My Alpha Let Rogues Murder All My Unborn Children

The forest air was thick with the scent of pine and impending rain, but all I could focus on was the heavy, rhythmic thrumming of my second heart. My pup.

Eight months along. This was the furthest I had ever made it. Seven times before, my body had failed me, or so the pack healers claimed. My wolf was too weak, they said. Too broken from my years as a rogue to sustain an Alpha’s offspring. But this time felt different. I kept a protective hand over the swell of my belly, waddling slightly as I walked the perimeter of the Blood River territory.

"Luna Scarlet, perhaps we should turn back," one of the guards, a Delta named Harris, muttered. He wasn't looking at me, though. His eyes were darting toward the dense treeline.

"Just a little further, Harris," I said, breathless but determined. "The pup likes the fresh air."

Roland had insisted on this walk. *"Go get some sun, Scar,"* he’d said, kissing my forehead this morning. *"Take the guards. It's safe."*

It wasn't safe.

The attack didn't start with a howl. It started with silence. The birds stopped singing. Then, a blur of grey fur erupted from the bushes.

"Rogues!" I screamed, stumbling back.

My guards, usually efficient killers, moved with a strange, sluggish delay. It was as if they were waiting for a cue. Harris stepped to the left, opening a clear path between me and the snarling rogue. It wasn't a mistake. I saw his eyes flicker—not with fear, but with resignation.

The rogue didn't hesitate. He slammed into me with the force of a freight train.

My back hit the ancient oak tree with a sickening crunch. Pain, white-hot and blinding, exploded in my abdomen. I slid down the rough bark, clutching my stomach, feeling the terrifying wetness spreading between my legs.

"No... no, please..." I gasped, my vision swimming.

The rogue didn't finish me off. He just stood there, watching my agony. Through the haze of pain, movement caught my eye. deeper in the shadows, safely behind the line of "fighting" guards.

Lola.

My sister. My replacement. She stood in a pristine white dress that looked out of place in the muddy forest. She wasn't screaming. She wasn't running for help. She was smiling. A small, satisfied curve of her lips that chilled me more than the blood leaving my body.

*Roland...* I tried to mind-link my mate, but the darkness swallowed me whole.

***

The waking was slow, like clawing my way out of a grave filled with molasses.

The first thing I noticed was the smell. Antiseptic. Bleach. And underneath it, the metallic tang of old blood. My hands flew to my stomach.

Flat.

Empty.

A scream built in my throat, a raw, animalistic sound of pure grief, but my throat was too dry to let it out. Instead, it came out as a broken sob.

Then came the noise.

It wasn't sound, exactly. It was a pressure in my skull, a