When My Alpha Killed Our Baby, I Rejected Him

The scent of rosemary and roasted lamb filled the Alpha’s quarters, warring with the heavy perfume of the white lilies I had arranged in the center of the mahogany table. I smoothed the fabric of my emerald silk dress for the hundredth time, my palms sweating despite the chill in the room.

Tonight was our third mating anniversary.

In the werewolf world, three years was the limit. Usually, if a fated pair hadn’t completed the marking ceremony by now, the bond would begin to fade, or the community would whisper that the Moon Goddess had made a mistake. But I refused to believe that. I was Arabella Bishop, daughter of a former Alpha, and I knew that patience was the virtue of a good Luna. Wyatt had been cold, yes. He had been distant, sleeping in the guest wing and burying himself in pack business. But tonight, I had hope. Tonight, surely, he would claim me.

I lit the final taper candle, the golden flame dancing in the reflection of the wine glasses. "Please, Goddess," I whispered, touching the empty space on my neck where his mark should be. "Let him see me tonight."

The heavy oak doors boom open, shattering the silence.

I spun around, a smile already forming on my lips. "Wyatt, I made your—"

The words died in my throat. Alpha Wyatt Dunn stood in the doorway, but he wasn’t alone. His Beta, Marcus, stood just behind him, flanked by four of the pack’s grim-faced enforcers. Wyatt didn’t look at the table. He didn’t look at the candles, the wine, or the dress I had saved for six months to buy. His eyes, usually a warm amber that made my wolf purr, were frozen shards of ice.

"Wyatt?" I took a hesitant step forward. "Is something wrong?"

"Come," he said. It wasn't an invitation. It was a command.

He turned on his heel and marched out. My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. I scrambled to follow, my heels clicking frantically against the stone floors of the hallway. "Wyatt, wait! The dinner... it's our anniversary."

He didn't stop. We bypassed the living areas and exited the Pack House entirely, stepping out into the biting wind of the night. My stomach dropped. The Pack Meeting Grounds were illuminated by torches, and it seemed the entire Dark Moon Pack was gathered there in a circle of murmurs and shifting feet.

Why were we here?

Wyatt ascended the stone platform, his aura flaring so violently that the wolves in the front row dipped their heads in submission. I stood at the base of the stairs, shivering in my thin silk dress, confusion clouding my mind.

"Bring him out," Wyatt barked, his voice booming across the clearing.

Two warriors dragged a figure from the shadows. My breath hitched. It was an old man, his grey hair matted, his clothes torn. He stumbled, falling to his knees in the dirt.

"Father!" I screamed.

I surged forward, but Beta Marcus stepped in my path, his arm like an iron bar across my chest. "Stay back, Arabella."

"Let me go! That's my father!" I struggled, clawing at Marcus’s arm, but I was weak, my wolf dormant and small from years of neglect.

Wyatt held up a sheaf of papers, waving them before the crowd. "For years, we believed the rogue attack that slaughtered my parents—your former Alphas—was a random act of violence," he announced, his voice dripping with venom. "But I have found the truth. It was an inside job."

A gasp rippled through the crowd.

"These documents prove that Former Alpha Bishop colluded with the rogues," Wyatt roared, pointing a finger at my trembling father. "He sold out our location. He sold out my parents for gold and power!"

"No!" The scream tore from my throat. I ducked under Marcus’s arm and scrambled up the stone steps, throwing myself at Wyatt’s feet. I grabbed the hem of his trousers, tears blurring my vision. "Wyatt, please! This is a mistake! My father is honorable. He loved your parents! He would never—"

Wyatt looked down at me. There was no love in his gaze. No recognition of the mate bond that hummed between us, desperate and broken. There was only hatred.

"The evidence is irrefutable," he said coldly.

"It's a lie!" I shrieked, turning to the crowd, begging anyone to listen. "He's lying! My father is innocent! You can't do this!"

Wyatt’s eyes flashed a dangerous, glowing red. The air around us grew heavy, pressing down like a physical weight.

"**Silence!**"

The Alpha command hit me like a physical blow. My jaw snapped shut against my will, my tongue biting into my cheek. A sharp pain exploded in my head, and I felt the warm trickle of blood running from my nose. My body paralyzed, forced into submission by the sheer power of his rank. I choked on my own blood, my eyes wide with terror, unable to make a sound.

Wyatt stepped away from me as if I were something filthy. He looked out at the pack, his voice devoid of emotion.

"Traitors breed traitors," he declared. "Arabella Bishop is unfit to stand by my side. She is unfit to carry the title of Luna."

He looked down at me one last time, his lip curling in a sneer.

"As of this moment, Arabella is stripped of her rank. She is demoted to Omega. Take her father to the dungeons, and move her belongings to the servants' quarters."

The bond within me shrieked in agony, shattering along with my heart. I watched through a haze of tears as they dragged my father away into the darkness, while my mate—my fated love—turned his back on me and walked away.