You Traded Me Away, So Why Are You Mad I’m Carrying His Baby

I saved my first time for the Alpha I loved for two years.

On championship night, I stood outside the owner’s suite and heard him trade me to another pack in exchange for a Luna announcement with another woman.

So I walked away.

Then a riot trapped me underground with the most forbidden Alpha in our league, Ronan Blackwood, the man my pack blamed for killing its former heir.

His wolf recognized me before either of us understood why.

He wanted me. I wanted him. But when his fangs touched my neck, he stopped.

“Sex isn’t permission to claim you.”

By sunrise, I knew exactly whose bed I had been in.

Three months later, I returned to the arena carrying an eleven-week secret.

My ex was on one side of the ice.

Ronan was on the other.

Then the team doctor shouted, “Careful. She’s pregnant.”

And both Alphas started counting backward.

***

IVY'S POV

The roar of eighteen thousand fans still vibrated through the concrete floors of the arena.

Inside the private recovery room of the Ironfang locker area, the air smelled of eucalyptus rub, sweat, and champagne. I pressed both thumbs into the tight muscle of Jace’s inner thigh, working the bio-freeze deep into the strain he’d taken in the third period.

"Easy, Ivy," Jace groaned, leaning back on the padded table. He caught my wrist, his grip firm and hot, before sliding his fingers up to my hip. "You’re killing your MVP."

"If I don’t work the knot out now, you won’t be walking across the stage at the victory gala tomorrow," I said, offering him a small smile as I tried to pull back.

Instead of letting go, Jace yanked me forward. I stumbled between his parted knees, my hands bracing against his hard chest. He grinned, his golden Alpha eyes flashing with post-match adrenaline, and ducked his head to press his lips against the curve of my neck.

His mouth was demanding, chasing the scent gland beneath my hair. He hitched my scrub top up an inch, his calloused palm sliding over bare skin, urging my body against his.

"Jace," I murmured, turning my head to break the contact. "The whole board is outside waiting for you."

"Let them wait," he whispered against my jaw, his fingers pressing into the small of my back to pull me flush against his lap. "Three years, Ivy. We won the Founders Cup. We don't need to wait for some formal ceremony to finish this."

My pulse jumped, but I placed a steady hand flat against his chest and pushed until he relented. "We agreed. The formal mate promise at the gala. In front of the entire pack. Then everything else."

Jace stared at me for a second, his jaw tightening slightly before his easy, charming smile returned. "Fine. Twenty-four more hours. Go grab my captain's jacket from the dry cleaner cart down the hall, will you? I need to look decent for Miller."

"Always taking care of you," I said, smoothing down my shirt.

I picked up the heavy wool jacket from the attendant's rack five minutes later and took the private back corridor toward the Owner’s Box. The carpeted hallway was deserted, but as I reached the heavy double doors of the executive suite, the wood was cracked open an inch.

Voices drifted through the gap.

"The northern coalition won't budge on the boundary mining rights without a blood tie," Pack Owner Miller said, his voice flat and businesslike. "They want an unbonded female with pure lineage. Ivy fits every metric on paper. If we hand her over to the Frostpeak Alpha, the supply routes are ours for the next ten years."

The jacket in my hands suddenly felt heavy as lead. My feet froze to the floor.

I waited for Jace’s voice. I waited for the roar of his Alpha, the fury of a man defending the woman he’d claimed he loved since our academy days.

"And Sloane?" Jace’s voice came through, cool and entirely collected. "If I let Ivy go north, does Sloane get the official Luna announcement tomorrow night?"

"Sloane’s father controls thirty percent of the arena revenue," Miller replied. "The board will ratify her status as your Luna the second the trade paperwork clears."

A brief pause hung in the air.

"Then make the deal," Jace said without a single tremor in his tone. "Ivy's passive. Tell her it's for pack survival and she won't fight it anyway."

A strange, hollow silence settled in my chest. The world didn't spin, and my breath didn't catch; the air simply went cold. Every promise, every late-night conversation, every sacrifice I had made working eighteen-hour shifts as his personal medic stripped away like rotting bark.

I looked down at the silver chain wrapped around my right wrist—the custom mate bracelet Jace had given me six months ago.

I didn't yell. I didn't throw open the door.

I unclasped the silver chain, dropped it onto the floor, and draped the captain's jacket over the brass handle of the door. Then, I turned around and walked away.

By the time I reached the underground medical bay near the arena loading docks, the distant noise from upstairs had turned violent. Sirens wailed overhead. A sudden crash echoed through the tunnel—the Blackridge wolves had clashed with Ironfang fans in the concourse.

Red emergency lights flashed, and with a deafening metallic screech, the heavy blast doors slammed down at both ends of the corridor, locking me in the lower wing.

"Great," I muttered, turning toward the supply cabinets.

A heavy thump shook the examination partition.

I spun around, reaching for the steel surgical shears on the tray.

A man was slumping against the corner of the wall, his massive frame swallowing the shadows of the room. He wore dark combat gear, shredded at the ribs, soaked in dark crimson blood. Four distinct claw marks tore across his left flank, deep enough to expose bone.

He looked up. His eyes were pure, molten amber, blazing with the fever of a battle rut.

I recognized the lethal density of his frame, the sheer suffocating weight of his Alpha aura, even if I couldn't see his face beneath the blood and grease.

"Stay back," he warned, his voice a gravelly scrape. "Get... out."

"The blast doors are sealed," I said, keeping my tone level as my medical instincts kicked in. "And you’re going to bleed out in six minutes if I don't clamp that artery."

I grabbed a sterile field kit, antiseptic wash, and heavy gauze, crossing the room without hesitation. I knelt beside him, ripping open his shredded tactical shirt. He flinched, muscles bunching like iron cords under my hands, but he didn't strike.

The heat radiating off his skin was stifling. In the struggle, the adhesive scent patch behind my ear peeled loose, dampened by sweat, and dropped to the tile.

The second my raw, unmasked Omega scent hit the air, the man froze.

A low, vibrating rumble tore from his chest. His eyes locked onto mine, pupils blown wide as his inner wolf slammed into full awareness. The bond snapped between us instantly—sharp, undeniable, and overwhelming.

*Mate.*

Instead of lunging at me, the Alpha let out a harsh, strangled curse. With a violent jerk, he shoved himself away from me, his boots scraping the floor. Reaching behind him, he grabbed a heavy leather restraint strap from the trauma cot and snapped the steel buckle tight around his own left wrist, anchoring himself to the metal support beam.

"Get away from me," he gritted out through clenched teeth, sweat dripping from his sharp jaw. "I'm in rut. I will break you."

I stared at the leather strap holding him back. He was tearing himself apart to protect a stranger. Jace had spent three years pretending to protect me while planning to sell me to the highest bidder.

A strange, reckless heat flared deep inside my core. My Omega nature, completely silent for years under Jace's lukewarm touch, woke up and surged toward the man bleeding in front of me.

I picked up the curved needle and suture thread. "You won't break me."

I stepped closer, pressing the gauze against his wound. I worked fast, clamping the torn vessel, irrigating the claw marks, and closing the deepest layers until the bleeding finally slowed.

Only after I tied off the last urgent suture did I let myself breathe. His right hand came up, wrapping around my waist with crushing strength, pulling me between his thighs. His breath scorched against my cheek, heavy and intoxicating.

"You smell like another male's claim," he growled, his gaze dropping to the faint phantom mark near my collarbone.

I reached up, tearing off the last remnants of the medical tape covering my neck.

"Not anymore," I said clearly.

The man searched my eyes, looking for any trace of hesitation. Finding none, his grip tightened, lifting me onto his lap. "Sex isn’t permission to claim you. If we do this, there's no taking it back when the doors open."

"Shut up and touch me," I said.

His mouth crashed down on mine, dark, possessive, and electric. He took what he needed with raw, unrestrained hunger, his uninjured arm lifting me against the exam table as we lost ourselves in the shadows of the locked room.

***

When the pale morning light finally filtered through the high ventilation grates, the medical bay was dead silent.

The fever had broken. My body ached with a sweet, heavy soreness I had never known before.

I shifted on the thin mattress, reaching out blindly across the sheets.

The space beside me was cold.

I sat up, pulling the disposable paper sheet around my chest. The leather strap on the support beam had been neatly unbuckled and laid across the side table.

Beside it sat a heavy steel dog tag, resting on top of a dark tactical jacket. Engraved into the polished metal was the snarling emblem of a black wolf, flanked by heavy silver lettering:

**RONAN BLACKWOOD — ALPHA COMMANDER**

My blood ran completely cold.

Ronan Blackwood. The warlord of the northern ridge. The Ironfang pack's most hated, ruthless enemy.

And I had just spent the night with him.