Carrying My Daughter without My Mate

I sat in my chair, skimming through the latest reports from the pack healers. Each file detailed the medical history of our newest elite warriors. As a Delta warrior, it was my responsibility to monitor our fighters closely. Their identities, lineage, routines, and, most importantly, their health conditions were recorded meticulously to ensure nothing slipped through the cracks.

Closing the folders, I leaned back, massaging my temples as the day’s exhaustion settled over me. A minute later, I stood, craving a glass of water, when my phone chimed with a notification.

Before checking it, my mind drifted to the healer council meeting earlier that morning. The meeting had been intense. Seated around the long, polished table in the healer council room, we had discussed our warriors’ medical needs and the troubling signs we’d observed lately. The head healer, an elder named Kitara, had spoken first.

“We’re seeing more cases of fatigue and stress injuries in our warriors than ever before,” she had said, her voice weighted with concern. “We need to consider restructuring training or giving more downtime between sessions.”

I had leaned forward, catching her eye. “Downtime? Kitara, we’re gearing up for the full moon run with the neighboring packs. You know how critical it is that we show our strength.”

“Yes, but not at the cost of their health, Delta,” Kitara had replied firmly, meeting my gaze with her usual steady resolve. “Several of our top warriors are on the edge of burnout. If they’re not given a chance to recover, we risk them being weaker in actual battle.”

I’d opened my mouth to argue, but another healer, Tessa, had jumped in. “Delta, you’ve always advocated for balance. Surely, even with the full moon event, we need to consider the long-term impact.”

Kitara had nodded, her gaze softening. “It’s not just about this one run. If we don’t look after our warriors now, there won’t be a force strong enough to face future challenges.”

Their words had lingered with me. They were right, but as Delta, I also bore the responsibility of ensuring our strength was visible and unshakable. I’d finally agreed, reluctantly, to a temporary reduction in the intensity of their sessions.

And now, sitting alone, I was reminded of the fine line I had to walk every day.

Just as I returned to the present and reached for my glass of water, my phone chimed again.

I glanced at it. It was past five, well beyond the time I'd usually expect messages. Curious, I sat back down and unlocked the screen. My heart skipped, then began to pound, the weight of an unexplainable dread settling over me.

With a shaky breath, I opened the email. I nearly dropped my phone when the contents loaded—it was a bank statement belonging to my mate, Jaxon Blackthorn.

Confusion swept over me as I scrolled through. Transactions, regular and hefty, moved from his account to another, stretching back for two years. My eyes stopped on the date of the first transfer.

March 28, 2020.

The exact day we lost our first child.

A storm of questions whipped through my mind.

Who was he sending this money to?

I didn’t waste a second. Grabbing my keys, I shoved the phone into my pocket and hurried to the basement—the pack’s secure tech room, where we stored our advanced computers. Only a few of us in higher ranks had access, and I was one of them. I had a feeling there was more hidden within this email.

After logging into the system, I clicked the link in the email. It opened a video file.

The screen displayed a woman raising a glass, celebrating with a man whose back faced the camera. Recognition hit me like a punch to the chest, and my knees went weak. That man… was Jaxon.

My Jaxon.

Tears blurred my vision, but the betrayal cut deep, raw and real. I didn’t need to watch any more to understand. His presence in that video was all the confirmation I needed.

With a broken heart and tears streaming down my face, I fled to our room, hollowed by the weight of what I’d discovered. Just as I reached the doorway, Jaxon walked in, his face still reflecting the ease of his recent meeting with the neighboring pack.

The moment his eyes landed on me, confusion clouded his face. "Why are you crying, my Luna?" he asked using his soft voice.

I stared at him, words lodged in my throat, unable to respond. My silence was met with a dismissive shrug as he pulled out his phone, his attention already drifting.

“Never mind,” he muttered, clearly more interested in whatever message had come through than in my pain. “I need to take this call.”

He stepped out of the room without a second glance, leaving me alone with the ache in my chest—and the quiet knowledge of the life growing inside me, a life he sure didn't treasure as his own.