When My Alpha Killed Our Baby, I Rejected Him

The scent of rosemary and roasted lamb filled the Alpha’s quarters, warring with the heavy perfume of the white lilies I had arranged in the center of the mahogany table. I smoothed the fabric of my emerald silk dress for the hundredth time, my palms sweating despite the chill in the room.

Tonight was our third mating anniversary.

In the werewolf world, three years was the limit. Usually, if a fated pair hadn’t completed the marking ceremony by now, the bond would begin to fade, or the community would whisper that the Moon Goddess had made a mistake. But I refused to believe that. I was Arabella Bishop, daughter of a former Alpha, and I knew that patience was the virtue of a good Luna. Wyatt had been cold, yes. He had been distant, sleeping in the guest wing and burying himself in pack business. But tonight, I had hope. Tonight, surely, he would claim me.

I lit the final taper candle, the golden flame dancing in the reflection of the wine glasses. "Please, Goddess," I whispered, touching the empty space on my neck where his mark should be. "Let him see me tonight."

The heavy oak doors boom open, shattering the silence.

I spun around, a smile already forming on my lips. "Wyatt, I made your—"

The words died in my throat. Alpha Wyatt Dunn stood in the doorway, but he wasn’t alone. His Beta, Marcus, stood just behind him, flanked by four of the pack’s grim-faced enforcers. Wyatt didn’t look at the table. He didn’t look at the candles, the wine, or the dress I had saved for six months to buy. His eyes, usually a warm amber that made my wolf purr, were frozen shards of ice.

"Wyatt?" I took a hesitant step forward. "Is something wrong?"

"Come," he said. It wasn't an invitation. It was a command.

He turned on his heel and marched out. My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. I scrambled to follow, my heels clicking frantically against the stone floors of the hallway. "Wyatt, wait! The dinner... it's our anniversary."

He didn't stop. We bypassed the living areas and exited the Pack House entirely, stepping out into the biting wind of the night. My stomach dropped. The Pack Meeting Grounds were illuminated by torches, and it seemed the entire Dark Moon Pack was gathered there in a circle of murmurs and shifting feet.

Why were we here?

Wyatt ascended the stone platform, his aura flaring so violently that the wolves in the front row dipped their heads in submission. I stood at the base of the stairs, shivering in my thin silk dress, confusion clouding my mind.

"Bring him out," Wyatt barked, his voice booming across the clearing.

Two warriors dragged a figure from the shadows. My breath hitched. It was an old man, his grey hair matted, his clothes torn. He stumbled, falling to his knees in the dirt.

"Father!" I screamed.

I surged forward, but Beta Marcus