The Secret Mistress: Poisoning The Alpha's Unborn Heir

Lana POV:

The house was too big. The silence was too loud.

I sat on the floor of the master bedroom, surrounded by unopened wedding gifts. Crystal vases, silver platters, silk sheets. All for a life that was a lie.

The landline phone on the bedside table began to ring.

I stared at it. Nobody called the landline.

I picked it up. "Hello?"

There was no answer. Just sounds.

Heavy, ragged breathing. The wet sound of skin slapping against skin. The creaking of a bedspring.

My blood ran cold.

"Oh, goddess... Alpha... right there..."

It was Caren's voice. High-pitched, breathless.

"You like that, my little charm?" Jameson's voice. Rough. Guttural.

It was a pocket dial. Or, knowing Caren, a deliberate "mistake."

I should have hung up. I should have thrown the phone against the wall. But I was frozen.

I listened.

I heard the distinct, animalistic growls that accompany the Heat.

The Heat is a biological imperative. When wolves are in Heat, pheromones flood the brain. Logic disappears. It is raw, primal need.

Jameson was spending his Heat with her. Not me.

In the corner of the room, our pet parrot-a rare, magical bird from the Amazon that could mimic any sound perfectly-flapped its wings.

"Lucky Charm! Lucky Charm!" the bird squawked. "Harder, Alpha!"

I covered my mouth. The bird had heard them. They had been here. In this room. In my bed. Before the wedding.

A wave of nausea hit me. It wasn't just disgust. It was physical.

The world spun. I dropped the phone and ran to the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet before I emptied my stomach.

I heaved until there was nothing left, my body trembling.

I sat back against the cold tiles, wiping my mouth.

Wolves don't get sick. Our immune systems are perfect. Unless...

I looked at the cabinet under the sink. I had bought a box of pregnancy tests weeks ago, just in case. Wolf pregnancies are rare. It usually takes years of trying.

My hands shook as I opened the box. I took the test.

Three minutes.

I sat on the bathroom floor, counting the seconds. The recording on the phone in the other room was still going, faint moans drifting through the open door.

I looked at the stick.

Two lines. Positive.

The scent of milk and honey suddenly flooded my senses-the scent of a new life. My scent changed.

I was pregnant.

I was carrying the Alpha's heir.

I laughed. It was a dry, broken sound that hurt my throat.

The Moon Goddess had a cruel sense of humor.

I was carrying his child while he was knotting another woman.

The front door downstairs slammed open.

"Lana!" Jameson's voice boomed through the house.

He was back.

I stood up, hiding the test in my pocket. I washed my face, scrubbing my skin until it was red.

I walked out to the landing. Jameson stood in the foyer. He looked disheveled. His hair was messy, his shirt missing buttons.

And the smell.

He reeked of sex. He reeked of her Heat. It was a thick, musky odor that clung to him like a second skin.

He looked up at me, his eyes devoid of guilt. He actually looked annoyed, as if coming home to his wife was a chore he had to endure.

"We need to talk," he said, adjusting his collar. "The Elders are pressuring me. They want an heir to secure the lineage. We need to start trying tonight."

I stared at him from the top of the stairs.

He had just come from her bed, and now he wanted to use my body as an incubator for his legacy.

"Tonight?" I asked, my voice flat.

"Yes. It's my duty. It's your duty," he said, walking toward the kitchen as if nothing had happened. "I'm hungry. Make me a steak."

I touched the plastic stick in my pocket.

My poor pup, I thought. Your father is a monster.