The Alpha's Secret Pregnant Donor

"Alpha Adrian won't be coming home tonight, Luna."

I stopped arranging the silverware. "Marcus, what are you talking about? The steaks are resting. The wine is open. It's our third anniversary."

On the other end of the call, Adrian's Beta exhaled through his nose. Sirens wailed somewhere behind him.

My hand went instinctively to my stomach.

Ten weeks.

The words had been glowing inside me all day, brighter than the candles lining our dining table. I had taken three tests, then gone to Noah at the pack medical center that morning for confirmation. The ultrasound photo was tucked inside my handbag beside a tiny card I'd written in blue ink: Happy Anniversary, Daddy.

"Is Adrian hurt?" I asked.

"No."

"Then put him on the phone."

"I can't do that."

The refusal landed harder than it should have. Adrian might ignore a dinner, a council reception, even a boundary meeting, but Marcus never refused a direct request from me.

"Why not?"

Silence stretched between us.

"Marcus."

"It's Celeste."

For one second, I heard nothing except the low hiss of the candles.

"Celeste?"

"She crossed the southern boundary less than an hour ago. She collapsed near patrol post six. The Alpha brought her to the medical center himself."

I gripped the edge of the table. "He carried her?"

"Yes, Luna."

Four years earlier, Celeste had rejected Adrian's proposal in front of half the pack and disappeared before sunrise. He had spent the entire night searching the territory for her. When he finally returned, soaked to the bone, he had still been clutching the silver crescent necklace she'd left behind.

A year later, he marked me.

I had told myself the past was finished.

I had told myself the fact that he never placed the traditional Luna ring on my finger didn't matter.

I had told myself many things because I loved him.

That morning, Noah had asked whether Adrian knew about the pregnancy yet. I had smiled and said I wanted to tell him over dinner, after dessert, when there was nowhere else he needed to be. Noah had given me a look I chose not to understand.

"Make sure he actually sits down long enough to hear you," he had said.

I had laughed then. I was not laughing now. The dining room behind me suddenly felt staged for a life only I believed we were living.

"What happened to her?" I asked.

"Severe blood loss, according to the first report. The physicians are still assessing her."

"I'm coming."

"Elena, wait—"

I ended the call.

The drive to East Ridge Pack Medical Center took twelve minutes. I made it in nine.

The emergency entrance was crowded with guards, nurses, and pack officers. I barely had time to step through the sliding doors before a pair of enforcers straightened.

"Luna."

"Where is the Alpha?"

Neither answered quickly enough.

I followed the strongest scent instead.

Pine and cold rain—Adrian.

It led me past the nurses' station and into the trauma corridor, where I found him standing beside a gurney. His white dress shirt was streaked with mud and blood. Celeste lay beneath heated blankets, her blond hair tangled around her pale face.

Adrian was holding her hand.

Not loosely. Not politely.

His fingers were locked around hers as if letting go might kill her.

A nurse tried to adjust the blanket near Celeste's shoulder. Adrian did it himself, pulling the fabric higher with a tenderness I had not seen from him in months. When Celeste's face tightened, he bent close enough to hear her whisper.

I stood ten feet away with our child's first photograph in my bag and watched my husband become gentle for someone else.

"Adrian."

He turned.

For half a heartbeat, guilt crossed his face. Then his expression hardened into command.

"What are you doing here?"

I almost laughed. "It's our anniversary. I was waiting for you."

Celeste stirred before he could answer. Her lashes fluttered.

"Adrian?"

He looked back at her immediately.

That small movement told me more than any apology could have.

A physician hurried out of the treatment bay carrying a chart. Dr. Miller was one of Adrian's private medical consultants, a man I had seen at council dinners but never once trusted with my care.

"Alpha, her pressure is falling again," he said. "We need compatible blood now."

"Use the reserves," Adrian said.

"We checked. Her phenotype is rare. The only exact registered match currently in the territory is—"

Miller stopped when he saw me.

Every face in the corridor turned in my direction.

A cold weight settled beneath my ribs.

The pack maintained a voluntary emergency donor registry. My name had been added years ago because my blood carried an uncommon antigen profile compatible with several old bloodlines. I had never imagined the registry being used against me while I was pregnant.

"No," I said.

Adrian's eyes narrowed. "No one has asked you anything yet."

"They don't have to."

Noah pushed through the swinging doors at the far end of the corridor, still wearing the dark blue scrubs from his shift. His expression changed the moment he saw me.

"Elena, why are you here?"

Adrian stepped between us. "Miller says she's the only match."

Noah's jaw tightened. "Then Miller should keep looking. Elena is not donating tonight."

"Celeste is crashing."

"And Elena is medically unavailable."

Adrian stared at him. "Explain."

My heart slammed once against my ribs.

Noah's gaze flicked toward me, asking permission without saying a word.

This was not how I had planned to tell my husband. Not in a fluorescent corridor with his former lover's blood on his shirt.

I opened my handbag. My fingers brushed the edge of the ultrasound photo.

"Adrian," I said quietly. "There's something you need to know before anyone touches me."

Celeste's monitor shrieked inside the trauma bay.

Adrian turned toward the sound before I finished.

"Whatever it is can wait," he snapped. Then he looked at Dr. Miller. "Prep Elena. Take what Celeste needs."

Noah stepped in front of me.

"Absolutely not."