When The Alpha Chose Her Over Our Son

Three years passed like a slow, torturous dream. Each day blurred into the next, marked only by new humiliations and the quiet strength it took to endure them.

I stood at the window of the Pack House, watching Hollis play in the garden below. At three years old, my son was beautiful—dark hair like his father's, but with my eyes. His laughter carried on the wind as he chased butterflies, though I noticed how quickly he glanced toward the main house, searching for a glimpse of his father.

"Luna Kehlani," a sharp voice called behind me. "The Alpha requests the monthly territory reports."

I turned to see Elena Cole—Nathaniel's mother—standing in the doorway. Her lips curled in disgust as she looked me over.

"Yes, Elder Elena," I replied, keeping my voice neutral. "I'll have them prepared by noon."

"Don't bother," she sniffed. "Bridget will handle them. You're needed in the kitchen to prepare for tonight's ceremony."

Of course. Bridget would take credit for my work, as always.

As Elena left, I caught my reflection in the mirror—pale skin, dark circles under my eyes, my once-vibrant hair now dull. The mate bond in my chest ached constantly, a one-sided pain that never subsided.

"Mama?" Hollis's small voice pulled me from my thoughts. He stood in the doorway, his eyes wide with excitement. "Is today really my special day?"

I forced a smile, kneeling to his level. "Yes, sweetheart. Today is your shifting ceremony."

"Will Papa be there?" His voice dropped to a whisper, hope and fear mingling in his expression.

The question pierced my heart. "He's the Alpha, Hollis. He has to be there."

But even as I said it, I knew better. Nathaniel would come late, leave early, and barely acknowledge his son's existence.

---

The Great Hall glowed with candlelight as pack members gathered for Hollis's ceremony. I stood at the edge of the circle, dressed in the traditional Luna's robes that felt like a costume on my body. Bridget sat in the front row, draped in jewels and wearing a dress more suited to a gala than a sacred ritual.

"Today we gather to witness if the Alpha's heir carries the spirit of his wolf," the high priest announced, his voice echoing through the hall.

Hollis stood in the center of the circle, his small face solemn as he followed the priest's instructions. My heart swelled with pride at how brave he looked.

The chanting began—ancient words meant to call forth a wolf spirit if it existed within the child. Hollis closed his eyes, his tiny face scrunched in concentration.

Then Bridget's scream shattered the moment.

"Stop!" she wailed, collapsing dramatically onto the stone floor. "I can't breathe!"

Nathaniel was at her side instantly, his face contorted with panic. "Bridget! What's wrong?"

"My heart," she gasped, clutching her chest. "It's stopping. The ceremony—it's triggering my heat early. Violently early!"

I knew immediately what was happening. There was no heat, no medical emergency. Just another performance to steal attention from my son's moment.

"Alpha," the priest warned, "we must finish the ceremony. The circle has been formed."

But Nathaniel was already lifting Bridget into his arms. "The ceremony can wait. My mate needs me."

"Your mate?" I whispered, the words slipping out before I could stop them.

Nathaniel's eyes flashed to mine, cold and dismissive. "Bridget is my chosen mate. You know that."

The pack members murmured as Nathaniel turned to leave, breaking the sacred circle with his departure. The energy of the ritual surged wildly, seeking balance.

A crack of thunder shook the hall. Hollis cried out as the backlash of energy knocked him backward. I lunged forward, but I was too far away.

My son fell onto a rack of ceremonial silver daggers that lined the perimeter of the circle. One blade sliced deep into his arm, blood blooming across his white ceremonial shirt.

"Hollis!" I screamed, reaching him just as he began to wail in pain.

But Nathaniel didn't even look back. He was already at the door, Bridget cradled against his chest like precious cargo.

"Hollis is hurt!" I shouted after him. "Your son is bleeding!"

He paused at the threshold, glancing back—but his eyes weren't on Hollis. They were on Bridget, who had buried her face in his neck.

"Handle it," he said flatly. "I have more important matters."

And then they were gone, leaving my bleeding son in my arms as whispers erupted throughout the hall.

I pressed my hand against Hollis's wound, my own blood mixing with his as I tried to stop the bleeding. Something stirred within me—not just maternal instinct, but something deeper. A dormant power I had suppressed for too long.

As Hollis whimpered against me, I made a silent vow: This would be the last time Nathaniel Cole abandoned his son for another woman. The last time he broke our hearts.

Something was changing inside me—something that had been buried beneath years of submission and pain.

My wolf stirred, awakening from her long slumber.