CHAPTER 4

Eudora Whitlock POV

"The blood test from the healer's council is indisputable," the head pack doctor says, laying the glowing parchment on the stone table in the silver-walled sanctuary. "You are carrying a litter line, Eudora Whitlock. Six weeks along."

Thelma Ashbury snatches the parchment, her dark amber eyes widening as a massive grin erupts across her proud, stern face. "A High Alpha bloodline! An Ashford heir in the making!"

Eudora sits frozen on the examination ledge, her skin turning ice-cold as her mind spirals into absolute chaos.

A pup. How could there be a pup? Leighton had been careful during every rut, every heat, using lunar protective charms to ensure no unwanted seed took root before the pack elders gave formal consent. Yet deep within her womb, a warm, faint thrumming pulse responds to her inner wolf, proving the healer's words true. A surge of fierce, instinctual love pierces her chest, but it is instantly crushed by a wave of cold terror.

They were severed. The divorce papers were signed. He had cast her aside for his true mate.

Who did this child belong to now? Would the pack rip the pup from an unbonded Omega's arms the moment it was born? Would Leighton demand she purge the pregnancy to protect Sybil Hargrove's royal ascension?

Eudora clenches her fists into the fabric of her skirt, her knuckles turning stark white. "No. I cannot be pregnant! There is a mistake with the lunar reading!"

Thelma glares at her like she has lost her mind, clutching the parchment against her chest like a prize. "Silence your foolish tongue, girl! This is the greatest blessing the Moon Goddess could bestow upon our territory!"

The Alpha Matriarch immediately pulls out her communication stone, channeling her power to reach her son, but the connection only emits a low, dull buzz. Leighton's long-range line remains dark.

Seeing the Matriarch prepare to send an emergency raven across the borders, Eudora leaps off the table, her voice trembling with raw desperate courage. "Stop, Matriarch! It does not matter! Leighton and I signed the severance papers! We are divorced! I am no longer his consort!"

Thelma freezes, her glowing amber eyes locking onto Eudora with terrifying intensity. "What did you just say?"

Ravenshore, France, Silvermoon Grand Lodge.

Merritt Caldwell walks swiftly down the dark mahogany hallway of the upper suite, holding a glowing communication stone that vibrates with an frantic signal from the Frostmere Dominion. He reaches the double oak doors, knocking twice before stepping inside.

Sybil Hargrove stands near the entryway, wearing a sweeping silk gown that trails across the floor. She holds a crystal glass of blood-wine, her eyes sharp and calculating as she glances at the Chief Steward.

"Is he inside, Caldwell?" Sybil asks softly.

"High Alpha Ashford is dressing in the inner chamber, Miss Hargrove," Merritt bows slightly, moving past her without stopping.

Inside the dressing room, Leighton Ashford stands before a tall silver mirror. His massive, muscular frame is bare from the waist up, scarred from a hundred pack wars, his golden skin glowing under the crystal lights. He fastens the silver wolf-head links onto his cuffs, his dark brows furrowed in deep thought.

"Speak, Merritt," Leighton commands, his deep voice carrying the heavy weight of an Alpha's authority.

"The Alpha Matriarch reached out through the secondary pack link," Merritt says, his head bowed. "Your former consort was taken to the healer's hall in the Silverfang district hours ago. She is carrying your pup, High Alpha. Six weeks along."

Leighton’s hands freeze on his cuffs. The air in the chamber instantly turns suffocatingly dense, his dominant Alpha aura flaring so violently that the glass lantern on the wall cracks.

Behind them, the crystal glass in Sybil's hand shatters, spilling dark red wine across the white rug. She steps into the doorway, her face twisted in utter shock and rising fury.

Merritt bows low and backs out of the room, shutting the thick doors behind him to leave them in absolute privacy.

"A pup?" Sybil sneers, her voice rising into a sharp, bitter hiss as she steps toward him. "You got that lowborn Omega pregnant, Leighton? Is this your revenge because I let Oswald Beckett kiss my hand at the solstice festival five years ago?"

Leighton finishes setting his silver cufflink, his face completely impassive, his dark eyes void of any warmth as he turns to face her. "It was an uncalculated failure of the protective charm."

"An uncalculated failure?" Sybil laughs hysterically, her eyes flashing a bright dangerous yellow. "I abandoned my place in the Northern Wastes to return to your side! I gave up my freedom to be your Luna! And now you have an Omega carrying your heir?"

Leighton grabs his dark velvet coat, slipping it over his broad shoulders with calm, deliberate precision. He steps close to her, his shadow completely towering over her frame, his cold aura pressing down until her wolf whimpers in her chest.

"I gave you a second chance to claim your position, Sybil," Leighton says, his voice dangerously quiet, dripping with warning. "Do not push your luck."

Sybil grits her teeth, forcing her rising rage down into her throat. She straightens her back, smoothing her ruined dress, a cold confident smirk returning to her red lips.

"Handle your trash, High Alpha," Sybil whispers, her eyes locking onto his. "Because if that Omega's bastard stands between me and the Luna throne, I will make sure neither of them survives the winter."

Leighton turns his back on her, reaching for his communication stone on the table. Before his fingers can touch the glowing rune, the stone bursts into a bright orange flame, and the voice of Moon-Bond Attorney Percival Sloane screams through the burning link.

"High Alpha! Thelma Ashbury has just invoked the Ancient Pack Code! She has locked Eudora Whitlock inside the blood-vaults and demanded a public lineage trial at the Great Oak Shrine before nightfall!"