Unborn Sacrifice, Luna's Fury

The Green Pack mansion was alive with celebration, the air thick with the scents of roasted meats and expensive wine. The occasion? The announcement of my pregnancy, my first child with my mate, Ridge Nichols. Though I sat at the head of the table as the Luna of the pack, I felt anything but honored. My stomach churned with unease, not just from the morning sickness but from the way Ridge’s gaze kept flickering to Freya Bell, the scarred Omega who had been lurking in the shadows of our lives for years.

The feast was in full swing when the first howl pierced the night. The sound was foreign, jagged—a warning. Before anyone could react, rogues burst into the hall, their auras wild and unhinged. Chaos erupted. The pack warriors, including my father, Alpha Harry Green, sprang into action, but I was frozen, my hands instinctively cradling my barely visible bump. My wolf, Aria, snarled in my mind, urging me to fight, but I couldn’t. I was too weak, too vulnerable.

One of the rogues lunged at me, his claws digging into my arms as he pinned me to the ground. His breath was rancid, his eyes crazed. He didn’t care that I was pregnant. He didn’t care that I was the Luna. His claws slashed across my abdomen, and I screamed, the pain blinding. I felt the life inside me being ripped away, my pup torn from my body before it ever had a chance to grow. The pack hall, once filled with laughter, now echoed with my cries of agony.

Through the haze of pain, I saw Ridge. He wasn’t coming to save me. No, he was shielding Freya, his arms wrapped protectively around her as if she were the one in danger. My father, Harry, was too busy barking orders to his warriors to notice my plight. When it was over, the rogues fled, leaving me broken and bleeding on the cold stone floor. The pack members, those who should have been my family, stared at me with a mix of pity and discomfort. No one moved to help me.

Ridge finally approached, his expression unreadable. He draped a cloak over my naked, bloodied body, his touch clinical rather than comforting. “You’ll be okay, Adelina,” he murmured, though his voice lacked conviction. “We’ll get through this.”

I wanted to believe him, but his scent betrayed him. There was no love, no remorse—only a cold detachment that made my stomach twist. My father, Harry, knelt beside me, his Alpha aura heavy with guilt. “We’ll make them pay for this,” he vowed, his voice trembling with anger. “I swear it.”

But as I was carried to my private chambers, half-conscious and broken, I overheard their conversation. My father’s voice was low, laced with regret. “Ridge, I know this is difficult, but we have to act quickly. The pup… it’s the only way to heal Freya’s scars.”

My blood ran cold. Ridge’s response was calm, almost callous. “I understand, Harry.