My Alpha Replaced Me While I Carried His Pup

The bond broke at 10:14 on a Tuesday evening.

I knew the exact second because I was staring at the antique clock on the great hall's north wall when Hudson's Alpha Command slammed into my body like a fist closing around my lungs. One moment I was standing among the ranked wolves, one hand resting protectively over the swell of my belly where our pup—five months along—had just kicked against my ribs. The next, every muscle in my body locked into place.

I couldn't blink. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't even turn my head.

Hudson stood on the dais, his back straight, his expression carved from stone. He wasn't looking at the pack. He was looking directly at me. His Alpha aura rolled out in waves, and I felt it wrap around my throat like a noose, forcing my eyes wide, forcing me to watch.

"I, Hudson Blackwell, Alpha of the Black Moon Pack," he said, his voice carrying across the silent hall, "claim Harlow Reed as my chosen mate."

No.

My wolf threw herself against the paralysis, snarling, clawing, but the Command held us both in place like insects pinned to a board. I could feel her rage boiling in my chest, but my body wouldn't move. My lips wouldn't part to scream.

Harlow stepped onto the dais beside him, her red dress clinging to her curves, her smile small and triumphant. She tilted her head to the side, baring the curve of her neck.

Hudson's hand slid to the back of her head, his fingers tangling in her hair. Then he leaned down and sank his fangs into her skin.

The mate bond detonated.

It felt like a silver wire had been dragged through my chest, through my ribs, through the place where my heart used to sit. The sacred thread that had connected me to Hudson since the day we met—the bond the Moon Goddess herself had woven between our souls—snapped with a violence that left no room for anything but white-hot agony.

I felt the exact moment it severed. Felt the warmth that had lived in my chest for years go cold, then empty, then wrong.

My pup's heartbeat stuttered against my ribs.

No. No, please—

My vision whited out. My knees buckled. The Alpha Command released me at the exact moment my body gave out, and I collapsed onto the marble floor in full view of the pack. My hands flew to my stomach, cradling the swell of my belly as my wolf howled—a sound so broken, so raw, that it didn't even make it past my lips.

I heard gasps. Whispers. The shuffle of boots on stone.

But no one came forward.

No one helped me.

I lay there, curled on my side, my cheek pressed to the cold marble, and all I could feel was the empty, bleeding wound where the mate bond used to be. My pup kicked weakly, once, twice, and then went still.

Please. Please, baby, please—

"Someone get the healer," Hudson said from the dais, his tone flat, businesslike. "Take her to the infirmary."

I wanted to scream at him. Wanted to rage, to fight, to tear him apart with my bare hands. But my body wouldn't respond. My wolf was a wounded, whimpering thing at the back of my mind, barely strong enough to whisper.

Two Deltas lifted me from the floor. I didn't fight them. I couldn't.

As they carried me past the dais, I caught Hudson's scent—earthy, familiar, layered now with something new. Something floral and cloying. Harlow's scent, soaked into his skin like a brand.

He didn't look at me.

---

I woke to white walls and the sharp, sterile smell of antiseptic.

The infirmary. I was in the pack infirmary.

I tried to sit up, but my body felt like it had been wrung out and left to dry. My wolf stirred faintly at the back of my mind—a whisper, a shadow of what she used to be. The mate bond was gone. In its place was a raw, hemorrhaging wound that pulsed with every breath I took.

My hands flew to my stomach.

The pup. Where was—

"Easy," a voice said softly.

I turned my head. Cora, the senior healer, stood beside the bed, her expression tight with something that looked like shame. She wouldn't meet my eyes.

"My baby," I whispered, my voice hoarse. "Is my baby—"

"Alive," Cora said quickly. "The pup is alive. But the bond-severance…" She hesitated, her hands twisting together. "The psychic trauma sent the pup into acute distress. The heartbeat stabilized, but your wolf… Morgan, your wolf is critically weakened."

I closed my eyes. My wolf didn't respond. She was there, barely, a faint presence curled in the furthest corner of my mind, too wounded to even lift her head.

The door opened.

I didn't need to look to know who it was. His scent—earthy, familiar, wrong—filled the room.

Hudson stepped to my bedside, his hands in his pockets, his expression calm. He looked at me the way someone might look at a contract they were about to sign.

"You're awake," he said.

I stared at him. Waited.

"I'll make this simple," he continued. "You're going to sign a formal Luna demotion. You'll surrender your rank, your territorial rights, and your title. In exchange, Riley's Moon-orchid elixir supply continues. Uninterrupted."

Riley. My brother. The crippled, wolfless boy who needed those elixirs to survive.

Hudson's face didn't change. "If you refuse, the next shipment doesn't arrive."

I said nothing. My throat was too tight. My chest too empty.

Hudson seemed to take my silence as defeat. He reached out, patted my hand—once, twice—his touch clinical, detached.

"I'm glad you're being reasonable," he said. Then he turned and left.

The door clicked shut.

I lay there in the white room, my hand still resting on my belly, and my wolf—trembling, wounded, barely alive—snarled once, quietly, in the dark of my mind.

*Not yet,* she whispered.

*But soon.*