Alpha Rejected Me While Pregnant

The crystal chandeliers cast dancing shadows across the grand hall, their light reflecting off champagne glasses and ceremonial silver. I smoothed my hands over the Luna robes—deep midnight blue embroidered with silver moon phases—and felt the weight of tradition settle across my swollen belly. Seven months pregnant, and I still moved through the crowd like I'd done this a thousand times before. Because I had.

"Alpha Lyra," greeted Alpha Thomson from the Northern Ridge Pack, his weathered face creasing into a smile. "Your territory expansion proposal was brilliant. My council approved it this morning."

I smiled, the political mask I'd perfected over five years as Luna sliding into place. "I'm glad we could find common ground, Alpha Thomson. The shared hunting grounds will benefit both our packs."

But even as I spoke, my eyes searched the room for Cyrus. My husband. My Alpha. The father of the child growing inside me.

There—near the entrance, his tall frame rigid, his dark hair catching the light. But he wasn't looking at me. His gaze fixed on the shadowed archway, and something cold slithered down my spine.

I excused myself from Alpha Thomson and made my way through the crowd, one hand protectively cradling my stomach. The pup kicked, as if sensing my unease.

"Cyrus," I said softly, reaching for his arm.

He flinched. Actually flinched away from my touch.

My wolf whimpered inside me, confused and hurt. I reached for our mind-link, that golden thread that had connected us since our mating ceremony five years ago.

Nothing.

A wall of ice where warmth should be.

"Cyrus?" My voice came out smaller than I intended. "The opening toast—we need to—"

"Not now, Lyra." His words were clipped, distant. He'd never spoken to me like that before. Not even during our worst arguments.

The hollow feeling in my chest expanded, and I pressed my hand harder against my stomach, as if I could protect the pup from whatever was coming. Because something was coming. Every instinct I had screamed it.

The crowd began to settle as the moon reached its zenith outside the floor-to-ceiling windows. This was the moment—the traditional blessing for the coming heir, the speech Cyrus and I had rehearsed together just yesterday.

Cyrus stepped onto the raised dais, and the room fell silent.

But he didn't call me to join him.

"Members of the Silverclaw Pack, honored guests, visiting Alphas," his voice rang out, strong and clear. "Tonight, under the full moon, I have an announcement that will change the course of our pack's future."

Pride swelled in my chest despite the unease. This was it—the formal acknowledgment of our heir. I started toward the stage.

"Selene Mitchell," Cyrus called out. "Come forward."

I froze.

The crowd parted, and she walked through like she owned the place. Selene. His childhood sweetheart who'd left the pack seven years ago. She wore a dress the exact shade of emerald I'd worn to last year's festival, her blonde hair cascading down her back, a