My Alpha Bought Me to Bear His Heir

The alarm on my phone buzzed at 5:47 AM, thirteen minutes before the rest of the Obsidian Shadow Pack would stir. I'd learned early that those thirteen minutes were mine—the only privacy I'd get all day.

I sat up in the narrow bed, my fingers automatically reaching for the amber bottle on the nightstand. Three years, and the routine never changed. Two capsules, dry-swallowed, bitter on my tongue. "Vitamins," Beta Morris had called them when he'd pressed the first bottle into my trembling hands. "To keep you healthy for the Alpha's heir."

Healthy. Right.

I dressed quickly in the plain gray uniform all Omegas wore—shapeless, forgettable. The mirror above the sink showed a girl I barely recognized anymore. Naomi Porter, wolfless Omega, breeder to the most feared Alpha in the region. My fingers drifted to the unmarked skin of my neck, tracing the spot where Christian had promised to claim me.

Three years since the Rogues tore him apart. Three years since I'd agreed to this blood oath to honor his sacrifice.

I pushed the memory down and focused on the herbs. Chamomile, valerian root, a touch of lavender—Alpha Wylder's morning tea, brewed exactly how he liked it. The pack kitchen was empty when I slipped in, and I worked quickly, my hands steady despite the exhaustion that never quite left my bones. At least I was good at this. At least I could do something right.

"Breeder's up early." The sneer came from behind me.

I didn't turn. Delta Sarah, one of the pack warriors, always had something to say. "Making the Alpha's tea."

"How domestic. Tell me, does he actually look at you when he—"

"Sarah." The warning growl came from the doorway. Marcus Kane, the Beta, filled the frame with his broad shoulders. "Don't you have patrol?"

She left with a huff, and I exhaled slowly.

"Thank you," I whispered.

Marcus said nothing, just watched me pour the tea into Alpha Wylder's preferred mug. I felt his pity like a weight on my shoulders, and somehow that was worse than Sarah's cruelty.

The walk to Wylder's office felt longer every day. I knocked twice, soft, and waited.

"Enter."

His voice alone made my pulse stutter. Not from attraction—I'd buried that part of myself in Christian's grave—but from pure, primal fear. Alpha Wylder Montgomery radiated power like other people radiated heat. Even now, seated behind his massive desk, he looked like he could tear the world apart with his bare hands.

I set the tea on his desk, careful not to meet his eyes. "Your morning tea, Alpha."

"Sit."

My stomach dropped. He never asked me to sit.

I lowered myself into the chair across from him, hands folded in my lap. He was scrolling through something on his phone—my cycle tracking app, I realized with a flush of humiliation. He'd insisted I download it, insisted on monitoring every detail of my body like I was livestock.

"Your cycle starts in four days," he said, still not looking