Ella's POV

My mate, Draven Blackthorn, the powerful Alpha of the Blackthorn Pack, brought his chosen she-wolf home on our seventh mating anniversary.

“Freya is finally carrying my pup. You must look after her, her safety will be your priority. If the baby is a male, he will be the rightful heir and future Alpha of the Blackthorn Pack.”

He spoke as he pulled out a chair for the omega named Freya Hart, but he never even bothered sparing me a single glance.

“She’s fragile and easily unsettled, so try not to be difficult. Don’t let your jealousy ruin what should be a joyful night for everyone.”

The Alpha added.

I said nothing.

Instead, I just reached for my travel bag and headed toward the door.

Sensing I truly meant to leave, Freya’s eyes instantly filled with tears. A perfect act she wore, like it's part of her skin.

She rose quickly and said:

“Alpha Draven, please don’t. I should be the one to back away. No, I’m already thankful that Luna Ella doesn’t despise me. Please, don’t fight over me.”

“Stop worrying about her. She’ll return soon enough. Once my temper ignites, she’ll crawl back begging at my feet, I am sure of it.”

Alpha Draven said coldly as he eased Freya back into her chair.

Freya's mother, who had arrived with her, sneered with contempt.

“What claim does a barren she-wolf have to the title of Luna? She's useless. Freya, eat. You carry my grandpup, the future Alpha. A wolf who can’t bear young is no different than a broken fang. Who else would want her?”

They didn’t realize my decision to leave wasn’t out of emotion—it was final.

I had no intention of ever stepping a paw back into that packhouse again.

Just as I reached the entrance, Draven called out, his voice as commanding as ever.

“Ella Moonfall.”

“Give that pregnant stray dog you’ve been sheltering to Freya. She’s always wanted another creature to give birth around the same time as her.”

I froze.

Outside, the small injured fox-like pup tied beneath the trees gave a whine, sensing me.

I remembered how Alpha Draven had once kicked the tiny creature with disgust when I’d tried to feed her.

I had begged him on my knees to let me keep her. He’d agreed—barely—but only if I left her outside, chained.

Now, all it took was a whim from Freya, and suddenly he was sentimental.

When I didn’t respond, Alpha Draven clicked his tongue in annoyance.

“It’s just a beast. Don’t act like it’s your pup. You’re not really attached, are you?”

Attached? Perhaps not. But what of the seven years I had stood beside him?

I clenched my fists, swallowing my own voice.

Saying no meant punishment. I’d learned that well.9

Draven demanded I fetch it.

I said no. I wasn’t well.

In response, the guards dragged me out into the thunder and rain and dumped me in the mountain’s dark heart.

I barely survived the descent, slipping down a muddy ravine on the way back, nearly losing my life.

The memory made my fingers tremble. I knelt and lifted the tiny creature. She purred weakly, thinking it a game.

“Be kind to her,” I said softly to Freya.

The Alpha seemed pleased at my compliance and offered what he thought was kindness.

“You’re finally being sensible. Remember, the pup in Freya’s belly will call you mother, too. She’s giving you a child.”

Before I could reply, Freya shrieked. As soon as she touched the stray dog, it startled and ran off.

Freya clutched her stomach, moaning in pain. Alpha Draven swept her up and roared for the healers, the pack's very own doctors.

Her mother shot me a mocking look, as if I were some pathetic joke.

Perhaps I was.

Just two days ago, I burned with a fever, 104 degrees, too high, the fever made me so weak I couldn't even lift a finger, and Draven didn't care, instead, he decided he'd go out to dine with Freya.

When he saw me sick, he spat curses and ordered the doctors to isolate me.

“Quarantine the entire house. Don’t let her infect Freya. Move her to the storage hut until she recovers!”

And what he said happened, like it was an order of a king never meant to be broken,

So I stayed in that hut.

No medicine. No warmth. Just stone floors and shadows.

I survived two days on nothing but moonlight and will.

But now? Freya flinched, and he summoned the entire pack to her aid.

I gripped my bag tighter, meaning to flee. But Alpha Draven caught my wrist.

“Kneel,” he growled, his voice sharp and cold as northern ice.

My knees struck the stone floor with a thud, pain shooting through my legs.

Sharp crystal edges from the mosaic tiles bit into my skin. The pain forced a gasp out of me.

Alpha Draven recoiled from the sound as though I were filth.

“Your mongrel beast scratched Freya. Either you apologize on its behalf, or…”

He turned to a servant. “Bring the creature. Kill it where she can see.”

“No! Please!” I screamed. “It was my fault! I was wrong! Don't hurt the dog, please, I'm begging you!”

I threw myself to the floor, clinging to his boot. My head struck the marble with a sickening crack.

The servants turned away in silence.

I had learned to beg three years ago—the day I miscarried and almost died.

The doctors said I might never carry again. And my first instinct was to say:

“I’m sorry. I failed you, Alpha.”

He held me back then. Told me it didn’t matter. That we had each other.

And later, he was still good to me—so good that I cried myself to sleep, fearing the doctor’s words.

So when he came home late, I stayed silent.

When I saw lipstick on his shirt, I didn’t ask.

When he brought Freya to me and said she’d give birth for me, I still didn’t speak.

But after my parents were killed in that brutal rogue attack, Draven changed.

Everything tender in him went to Freya. I became a discarded, infertile she-wolf—unworthy of the pack's respect.

At first, I endured. I begged. I submitted.

Because I loved him.

But now? I was done.

Blood filled my mouth as I bit down hard, and I refused to cry.

Draven's eyes narrowed as he saw the blood. His hand twitched, as if to touch my lip—then he turned away.

He loosened his collar and muttered coldly,

“Ella, you’re no longer the precious daughter of a noble bloodline of powerful wolves. Who are you putting on this pathetic act for? Stop acting like a tragic Luna. No one’s watching.”

The moment the private pack doctor arrived, Alpha Draven stalked toward him. His shoulder slammed into mine without a glance, the force sending me stumbling back.

I caught my breath, straightened my spine, and turned to leave.

Outside the packhouse, Alpha Draven's Beta waited, his posture stiff, eyes downcast. He’d been standing guard for a long time.

I quickened my pace, needing space—air.

But before I reached him, two hands, strong as iron, grabbed my arms and yanked me back.

“Alpha Draven requests your presence,” Draven's loyal warrior growled, his voice as emotionless as stone.

I didn’t resist. There was no point.

In the study, Alpha Draven stood by the hearth, casually buttoning his dark shirt, the moonlight catching on the Alpha insignia sewn into the collar. His movements were controlled, cold.

As I stepped inside, he tipped his chin once. Another warrior stepped behind me, gripping my shoulders and forcing me down into a medical chair that had clearly been prepared ahead of time, as if it had been prepared exactly for me.

“Freya’s suffering from severe anemia,” Draven said calmly, motioning to the doctor. “She needs a transfusion. You’re a match.”

I lifted my head, my voice barely steady. “Draven, I just came out of heat sickness. My body—my wolf—isn’t even fully healed yet.”

“Six hundred milliliters,” he ordered flatly, eyes on the doctor. “Begin.”

The thick, silver-tipped needle pierced my vein with brutal precision. I clenched my jaw until I tasted blood. But that pain was nothing compared to the one in my chest.

Through the cracked door, I heard the low murmur of the pack physician.

“Alpha, she recently miscarried. Her hemoglobin is critically low. This could push her into shock—”

“Spare me,” Draven cut him off, unmoved. “Freya carries my heir. She cannot wait.”

Blood siphoned from my arm in thick streams, the bag gradually filling. My vision swam.

Draven stepped in front of me and, in a gesture so unlike him, gently wiped the cold sweat from my brow. His handkerchief was warm, he scented faintly of cedar and wolf musk.

“If it hurts, scream,” he murmured. “Just bear with it. This is for the future of the pack. Think of it like you are also saving our child.”

I closed my eyes. I didn’t want to see him.

Our child?

Would he still call it ours when the pup is born and he marks Freya instead?

A scream pierced the silence from the upper floor. It was Freya’s voice—sharp, trembling.

Draven’s face automatically darkened.

He turned back to the doctor and barked, “Another four hundred.”

The doctor paled. “That could kill her!”

“She’s already fading—”

“Freya is my Luna-to-be. She comes first,” Alpha Draven snapped, already moving toward the door.

I could barely speak, but I forced the words out. “Draw it.”

The physician froze.

“It’s settled,” I whispered. “Once this is done, let me go.”

Alpha Draven turned slowly. His eyes, golden and narrowed, burned into mine. Then he strode over and gripped my chin hard enough to bruise.

“You’d run away over this?” he sneered.

Freya’s whimper echoed again and, without another word, he shoved me away and disappeared.

Without his support, I slumped to the cold marbled floor like a discarded doll.

Blackness swallowed me whole, the doctor’s shouts dimming as the world slipped away.

--

I woke to antiseptic air and harsh fluorescent light. The sterile scent of the pack infirmary stung my nose.

Draven sat nearby, tapping on his laptop. The moment he noticed I was awake, he closed it and grabbed the bowl on the tray table.

He offered me a spoonful of porridge—mechanical, detached.

“I can feed myself,” I murmured.

But swallowing felt like dragging razors down my throat. I winced with every bite.

The Alpha watched, his brow creased like I was a failing calculation he couldn’t fix.

When I reached for the next spoon, he caught my wrist, firm but not unkind.

“The doctor said you need more blood later,” he said. “Back at the packhouse—it was rushed. We didn’t mean to take so much. You can—”

“There's no need for that,” I said, cutting him off. “I’m not dying.”

His eyes flickered, confused by the lack of submission.

Silence settled between us like fog.

Then he spoke again, his voice shifting. “Your phone’s been going off all day.”

I reached for it. Dozens of missed calls. Messages. Notifications.

Draven’s gaze darkened as he leaned in.

“Who’s been trying to reach you?”

“A friend.” I didn’t elaborate.

Suddenly, his tie hit the floor. He leaned in closer, his presence overwhelming.

“Ella, what the hell are you doing? First, you try to run, and now this silent act? You still think you’re some delicate she-wolf we all have to coddle?”

He scoffed. “If you weren’t born a Luna, stop pretending to be one!”

“Look outside,” he hissed. “Wives who can’t bear pups—they get rejected. You’re lucky I didn’t do the same.”

His breath was hot, his fury close. Once, those words would have shattered me. I would’ve wept and begged and told him I was sorry.

Now?

I only felt the numbing void where love used to be.

Why were we still holding onto this bond when it had already broken?

Before I could respond, his phone buzzed. He straightened like a puppet on strings and strode to the hallway.

Then his laughter filtered in—low, soft, tender.

For her.

The door clicked shut.

A moment later, my phone rang.

I answered.

“Ella?” a deep, anxious voice whispered.

“Why did you go back? Don’t tell me... You still can’t let him go?”

“No. Just something… unexpected happened this time. But it won’t be long now. I’ll contact you then.”

Just as I ended the call, the infirmary door creaked open, heavy door groaning against the stone floor.

Draven stood there, silhouetted in the doorway, his golden wolf eyes glowing faintly beneath the flickering sconces. His gaze locked onto mine, as if stunned by something he hadn’t seen in years—my smile.

A real one.

No bitterness. No anguish. Just silence, serenity.

His brow twitched, barely noticeable—but I caught it.

“Freya’s having a rough time with the bond and pregnancy. Morning sickness,” he said, his voice low, clipped. His hand curled into a loose fist by his side. “I have to get back to her.”

He didn’t ask who had called me.

Because if he did, that would mean he still gave a damn.

And admitting that would be a crack in his carefully maintained Alpha pride.

He snatched his suit from the chair and tossed it over his shoulder. “Something urgent at the southern border. I’ll return tomorrow.”

The door shut before I could reply.

I turned to the IV bag pumping wolfsbane antidote into my veins and started counting the drops.

One drop.

Two drops.

Just like I used to count the lies he told me during our seven-year mating.

In Draven’s world, “tomorrow” was a day that never arrived.

--

Three days had passed. He never came.

Instead, I was bombarded with glowing video-scrolls from packmates—footage of Draven at the Alpha Summit, with his hand curved protectively over Freya’s swollen belly. Feeding her honeyed elk meat at the banquet. Kissing her bump under the stars at Blackridge Lake, the same place where he once promised me eternity.

On the day of my discharge, a new Blackthorn Pack broadcast lit up my phone.

Draven had posted a series of nine bonded-mate photos.

He was kneeling in the middle of a wild moonbloom field, his cheek pressed to Freya’s stomach. The caption read:

“Awaiting our little moonflower.”

The comment feed gushed with praise. Freya is glowing! What a perfect Luna!

He hadn’t blocked me.

I tapped the heart emoji anyway.

Seconds later, my device vibrated. Alpha Draven’s name lit up.

I didn’t answer.

I slipped the phone into my hoodie jacket and handed my release paper.

As I walked past the maternity wing of the hospital's hall, I heard a voice that stopped me cold.

“Luna Freya Hart, your mate is so devoted,” a nurse giggled. “He hasn’t missed a single soul check, the alpha always makes sure he's with you every prenatal check-up! Even brought you a heatstone for the chill of the scan.”

I froze. My hand drifted protectively over my flat stomach.

There was a time when Draven had been just as anxious for me. Just as tender.

I’d been pregnant once.

But I never got the chance to tell him.

Because the day I returned from a healing mission, I found him and Freya entwined on the floor of our room, their snarls and moans echoing off the walls.

When she spotted me, Freya faked a whimper and curled against him. “Please, don’t misunderstand, Luna Rayven,” she sniffed. “Alpha Draven was just… relieving his stress, I was just helping him.”

I was so stunned, I forgot how to breathe. I opened my mouth to speak—to tell him he was going to be a father.

That I didn’t need anyone else to carry our bloodline.

But a sharp, brutal pain lanced through my womb.

By the time I collapsed, I was already bleeding out.

Draven Blackthorn never knew.

How would he know? When he was too busy growling at me, cradling Freya like a fragile pup.

“Ella, what the fuck is wrong with you?! You scared her! You can’t even keep a pup alive. You're useless, why don't you just fucking die already?!”

I felt his words had slashed deeper inside me than any claw.

Now, standing in that corridor, the smell of antiseptic and iron in the air, I nearly retched.

“Why are you here?”

That familiar growl snapped me back to reality.

Draven was there again—unannounced. Freya clung to his arm, her belly prominent.

I took a step back. “I’m just signing my discharge papers.”

“You look pale, Ella,” Freya said sweetly, her fingers toying with his ceremonial Alpha tie. “Draven, can’t we bring her home? She donated blood to me. She was so selfless.”

Alpha Draven pinched her cheek. “You’re always so compassionate.”

Then he turned to me, his voice cool. “Get in the car. Don’t make my Luna wait.”

I wanted to refuse.

But the marriage documents I needed were still in the packhouse's study, so I followed in silence.

The home that was once mine now stank of foreign magic and Freya’s cloying perfume—sickly sweet, like decayed lavender and lust spells.

In the study, I began to search the drawers. But beneath one set of scrolls, something caught my eye.

A torn lace strap of underwear. Black. Slick with old scent.

Freya appeared behind me, her cheeks flushed.

“Oh! How is that still here?” she gasped. “So embarrassing…”

Draven strolled in, saw the strap, and chuckled. “Must’ve slipped her mind.”

I stared at the desk.

I remembered the first year of our mating, when I made Draven a packed lunch, I left it there with a note.

He'd come home raging—furious that I’d “tainted” his sacred study space.

But now, Freya's girl juice was smeared across his desk, and all he did was smile like it was the most amusing thing.

Like she had already replaced me.

And maybe… she had.

But I was no longer the same she-wolf he’d once broken.

Now, I had nothing left to lose.

Not the pup he never knew about.

Not the love he threw away.

And certainly not my wolf, who had begun to stir inside me again, for the first time in months.

She was waking.

And this time, I know, we would rise together.