gathering. He'd said he didn't know how, his voice clipped with impatience, his scent sharp with irritation.

I stood there frozen, watching them, until they finally left together—her arm looped through his, their scents mingling in a way that made my wolf whimper.

My legs had gone numb from standing so long, but I refused to descend.

I didn't want to appear before them.

It would make me feel like a pathetic joke—the scheming rival standing between fated mates, just like in those tragic ballads the pack elders sang around the fire. The kind of story I used to scorn.

Perhaps my mind was elsewhere. Perhaps the numbness had spread too far. Going down the stone stairs, I misjudged a step.

My foot met empty air. I fell hard.

Pain exploded through my abdomen like claws raking from the inside.

I curled up on the cold floor, feeling something warm and wet seeping down between my legs.

All color drained from my face.

With trembling hands, I pressed my palm against my lower belly. A terrible thought surfaced—one I couldn't bear to name.

"My Lady!"

Mira came running from the kitchens, panic in every step. When she saw the blood spreading across the polished stone, her voice cracked with horror.

"I'm sending for the Healer's Lodge immediately."

The healers arrived with their stretcher and herb-pouches, their urgent voices shattering the morning quiet of the Keep.

At the Healer's Lodge, an attending wolf asked urgently, "Where is the patient's bonded mate? We need the Alpha's mark on the consent scrolls."

Mira was frantic, wringing her hands. "I've sent howl-calls to Alpha Fenris over a dozen times. No response."

She fumbled for the message-sigil crystal I kept by my bed. "I tried seventeen times through the Lady's own channel too. The sigils just... fade. As if warded against."

I forced my eyes open and reached for the healer's sleeve. My voice was barely a whisper.

"I'll mark the scrolls myself. I don't want the pup."

The words left me hollow, as if they'd carved out everything I had left.

I thought about the past two moons—how Fenris had mentioned wanting to strengthen the bloodline, so I'd stopped taking the moon-herb that prevented conception.

This pup had quickened by accident. Now it would leave the same way.

It was never wanted. Never welcomed with love or the joy of true mates.

It shouldn't come into this world.

The head healer's expression was grave, her silver eyes troubled. "The situation is critical, my Lady. The fall has caused great damage. We may not be able to preserve the pregnancy, but we can attempt—"

"Don't." I closed my eyes. Tears slid down silently, soaking into the healing linens. "Let it go."

In the treatment chamber, the harsh glow of spelled crystals was blinding.

The cold clatter of healer's instruments rang sharp and clear against stone trays.

Every movement felt like a piece of my soul being carved away.

I bit down on my lip until I tasted copper, refusing to let myself cry out. My wolf howled somewhere deep inside me, grieving what we were losing.

A week later, afternoon sunlight filtered through the gauze curtains of the recovery wing, falling across my bed in pale golden stripes.

I set down my scrying mirror. The surface still showed Aurora's latest image-sending to the pack. In the vision, Fenris was crouched before her in the gardens, fastening the clasps of her ceremonial boots. They were both laughing, carefree, their wolves clearly at ease with each other.

I darkened the mirror with a touch, my face blank. As if I'd seen nothing at all.

"Lyra."

The heavy door swung open.

Fenris strode in, something like alarm flickering across his sharp features. His nostrils flared, scenting the room.

"How are you feeling?"

When he drew closer, he finally noticed how pale I was—my lips completely bloodless, my scent thin and weak where it should have been strong.

He frowned, confusion creasing his brow. "Is it your moon-cycle again? Why didn't you send word to me?"

Irregular cycles had always plagued me—a weakness in my bloodline that the healers had never fully corrected.

Following my instructions, Mira hadn't told him about the lost pup. She'd sworn a silence oath at my request, her eyes wet with tears she didn't dare shed in front of me.