Aveline’s POV
I first encountered Alaric years ago—long before he became Alpha, when he was still merely the successor waiting in the shadows of the throne. It was during a formal banquet, a night heavy with power and pretense. Jewels glimmered beneath torchlight, crowns weighed down proud heads, and the air smelled of ambition.
Yet somehow, among all that splendor, my eyes found him.
He stood apart, calm and magnetic, like moonlight cutting through darkness. He wasn’t my destined mate—my wolf gave no cry, no pull, no instinctive recognition the stories always promised. But the way he looked at me made it feel as though fate had already chosen.
When he approached me, when his voice slipped around my senses like silk, I believed every promise he breathed.
“You may not be bound to me by destiny, Aveline,” he murmured that night, his fingers brushing mine beneath the linen-draped table. “But I will choose you every day. I’ll swear vows stronger than fate itself. I won’t deceive you. I won’t hurt you. You will stand beside me as my Luna—no one else.”
Those vows once felt sacred.
Now, they were nothing but dust.
That morning, I woke with nausea curling in my stomach. My head throbbed relentlessly, my limbs heavy, my wolf withdrawn deep inside me as if she refused to wake. Only three weeks had passed since conception, yet my body already felt different—strained, altered, preparing itself to protect the fragile life growing within.
I had a hospital appointment scheduled. I couldn’t put it off.
When Alaric—no, Theo—came to my room, concern softened his features. He crouched beside the bed, lowering himself to my level.
“How’s the little one?” he asked gently. Too gently.
“I don’t feel right,” I confessed, resting my palm against my abdomen. “I need to see a doctor.”
“I’ll come with you,” he said immediately, his response almost too quick. His hand closed over mine. “You’re carrying my brother’s child—the future Alpha. I won’t allow anything to happen to you.”
For one brief second, my wolf stirred.
For one fragile moment, hope flickered.
Then the door opened.
Elowen stepped inside, cloaked in pale fabrics that made her appear delicate, almost otherworldly. She moved as if unsteady, fingers pressed to her temple, lips trembling with practiced weakness.
“Alpha…” she breathed softly.
My muscles locked.
Alaric’s attention snapped to her as if pulled by instinct. Whatever warmth he had shown me vanished instantly. He crossed the room, gripping her arm as though she might crumble without his support.
“Elowen,” he said urgently. “What’s wrong?”
She lifted her gaze to his, cheeks faintly flushed. “I don’t feel well. I think I might faint.”
His eyes flicked toward me for the briefest moment—hesitation, guilt, something unreadable flashing there.
Then it disappeared.
Elowen sagged against him, clutching his chest. “Please don’t leave me,” she whispered. “Something feels… wrong.”
He wrapped an arm around her, shielding her as though she were the one in danger.
“I’ll take Elowen to the hospital first,” he said, his tone suddenly firm, detached. “You can attend your appointment alone. You understand.”
I did not argue.
I went by myself.
The hospital corridors felt endless, sterile, cold. My legs trembled with every step. My wolf prowled restlessly inside me, furious and wounded by his abandonment. When the nurse guided me into the ultrasound room and the screen flickered to life, tears spilled freely.
There it was.
Tiny. Fragile. Alive.
A heartbeat no bigger than a whisper.
Love flooded me so fiercely it hurt.
Later, I sat alone in the waiting lounge, staring blankly at the television. A concert filled the screen—music loud, vibrant. I hummed quietly, trying to distract myself, trying to soothe the ache clawing at my chest.
Then the camera shifted.
It scanned the audience—laughing couples, hands entwined, faces glowing.
My breath stopped.
There they were.
Alaric and Elowen.
The spotlight lingered on them. The camera framed them as a pair.
They tried to hide their faces, but I saw everything—the way his hand rested possessively against her back, the way she leaned into him like she belonged there.
Elowen wasn’t sick.
She was dancing. Smiling. Alive.
While I sat alone in a hospital chair carrying his child.
My stomach twisted violently. Rage and grief collided inside me until I could hardly breathe.
Hours later, as I rode back toward the packhouse, my phone vibrated.
A message—from Elowen.
Against my better judgment, I opened it.
A photo.
She was sprawled across the backseat of a car, Alaric’s arm wrapped around her waist, her head resting comfortably in his lap. They looked flushed, radiant, satisfied.
Something inside me shattered.
My wolf screamed, her pain splintering through my bones.
I covered my mouth to keep from crying out.
When I reached the packhouse, desperation took over. I called him. Again and again. My hands shook violently.
Answer me. Please. I’ll forgive you. Just tell me it’s not real. Tell me I’m still yours. I’ll give you another chance—any number of chances—if you just come back.
Then the call connected.
Relief surged through me—
Only to be destroyed.
Soft moans. A woman’s breathless laughter. A man’s low groan.
“Alaric,” Elowen gasped.
The line went dead.
So did my world.
That night, I didn’t change my clothes. I didn’t think. I walked back to the hospital in a numb haze, my wolf utterly silent.
At the desk, my voice came out broken.
“I want to terminate the pregnancy,” I whispered. “It’s three weeks.”
---
By morning, I returned to the packhouse empty, exhausted beyond words.
Alaric—Theo—was seated at the table, breakfast prepared neatly.
“Aveline,” he greeted me with a smile. “I made what you like. You need to eat—for the baby.”
I walked past him.
His hand grabbed my arm.
The same hand that had touched her.
“You have to look after yourself,” he said softly. “You’re carrying my brother’s heir.”
“Don’t touch me,” I snapped, wrenching free.
I climbed the stairs—and stopped.
Elowen stood there.
Radiant. Perfect. Glowing with health and triumph. She looked like a Luna already, basking in something stolen.
She smiled.
“I sent you that photo on purpose,” she said calmly. “And I answered Alaric’s phone. I wanted you to hear.”
My wolf snarled, but my body wouldn’t move.
She leaned close, her perfume suffocating. “I was never sick, Aveline. I pretended. I needed time with him. And now I’ll use every month I have to make him mine again—to mark him, bind him.”
“You’re lying,” I whispered.
She laughed. “Am I?”
She lifted her hand.
A moonstone ring gleamed on her finger—larger, brighter, far more extravagant than mine.
“Better suited for me, don’t you think?” she murmured. “Alaric was always mine. And he always will be.”
