My Alpha Used Me as His Breeder

The autumn equinox festival blazed around me like a living thing, all golden firelight and howling celebration. I pressed one hand to my swollen belly—six months now—and used the other to steady myself against the surge of wolves moving through the ceremonial grounds. The baby kicked, as if responding to the wild energy crackling through the pack bonds.

But tonight was different. Tonight, I could hear.

After five years of suffocating silence, the world had exploded back to life. Laughter rang sharp and clear. Conversations layered over each other in a symphony I'd forgotten existed. And underneath it all, threading through my consciousness like silver wire, came the whispers of the pack mind—that sacred connection I'd lost the night I went deaf.

I was whole again.

My heart hammered as I searched the crowd for Ryker. I needed to find him, needed to see his face when I spoke his name aloud for the first time in half a decade. My daughter Maisie would be with him—my beautiful, patient girl who'd learned sign language just to talk to her broken mother.

There. Near the ceremonial fire, Ryker stood in profile, his dark hair catching the flames. Even after all these years, the sight of him stole my breath. My Alpha. My mate. The man who'd never once made me feel less than whole, even when I couldn't hear his voice or feel the pack's presence.

I pushed through the celebrating wolves, one hand protectively cradling my belly. This baby would grow up hearing his father's voice, feeling the pack bonds from birth. Everything I'd missed, he would have.

Ryker turned as I approached, and his face lit up with that smile that had captured my heart seven years ago. His hands moved in fluid sign language: *You look beautiful tonight.*

Warmth flooded through me. Five years of darkness, and he still looked at me like I hung the moon. His fingers continued: *How are you feeling? Is the baby—*

"I can hear you," I whispered.

But he was already turning away, distracted by something in the crowd. His hands had stilled mid-sentence, and I realized he hadn't heard my words over the festival noise. I opened my mouth to call louder when another voice sliced through my consciousness like a blade.

*Daddy, when is that deaf woman going away? I want my real mommy to come back!*

The mental voice was petulant, sharp with a child's cruel honesty. I spun, searching for the source, and my eyes landed on Maisie—my five-year-old daughter—standing beside Ryker with her arms crossed and a scowl twisting her delicate features.

My daughter. Speaking through the pack bond. About me.

Ryker's mental voice responded, warm and indulgent in a way that made my stomach lurch: *Patience, princess. Her womb still has its uses. Once your brother is born, we can dispose of the cripple.*

The world tilted. Sound became muffled, distant. The celebrating wolves around me blurred into shapes of fire and shadow as Ryker's words