Seven moons into my pregnancy, the fire of war blazed within me. Not just against rival packs, but against the traitorous whispers that now poisoned the air I breathed. I was the Ultima—a rare, powerful alpha whose strength could dominate even the fiercest wolves. But power could not shield me from the bitter sting of betrayal.

It started with whispers. Passing the healer’s den, I caught the familiar voices of Fenrir, my mate, and Seraiah, the omega I trusted with my life. Their words froze me mid-step.

“Fenrir, if Astra realizes what is coming to her, she would be so gone...” Seraiah’s voice was sweet, like honey hiding poison. “She’ll lose her mind. Maybe even kill herself.”

“ This will really shake her….I mean so far, she wasn’t a really great mate to you. She is stealing the spotlight and doing everything you should be doing. Just the mention of her name, she gets doors open and territories conquered. I want her to feel what it feels to be regarded as a commoner!” Seraiah’s voice came again.

A sharp laugh followed. His. “If only she’d do it sooner. Her death would make everything easier. All her lands, her power—they’d pass to the pup. And us. But she’s too stubborn to die before birthing our heir.”

“If not that she is more powerful than my wolves altogether, if I decide to part ways. I would have left her for you, Seraiah…Astra is like a log of wood that can't make love. Even the moon goddess doesn't approve of our bond as each time we mate, there's no howling!”

“Waiting a few more years for them to grow won’t be bad…” Seraiah rubbed her protruding stomach. When I asked her about her mate, she said she had no mate and was banished from their pack.

Fenrir was her mate!

Now it made sense that he was the one that brought her after a patrol in the forest saying she was discarded after being pregnant.

My heart stopped. I felt I didn't hear clearly.

Their pup? The child in my womb wasn’t mine? It can't be. How come Seraiah and Fenrir are together? When clearly, Fenrir had always said I showed her too much attention for a lowly Omega. I was being deceived by them!

My hand instinctively went to my swollen belly, as if to protect it from their dangerous words.

Fenrir's reply was cold and calculated, "If she does die it’ll be better for us. Her power will pass to the pup—and then, to us. The real threat is if she finds out my motives and casts me out before we secure control. We need to keep her in the dark long enough for her to give birth. After that, we’ll crush her. She’s nothing without the power of her bloodline."

My vision blurred with anger. The powerful alpha inside me snarled to life, clawing for vengeance. I clenched the edge of the den wall, breathing deeply to steady the rage within. They dared to betray me, to steal from me, to make me a pawn in their sick game? Me? Astra, the mighty Ultima?

The stone wall dug into my palm as I steadied myself. My breath caught, struggling to contain the growl threatening to erupt. I should’ve torn into them right then. But I was too stunned, too shattered. Every word twisted a knife deeper into me.

I stayed to hear more.

“If she finds out before the birth,” Seraiah whispered, “she’ll banish us both.”

“Then we make sure she doesn’t,” Fenrir replied coldly. “Once the pup’s born, we’ll switch it with another. She’ll never know.”

I stormed into the den. The air turned electric as their gazes snapped toward me, shock written across their faces.

"Did you think I wouldn’t hear you?" I growled, my voice low but laced with power. The room trembled as my fury seeped into the earth. Fenrir stepped forward, his expression quickly shifting concern.

"Astra, you shouldn’t be here in your condition," he began, his tone soft like talking to a fragile pup.

"You spineless liar," I snapped, cutting him off. My claws extended, glinting in the low torchlight. "You betrayed me. Both of you.”

Seraiah’s eyes darted to Fenrir, fear was the expression. "Astra, you misunderstood—"

"Silence!" I roared, the sound echoing through the den and out into the camp. Wolves outside stopped what they were doing, ears perked, sensing the brewing storm.

But before I could lunge, a howl pierced the air—a war cry from the edge of our territory. An enemy pack had launched an ambush. My warriors needed me. They needed Fenrir.

The camp erupted into chaos. Wolves scrambled to defend the border. I pushed past the pain in my belly and rushed toward the noise. The enemy pack had come to challenge us, thinking I’d be weak. I would show them how wrong they were.

I reached the battlefield, my warriors already locked in combat. Blood splattered the ground, the scent thick and sharp. A rival wolf lunged at me, teeth bared. I met him mid-air, my claws ripping through his throat before he could land.

Pain stabbed through my stomach, but I ignored it. I wouldn’t fall here—not while my pack needed me.

More wolves charged. I moved like lightning, tearing through them. A scream erupted behind me, one of my own wolves falling under an enemy’s jaws. I turned, my vision red, and pounced on the attacker. The earth shook beneath me as I slammed him to the ground, snapping his neck with a sickening crack.

But the strain was too much. A sharp, searing pain ripped through my abdomen. I staggered, clutching my belly.

“My lady!” One of Fenrir's betas ran to me, his fur matted with blood. “You’re hurt!”

“I’m fine,” I lied, forcing myself upright. But I wasn’t fine. The pup stirred violently inside me, as if sensing the danger.

Then came another wave of pain—stronger this time. My knees buckled. Blood pooled beneath me. My packmates rushed to my side, their howls of victory turning to cries of alarm.

“Get her to the healer’s den!” someone shouted.

The healer’s den was chaotic. They laid me on a bed of furs, my breath coming in shallow gasps. The pain was relentless, each contraction pulling me closer to the edge. I could barely see through the haze, but I caught a glimpse of Seraiah on the other side of the room. She was writhing, screaming as midwives surrounded her.

“She’s in labor too?” one of the healers muttered, glancing between us. “The Ultima and her omega… this is madness.”

“Focus on me!” I growled, but my voice cracked. The world tilted as another contraction wracked my body.

Fenrir stormed in, his face a mask of feigned concern. “Astra, you need to rest. Let the healers handle this.”

I bared my teeth at him. “Don’t touch me.” My words were venom, each syllable dripping with hatred.

He stepped back, but his eyes flickered to Seraiah, softening in a way that made me want to tear him apart.

“Push, Astra,” the healer urged. “The pup is coming.”

I clenched my teeth, summoning every ounce of strength. Pain ripped through me, blinding and raw. I screamed, feeling the world tilt again.

Another wave of pain tore through me, and I screamed. Across the room, Seraiah’s cries mingled with mine. It was as if our fates were intertwined in this moment—a cruel twist of destiny.

"She’s not strong enough," the healer muttered, glancing at Fenrir. "Neither of them are. They’ll both die at this rate.”

Sweat soaked my hair, my vision danced with shadows, and my grip on reality began to waver. Through the haze, I heard Seraiah’s voice—a broken whisper.

"Fenrir… help me…"

I turned my head, barely able to focus. Fenrir stood frozen, torn between his two lovers. His betrayal hit me anew, reigniting the fire in my veins.

"You don’t deserve to call yourself an alpha," I snarled, my voice hoarse. "You’re nothing but a coward."

That seemed to snap him out of his stupor. He stepped toward me, reaching out as if to comfort me, but I bared my teeth, warning him off.

And then all of a sudden, darkness.

When I awoke, the air felt different. Quiet. Too quiet. My body was heavy, drained of every ounce of strength. The pain in my belly was gone, replaced by a hollow ache.

I reached out instinctively. “My pup… where’s my pup?”

The healer hesitated, her face pale. Fenrir stepped forward, holding a bundle in his arms. “Here, my love. A strong, healthy heir.”

But something was wrong. The scent was… unfamiliar. My wolf stirred uneasily, growling low in my chest. “Let me see.”

Fenrir hesitated, just for a moment, but it was enough. My instincts screamed. I snatched the bundle from him, holding the pup close. My heart sank. The child looked perfect, but the bond—the connection every mother feels—wasn’t there.

This wasn’t my pup.

My gaze snapped to Fenrir, then to Seraiah. She lay across the room, her body still, her chest barely rising. And in her arms, another bundle. My stomach twisted.

“No,” I whispered, the pieces falling into place. “You switched them.”

Fenrir’s face hardened. “Astra, you’ve been through a lot. Rest now—”

“You switched my child!” I roared, the sound shaking the walls. The healer flinched, backing away. My claws extended, my vision going red.

Across the room, Seraiah stirred, her eyes fluttering open. She clutched the pup tighter to her chest, her lips curling into a weak, defiant smile.

“You’ll never prove it,” she rasped.

My blood boiled. I staggered to my feet, the false pup slipping from my arms into the hands of a trembling midwife. “You think you can steal from me? Lie to me? Betray me?”

Fenrir stepped between us, his voice low. “You’re too weak to fight, Astra. Stand down.”

But he underestimated me. I wasn’t just an alpha. I was the Ultima. And this wasn’t over.

I lunged, claws aimed for his throat.

The tension in the healer’s den was suffocating. My roar still echoed in the ears of everyone present, but I couldn’t push further. My legs gave out, my energy spent. Fenrir caught me before I hit the ground, his touch burning my skin like fire.

He looked into my eyes innocently like he wasn’t the one I overheard plotting to take over my empire.

“Let go of me,” I hissed, shoving him away.

He backed off, holding his hands up as if to pacify me, but his eyes betrayed fear. Good. He should be afraid. They all should. I was docile but I knew of my strength.

I glanced toward Seraiah. She clutched the pup in her arms like it was her lifeline, refusing to meet my gaze. Her defiance sent a fresh wave of rage through me, but I swallowed it down. For now. My pack didn’t need to know the truth, not yet. Weakness could not taint my leadership.

“Get her out of my sight,” I ordered the midwives, my voice cold and sharp.

The healers scrambled to obey, dragging Seraiah away, but the pup stayed with her, bundled tightly in her arms. I wanted to see the child, it sounds feminine.

I should’ve fought harder, demanded they pry the child from her hands. But my body betrayed me. The fight, the labor—it had drained me completely. I could only watch as she disappeared, leaving me alone with Fenrir and the wailing child they’d forced into my arms.

The next few days were a blur of anger and exhaustion. My mind raced with plans to uncover the truth, but no matter how much I interrogated Fenrir or shadowed the healers, they’d covered their tracks perfectly. There was no proof that the pup wasn’t mine.

I sat on my throne in the Alpha Hall, the false child crying in his cradle nearby. His cries were relentless, piercing, but I couldn’t bring myself to touch him. Every time I looked at him, my wolf snarled in disgust.

“He’s not mine,” I muttered to myself, over and over. “He’s not mine.”

Fenrir stormed in, his face a mask of frustration. “Astra, enough!”

I shot him a glare that could’ve turned him to ash. “Enough of what, Fenrir?”

“Of this madness!” He gestured toward the pup, his voice rising. “You’re letting him starve. He’s just a pup, Astra. Whatever you think happened—whatever you think I did—it’s not his fault!”

I stood, my claws extending. “Don’t you dare defend this… this thing!” I growled, stepping toward him. “I know what you and Seraiah did. You think you’ve won? That you’ve taken everything from me?”

“Astra—”

“Don’t say my name!” My voice cracked with fury. “You’re a traitor, Fenrir. Both of you. But I won’t let the pack see me crumble. No one will know how deep your betrayal runs. Do you understand me?”

His face paled, but he nodded. He knew better than to challenge me when I was like this.

That night, I called a private council meeting. Only our most trusted betas attended. I stood at the head of the table, every inch the Ultima they needed me to be.

“Seraiah is to be banished,” I announced, my voice steady despite the storm raging inside me.

A ripple of shock passed through the room. One of the betas, Rakan, frowned. “Banished? My lady, she just gave birth. What crime has she committed?”

I clenched my fists, forcing my voice to remain calm. “Her presence here weakens our territory. She’s been conspiring with outsiders, endangering us all. As your Ultima, I won’t tolerate treachery.”

The others exchanged uneasy glances. They didn’t question me outright—no one dared—but I could feel their doubts. It didn’t matter. They would obey.

“Rakan,” I continued, “you’ll escort her to the border at dawn. Make sure she understands the consequences of returning.”

“Yes, my lady.” He bowed his head, though his unease lingered.

At dawn, I stood on the hill overlooking the southern border. The rising sun bathed the forest in golden light, but it did nothing to warm the ice in my chest. Below, I watched as Rakan led Seraiah to the edge of my territory.

She walked with her head high, defiance in every step. The pup she’d stolen was strapped to her chest, the tiny cries echoing through the trees. She didn’t look back, not once, as she crossed into the neutral lands beyond.

A part of me wanted to charge after her, to rip that smug look off her face and take what was mine. But another part—one I hated—felt relief. With her gone, I could focus on the false child Fenrir had left me with.

The days that followed were a nightmare. The pup cried constantly, his tiny body shaking with need. The healers insisted he was healthy, that he just needed his mother’s touch. But I couldn’t bring myself to hold him.

Every time I looked at him, I saw Fenrir’s betrayal. Seraiah’s smug smile. The lies they’d built around me.

One night, as the pup wailed in his cradle, Fenrir burst into my chambers. His hair was disheveled, his face lined with exhaustion.

“This has to stop,” he said, his voice low and firm.

I ignored him, staring out the window at the moonlit forest.

“Astra.” He stepped closer, his voice softening. “I know you’re hurting. But this… this isn’t you.”

I turned to him slowly, my eyes burning with hatred. “You don’t know me at all, Fenrir.”

He flinched but didn’t back down. “You can hate me all you want. But that pup is innocent. He doesn’t deserve this.”

“Innocent?” I laughed bitterly. “He’s the product of your lies, Fenrir. Every time I look at him, I see your betrayal.”

“He’s still yours, Astra!” Fenrir snapped, his voice cracking. “You carried him, you gave birth to him. No matter what you think happened, that pup is a part of you.”

I froze, his words hitting me like a blow.

Was he right? Could he be?

No. He was lying. He had to be.

I turned back to the window, my voice hollow. “Leave me, Fenrir.”

“Astra—”

“Leave!”

He hesitated, but eventually, I heard the door close behind him.

Alone, I stared at the moon, its light casting long shadows across the room. The pup’s cries softened, fading into quiet whimpers. My wolf stirred uneasily, torn between instinct and fury.

I approached the cradle, my hands trembling. The pup’s tiny face was scrunched in distress, his little fists waving in the air. For a moment, I felt something—an ache deep in my chest, like a bond trying to form.

But then I remembered Fenrir’s words. Seraiah’s laughter. The lies.

“You’re not mine,” I whispered, stepping back.

The pup’s cries grew louder, piercing the silence. I clenched my fists, fighting the urge to reach for him.

In the weeks that followed, the pack began to whisper. They noticed my distance, my coldness toward the child. Fenrir tried to intervene, playing the doting father in my absence, but it only made things worse.

The healers started visiting more frequently, their concern evident with fear. One of them, a young wolf named Lyric, approached me one evening.

“My lady,” she began hesitantly, “the pup needs you.”

I glared at her. “He has everything he needs.”

“With respect,” she continued, “he doesn’t. A pup without his mother’s bond is vulnerable. He won’t thrive like this.”

Her words stung, but I refused to let it show. “Thank you for your concern, Lyric. You’re dismissed.”

She hesitated, her eyes filled with worry, but she bowed and left.

Late that night, I stood in the nursery, watching the pup sleep. His tiny chest rose and fell with each breath, his cries finally silenced.

For the first time, I allowed myself to wonder: what if Fenrir was telling the truth? What if this child was mine?

The thought terrified me. If he was mine, then I’d failed him.

But if he wasn’t…

I turned away, my heart heavy. The truth was out there, somewhere. And I would find it—no matter the cost.

The boy, Thu, had grown far quicker than I anticipated. At six years old, his presence in the pack was already undeniable. His golden eyes, so much like mine, gave the illusion of belonging, but his demeanor betrayed the blood that flowed in his veins. His aura was sharp, feral, and commanding—a dangerous mix of Fenrir’s cunning and Seraiah’s fire.

Yet, he took my eyes. Those were the only moments that gave me pause, those rare flickers of familiarity when he gazed at me, and I saw something akin to my own reflection staring back. It was maddening.

I took Thu with me as I traveled through the territories, introducing him to the borders he would one day oversee. Or so I allowed him to believe.

“This,” I said, gesturing to the dense forest ahead, “is the northern border. Beyond it lies the Bloodfang Pack. They’re allies, for now.”

Thu nodded, his sharp eyes scanning the area. He absorbed everything like a sponge, but I never gave him the full picture. He didn’t need to know the secret paths, the weaknesses in the defenses, or the true power dynamics at play.

“Why don’t we attack them?” he asked suddenly, his voice cold and emotionless.

I stiffened, hiding my reaction. “We don’t attack allies unless they give us a reason.”

“But if they’re weak, isn’t it smarter to take what’s ours before they realize it?”

My wolf stirred uneasily. He was too much like them—Fenrir and Seraiah. Ruthless, strategic, and unrelenting.

“We don’t rule through unnecessary bloodshed,” I said firmly, but the truth was I wasn’t entirely convinced of my own words.

Thu merely smirked, a small, knowing curve of his lips that made my stomach twist.

Back at the main camp, Thu’s presence became even more disruptive. The other pups avoided him, and those who didn’t were soon forced to. He was cruel in ways I didn’t expect, his punishments for perceived slights both physical and psychological.

“I am the heir,” he declared one day, standing atop the training grounds with a boy pinned beneath his clawed foot. “You will respect me or suffer.”

The boy whimpered, but Thu pressed harder, drawing blood. The other pups froze, their fear thick in the air.

“Enough!” My voice cut through the scene like a blade.

Thu looked up at me, his eyes gleaming with defiance. For a moment, I thought he would challenge me, but he stepped back, letting the boy scramble away.

“They need to learn, Mother,” he said, his tone eerily calm.

“They’ll learn under my rules,” I snapped, my voice low and dangerous. “You’re not Alpha yet, Thu. Remember that.”

He bowed his head, but the smirk never left his face.

My revenge against Fenrir was slow, deliberate. The years had done little to dull my anger. If anything, it burned brighter with each passing day. I wanted him to suffer, to feel the weight of his betrayal as heavily as I did.

It started small—an injury here, a lost title there.

During a sparring session, I “accidentally” caught him off guard, slashing his arm deeply enough to leave a permanent scar.

“Careless,” I said coldly as he clutched his bleeding limb.

Fenrir’s eyes flashed with a mix of anger and hurt, but he said nothing. He knew better than to challenge me openly.

Then came the titles. I began stripping him of his responsibilities under the guise of restructuring the pack’s leadership.

“The pack needs stronger figures in these roles,” I told the council. “Fenrir has done his best, but we must prepare for the future.”

The council, ever loyal, nodded in agreement. Fenrir’s jaw clenched, but again, he remained silent. He knew this was only the beginning.

Meanwhile, my hatred for Thu grew with every passing day. He wasn’t mine. He couldn’t be.

Still, there were moments that tested my belief.

One night, I found him sitting by the fire in my chambers, staring into the flames. His small figure was still, but his golden eyes burned with intensity.

“Why are you here?” I asked, keeping my voice steady.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he replied without looking at me. “The dreams were loud.”

“What dreams?”

“Voices,” he said simply. “Telling me things.”

My wolf bristled. “What things?”

Thu finally turned to face me, his expression unreadable. “That I’m meant for greatness. That no one can stop me.”

His words chilled me, but I refused to show it. “Dreams are just that, Thu. Dreams. They mean nothing.”

He tilted his head, studying me. “Do you dream, Mother?”

“Not anymore,” I said curtly, turning away.

The whispers about me began to spread. The pack noticed my coldness toward Thu, my calculated dismantling of Fenrir’s power. Some speculated that I was losing my mind, while others suggested that I was preparing for something greater.

It didn’t matter. Let them talk.

What did matter was finding my true child. I refused to believe that Seraiah had vanished without leaving a trace. She was too cunning for that.

I sent spies into the neutral territories, hunters tasked with tracking her movements. Months turned into years, and still, they brought back nothing.

Several weeks later, Fenrir confronted me in the Alpha Hall.

“This has to stop, Astra,” he said, his voice trembling with barely contained anger.

I raised an eyebrow. “What, exactly, are you referring to?”

“Everything!” he exploded. “The way you treat Thu, the way you undermine me at every turn. This pack is falling apart because of your obsession with something that isn’t real!”

I stood slowly, letting my power fill the room. “Choose your next words carefully, Fenrir.”

He hesitated, but his desperation won out. “He’s your son, Astra. Thu is your blood, your heir. You’re destroying everything for a lie!”

I stepped closer, my voice a deadly whisper. “The only lie here is the one you and Seraiah built. Don’t think I’ve forgotten.”

Fenrir’s shoulders sagged, his anger replaced by defeat. “You’re going to tear this pack apart.”

“Then so be it,” I said coldly.

Thu continued to grow, his power becoming more evident with each passing day. He shadowed me constantly, learning the dynamics of our territory, our allies, and our enemies. But I never gave him everything.

He noticed, of course. He was smarter than his age. The blood of Seraiah running through his veins.

“Why do you hold back?” he asked one day as we stood atop the eastern cliffs. The wind whipped through his dark hair, making him look older than his years.

“I don’t trust anyone completely,” I replied, my tone neutral.

“Not even me?”

“Especially not you.”

He smirked, as if my answer amused him.

“But every mother trusts their pup with their life. Isn’t that weird?” he asked, his eyes blinking.

“Not this mother. Trust has to be earned little one” I retorted.

For a moment, there was silence between us, the kind that felt like the calm before a storm.

Late one night, I received a report from one of my spies. They’d found a trail—faint, but promising. Despite banishing Seraiah just so I can plan well, I kept tabs on her. But Fenrir kept closing the trail.

Seraiah had been spotted in the outskirts of the neutral territories, living among rogues. My wolf surged with anticipation, the need for vengeance burning brighter than ever.

I summoned Rakan, the trusted beta, and handed him the report.

“Find her,” I ordered. “Bring her to me alive.”

Rakan hesitated. “My lady, is this wise? you banished her. The pack is already—”

“Do not question me, Rakan,” I snapped. “Just do as I say.”

He bowed and left without another word.

As I waited for news, my mind raced with possibilities. What would I do when I finally faced Seraiah again? Would I demand answers? Take back what was mine? I should have checked the child’s face that night.

The uncertainty gnawed at me, but I refused to let it show. The pack needed a strong leader aside Fenrir and I couldn’t afford to falter now.

The days stretched into weeks, and still, Rakan did not return. I began to wonder if Seraiah had outsmarted me once again, slipping through my grasp like smoke.

Meanwhile, Thu’s behavior grew darker. He began challenging the betas, testing his strength against theirs.

“He’s preparing for something,” Fenrir warned me one night.

“Good,” I said. “Let him prepare. He’ll need it.”

Fenrir frowned, his concern undeniable. “Astra, you’re playing with fire.”

I turned to him, my eyes blazing. “Fire is all I know.”