When My Mate Let His Mistress Kill Our Baby

Three days passed in a haze of fever and throbbing pain. The cuts on my feet had grown angry and red, the infection spreading despite my weak wolf’s best efforts to heal me. I spent most of my time locked in the guest room, staring at the ceiling, listening to the sounds of the pack house below—laughter, clinking glasses, life moving on without its Luna.

On the third night, a soft thud against the balcony glass startled me awake. I limped over, wincing as my swollen soles touched the cold floorboards. Outside, the night air was crisp, carrying the scent of pine from the distant mountains. There was no one there, but a small, nondescript brown package sat on the railing.

My heart hammered. Was this another one of Gia’s games? A box of dead rats? A threatening note?

I opened it with trembling fingers. Inside sat a simple glass jar filled with a shimmering, pearlescent substance and a single dried sprig of lavender. There was no note. I unscrewed the lid, and a scent hit me—cedar, rain, and something ancient, like deep earth. It didn't smell like the chemical antiseptics Dr. Vance used. It smelled like… safety.

Desperation outweighed my fear. I scooped out a fingerful of the balm and applied it to the deepest gash on my heel. The relief was instantaneous, a cool wave washing over the fire in my skin. I watched, breathless, as the angry redness faded. The skin knit together before my eyes, the infection vanishing as if it had never been there. This wasn't normal medicine. This was Royal Moon-Flower balm—rare, priceless, and impossible to get outside the Royal Territories.

I scanned the dark tree line. "Who are you?" I whispered into the wind. My wolf stirred for the first time in days, letting out a low, contented purr at the scent of cedar. For tonight, at least, we weren't alone.

A week later, the healing was the only good news. I woke up violently ill, barely making it to the bathroom before retching into the toilet. I flushed, wiping my mouth with a trembling hand. It wasn't the flu. The sickness was deep, settling in my womb with a heaviness I recognized from the biology texts I’d read a thousand times.

I had bought a human pregnancy test from a pharmacy three towns over, wearing a hoodie and sunglasses to avoid being recognized. I didn't trust the pack doctors. I didn't trust anyone.

I sat on the edge of the tub, watching the little plastic stick. Two pink lines appeared within seconds.

*Pregnant.*

A sob caught in my throat, but it wasn't fear. It was a fierce, sudden rush of protectiveness. I placed a hand over my flat stomach. A pup. *My* pup. In this hellhole?

No.

The realization hit me like a physical blow. I had been passive for too long. I had let Damon walk over me, let Gia torture me, all to keep the peace for my father’s alliance. But this… this changed everything. I couldn't raise a child in a house where the Beta female threw wine on the Luna and the Alpha forced her to walk on glass. I needed a truce. I needed Damon to step up, not as a husband, but as a father.

I dressed quickly, hiding the test in the pocket of my jeans. I needed to find him. I needed to make him understand that we had a future to protect.

His scent—musk and expensive cologne—was faint in his office, but strong in the hallway leading to the Beta quarters. My stomach twisted. Of course he was there.

The door to Gia’s room was slightly ajar. I approached silently, intending to knock, but the sight through the crack froze me in place.

The room was a shrine.

The walls were covered in photos of Damon—some candid shots from pack gatherings, others that looked disturbingly like they were taken while he slept. His clothes were everywhere. Not just a hoodie here or there, but piles of his shirts, his jackets, nesting materials arranged on her bed like a twisted den. It wasn't just an affair; it was an obsession.

Damon was standing by the window, his back to the door, talking on a burner phone. Gia was absent.

"The shipment from the border was light, Marcus," Damon hissed, his voice low. "I paid you for a full disruption. If General Roberts doesn't think the threat is real, the funding stops. Make it look convincing next time."

My blood ran cold. *Marcus Kane?* The rogue mercenary? Damon wasn't just ignoring the rogue attacks; he was paying for them. He was manufacturing the war my father was paying to fight.

I knocked, my knuckles rapping sharply against the wood. I couldn't process the treason right now. I had something more important to fight for.

Damon spun around, ending the call instantly. His eyes narrowed when he saw me. "What are you doing here, Seraphina? This is Gia’s private space."

"We need to talk," I said, stepping into the hallway. I refused to enter that shrine of madness. "Now."

He stormed out, closing the door firmly behind him. "You have five seconds before I call security to escort you back to your room. You’re disrupting the pack harmony again."

"I'm pregnant," I blurted out.

The silence that followed was suffocating. I watched his face, searching for a flicker of joy, of shock, even of possessiveness. Anything.

Damon stared at me, his expression shifting from annoyance to something colder. Calculation. He ran a hand through his hair and let out a sharp sigh. "Are you sure?"

"I took a test. Two lines," I said, my voice gaining strength. "Damon, we’re having a pup. An heir. This… this has to stop. The abuse. Gia. I can't raise a child like this."

He laughed. It was a short, dry sound devoid of humor. "An heir. Right."

He took a step toward me, towering over my smaller frame. "Here is what is going to happen, Seraphina. You are going to go back to your room. You are going to say nothing to anyone."

"What?" I stepped back, my hand instinctively covering my stomach. "Damon, this is your child!"

"And Gia is fragile right now," he snapped, his voice dropping to a dangerous growl. "Her wolf is on the edge. If she finds out you’re breeding while she’s struggling, it could push her over. It could cause an episode."

I stared at him, horror dawning on me. "You care more about her feelings than the life of your own child?"

"I care about peace!" he roared, making me flinch. "This pregnancy is a complication I didn't need right now. Do not announce it. Do not celebrate it. Until I clear it with Gia and find a way to break it to her gently, this does not exist. Do you understand me?"

He didn't wait for an answer. He turned and walked back into Gia’s room, shutting the door in my face.

I stood alone in the hallway, the tiny plastic stick burning a hole in my pocket. My wolf howled in grief, a long, mournful sound that echoed in the empty caverns of my mind. He hadn't just rejected me. He had rejected our future.