🦋ALTHEAÂ
The crack of the blow still echoed in my skull. Every breath scraped against my lungs like shards of glass.
​I moved forward inch by agonizing inch, the night playing on a vicious loop: a baby's thin, desperate wail and the metallic scent of blood that wouldn't leave my nose.
​The gamma twitching until his last breath.
​I squinted through my one good eye; the other was swollen. I spat blood, my inner cheek shredded from the punches he'd rained down on me.
​I stumbled toward the border—too close to the Red Mist.
​I heard the heavy thud of footsteps. Multiple. The rattling of chains gave them away before I saw them. Vargans. My pulse spiked.
​"…rejected her, but he wants her found?" a voice drifted through the trees. It was Yun, one of the Alpha's personal Vargans.
​"He's terrified," another replied, his voice dropping. "The Silvermoth took three more gammas last night near the border. If she was out here during the attack..."
​The Silvermoth was the unknown killer in the pack, stealing Vargan slaves and leaving bodies in his wake. I looked down at my crimson-stained hands. The memories fractured: Screams. Bodies hitting the dirt. The Silvermoth had struck, and I had been right in the center of the carnage. I was the only thing that had walked away.
​Yet no one could ever know.
​"The Alpha is losing it," the second guard muttered. "He slapped Thal this morning. And now with that witch Circe as his Luna… it'll only get worse."
​My chest hollowed out.
​Yun stepped through the foliage and froze. Our eyes locked. His face went ghostly pale. "Found her," he choked out. "Gods, I found her."
​The others crowded in, their expressions contorting into horror. I tried to speak, but my vision swirled into a dark, oily abyss.
​When I finally broke the surface, the scent hit me before I even opened my eyes. Musk and citrus. Draven. My stomach churned.
​I was in bed. The sheets were silk, the air clean. The pain was gone. The pack healers—Deltas—had been busy. Draven was pacing by the window like a caged predator. His sandy hair was a mess, his features pulled into a tight, agitated mask.
​"Draven?" He spun around. Relief flooded his face. In three strides he was over me, his calloused hands cradling my jaw as if I were made of glass.
​"How are you feeling, Silver?" he whispered, his blue eyes searching mine with frantic tenderness.
​Once, I would have melted into him. Now, I remained a statue. "I'm alright," I rasped.
​And then tenderness vanished in a heartbeat. A slap snapped my head back, the heat of the strike blooming across my skin like a brand. The room went deathly silent.
​"Twenty-two Vargans stolen. Three gammas dead," he snarled, his voice trembling with a dark, territorial rage. "The Silvermoth strikes and they find you beaten to a pulp? You refuse to remember your place! Who let you leave!"
​With his fists clenching, he let out a sharp, acerbic laugh that made my skin crawl. He grabbed my chin, his fingers digging deep into the bone.
​"What happens if the Hellhound attacks? Or if the Fever returns and you aren't alive to give blood for the cure?" He mocked me, his smile widening into something monstrous. "Do you want to ruin me because I didn't choose some Omega?"
​I forced my gaze up, my voice cold despite the tears blurring my vision. "I made you Alpha. I gave you that cure."
​Draven's pupils dilated. A deranged light took over his eyes. "No one—not even your mother—would believe you," he hissed. "They will brand you a witch. Morgana will have your head just like she did the Hellhound's mother."
​I flinched, recalling the fate of the witch Luna at my mother's hands. He cackled, enjoying my reaction. He knew why I had let him take the credit. Better a lie than the fire—and I had loved him.
​He gripped my face harder, bruising the skin. "You are mine. You will never be my Luna, but you will be my concubine. You will submit."
​He shoved me back, my skull cracking against the headboard. He began to unbuckle his belt with a slow, deliberate hiss of leather. "Don't worry," he smiled, a devilish, boyish grin that no longer reached his eyes. "I'll fill you with pups. You'll serve your purpose as my breeding whore."
​He stalked closer. Pain lanced through my abdomen, sharp and jagged. I doubled over, a guttural yelp tearing from my throat as I clutched my stomach.
​"Stop being dramatic, Althea," Draven snapped, tossing his belt onto the foot of the bed. "The healers cleared you. You're fine."
​Another wave of agony hit me—a sickening, internal heat. I screamed, but Draven only sneered, stepping into the space between my knees. "I said, enough," he growled, yanking my hair back to force my gaze up. "Save the theatrics. You'll lie there and take what I give you, or I'll—"
​The door burst open; my handmaid, Yana, ran in. Draven took an immediate step back, his expression shifting from irritation to concern. Yana came to my side, her eyes searching mine. "What happened, mistress?" she asked, ignoring Draven, even if it was grounds for execution for a Vargan to disrespect the Alpha.
​"I have been trying to ask her, but she won't talk to me," Draven lied.
​She merely nodded at him in acknowledgment, her eyes never leaving mine.
​"It is my stomach—" I choked, my hand on it, "It—" Another raw, piercing scream escaped me.
​She got up. "I will get the Deltas." She was out of the room in a flash and Draven's ire returned, but he said nothing, his eyes boring into me. He could not risk people—even slaves—knowing what he was.
​I clutched tighter as more agony rippled through me. The door swung open again, Yana leading two Deltas into the room. Their faces were grim as they took in my crumpled form.
​"Alpha," the lead healer said, bowing slightly but moving toward the bed with purpose. "We must examine her. The internal trauma may be more severe than we realized. You should wait outside."
​Draven's jaw tightened, his gaze flickering from me to the healers. In a heartbeat, his mask was back in place. He smoothed his tunic, his voice dropping into a tone of feigned worry. "Of course," Draven murmured, reaching out to brush a stray hair from my forehead. I flinched, but he only smiled sadly for the benefit of the audience. "Make sure she is alright. She has been through so much already."
​The moment he stepped out, Yana spoke. "She has not bled in two full moons."
​The Deltas ceased their prodding. "Two months?" one asked. Deltas might look down on Vargans, but they knew to trust their vigilance and instincts. Yana nodded.
​Another Delta placed a hand on my lower stomach, her hand glowing, and within a second, she nodded. "She is pregnant."
​My stomach twisted even more. I bit back a yelp as tears streamed down my face. No one else spoke as they helped me relieve the pain. All I could do was stare up at the ceiling, waiting for it to crash down on me.
​Yana rubbed my back through the Deltas' ministrations to soothe me, but her hand froze as footsteps broke the chaos.
​Circe walked in. "Oh goddess, what happened, Althea?" She moved closer to me, and though her face was twisted in worry, it didn't reach her eyes.
​"Luna, she is pregnant," one Delta informed her.
​Her face darkened quickly before she caught herself. "I'm going to be an aunt," Circe repeated, her voice a fragile porcelain. She looked at the Deltas. "Please take care of the Alpha's first child. We can't have anything going awry." Then she met my eyes. "I will take care of the feast tonight; just rest well and make sure you join us so we can all break the news together."
​The undertone was clear as she walked out.