Everyone in the room fell silent, like the very air had been sucked out.
The tension was thick and suffocating. No one dared meet Cyrus's eyes, the air pulsing with his dominance. His aura was heavy, thick with disappointment and quiet fury, pressing down on everyone until even breathing felt like a struggle.
Cyrus stood by the window, the papers in his hand trembling slightly. His eyes moved over the results again and again, as if trying to find something that wasn’t there. Finally, his voice cut through the silence.
"You mean to say the heart will be rejected?" He asked, voice low but firm.
The doctor nodded, his shoulders tense.
"Yes, Alpha. The child born from you and Luna Lyra possessed extraordinary vitality. Her organs, especially the heart, were too strong. Your son... He is ordinary. Transplanting that heart would only lead to complications. Receiving such a powerful heart would overwhelm his system. It would kill him."
Cyrus's jaw tightened as he digested the words. He frowned, his eyes still fixed on the paper as he absorbed the words.
He had always imagined a son as the ideal heir, someone to inherit the pack, to carry on his name. But now, faced with this truth, he couldn’t ignore the facts.
Reality struck with cruel irony.
The child he thought would be the perfect heir was too fragile to survive.
I gave birth without assistance, and yet the baby remained healthy and even thrived, crying the loudest the moment she was born. That in itself spoke volumes. That daughter, though unplanned and born in chaos, was strong. Just like him.
But Esmeralda refused to accept the truth. Her face twisted in disbelief. Her voice rose, shrill with denial.
"What are you talking about, doctor? My grandson is the future Alpha. It’s just a heart! Perform the transplant!"
"Madam," the doctor said gently but firmly, "this is not a simple matter. Heart transplants, especially among werewolves, involved powerful physiological factors. Compatibility wasn't just about blood type. There were spiritual bonds at play. And in this case, the child’s body simply could not accept the strength of the Luna’s daughter’s heart."
"That's absurd!" Esmeralda snapped. "He is an Alpha's son. He can't be weak!"
The doctor looked at her for a long moment before shifting his gaze to Cyrus, then to Calista, who had been quiet in the corner. His next words were measured.
"That is precisely why the goddess chooses a Luna to bear the Alpha’s heir. Without that bond, the child is at a disadvantage."
With that, he gave a small bow and excused himself. His words left the room colder than before.
Calista’s expression barely shifted, but if one looked closely, they would have seen the tightness in her jaw and the way her fingers curled subtly into fists.
But no one was watching her. Everyone's attention remained on the frail boy in the crib, his breathing shallow, his skin too pale.
Esmeralda started pacing, muttering under her breath about incompetence and how they needed a better specialist.
"Alpha Cyrus," she said, turning to her son, her voice filled with urgency, "we can’t give up. Find a better doctor. Bring in someone who knows what they’re doing. We won’t let the future Alpha die."
Cyrus didn’t answer. His gaze lingered on the boy, then slowly lifted.
There was a storm behind his eyes. For a moment, he seemed lost in thought, as if weighing every consequence, every choice.
The doctor's words had taken root in his thoughts.
The legacy, the power, the bloodline. But somewhere deep in that silence, a different realization had taken root. One he had long refused to face.
Yes, the daughter he had with me was not a son, but strength was not defined by gender. There were packs led by fierce female Alphas, and they commanded just as much respect.
"Cyrus," Esmeralda said again, now frustrated. "Are you even listening to me? Are you not concerned about your son?"
Cyrus finally turned, his voice calm. "I will check on my and Lyra's child."
The silence that followed his words was deafening.
"What do you mean?" Esmeralda gasped. "You're going to see that child? That bastard? While your son is here suffering?"
A wave of pressure swept through the room, so thick it was hard to stand. Esmeralda stumbled back, caught off guard by the sheer force of Cyrus's aura.
"Between that child and Lyra's," Cyrus said slowly, his voice cold and sharp, "which one is really the bastard?"
Esmeralda’s lips parted, but no words came.
He turned to leave, but Calista quickly stepped into his path, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.
"Alpha Cyrus," she said, her voice trembling with forced vulnerability, "what about our son? Please, can you stay a little longer? I’m scared... what if something happens to him?"
Cyrus paused. For a moment, something in his expression softened. He sighed heavily.
"I’ll stay," he said, his voice quieter now. "But only for a short while. I need to see my other child."
"No, wait—!" Calista reached out, trying to grab his arm, but before she could, the door burst open.
One of the men Cyrus had assigned to guard Lyra's room entered, looking visibly shaken. His breathing was uneven, and his eyes flicked anxiously around the room. Behind him, more followed. They looked shaken.
Cyrus straightened, eyes narrowing. "What happened?"
The man hesitated, then stepped forward. His face was pale.
"Alpha... we found Madam’s room too quiet. We assumed she was asleep, but when we went to check—"
A sudden jolt ripped through Cyrus’s chest. His breath caught. A pain surged in his ribs, piercing and unnatural. He staggered, gripping his chest, as if something invisible had reached into his soul and yanked it loose.
"Cyrus!" Esmeralda ran to his side, alarmed. "What is it? Are you alright?"
He didn’t answer. He couldn’t. The pain wasn’t physical. It was deeper. Something primal. Something tied to the soul.
His eyes turned red with the weight of instinct and dread. He looked at the men, voice hoarse.
"Lyra... what happened to her?"
The man exhaled, bracing himself. "Madam... jumped from the fifth floor. She’s dead."
