Her First Thought

The morning light filtered through heavy drapes like liquid gold, casting dancing shadows across the velvet expanse of Nyma's chambers. Dust motes swirled in the warm glow, and somewhere in the distance, the familiar sounds of pack life stirred to wakefulness. But here, in this gilded cage she called home, silence pressed against her like a living thing.

"Luna, it's time to rise."

Mari's voice, gentle but insistent, pulled Nyma from the restless void where sleep had abandoned her hours ago. She inhaled deeply—lavender and dying embers from last night's fire, but underneath it all, the cold absence of her mate's scent.

Her hand settled instinctively over the curve of her belly, where their child moved restlessly. A tether to hope. A reminder that not everything in her world was built on shifting ground.

But beside her, the sheets remained pristine. Undisturbed. As empty as they'd been when she'd finally stopped waiting and closed her eyes near dawn.

The warmth from yesterday evening—his rare attention, his gentle touches, the fleeting moments when he'd seemed like the Adrain who'd once courted her—had evaporated like morning mist. Another beautiful mirage in the desert of their marriage.

She said nothing as Mari moved through the familiar choreography of preparation, drawing gossamer fabrics from the wardrobe, silks that caught the light like captured moonbeams. The routine should have been soothing. Instead, each careful fold of fabric, each respectful silence, amplified the hollow ache beneath her ribs.

"Luna?" Mari paused near the dresser, her usual efficiency faltering. In her hands, she cradled a small wrapped package like it contained something precious and fragile. "I found this outside your door when I went to retrieve your morning tea. Your name..." She stepped closer, wonder creeping into her voice. "The calligraphy is exquisite."

Nyma's heart stuttered. Golden ink flowed across cream paper in elegant strokes—not the hurried scrawl of a duty-bound gesture, but the careful artistry of someone who'd taken time. Who'd cared about every curve and flourish.

Her fingers trembled slightly as she accepted the gift. When had he found time for this? Between his diplomatic meetings and training sessions, between the careful distance he'd been maintaining?

Inside the wrapping lay wonder itself—a silver locket so exquisitely crafted it seemed to breathe with its own light. Diamonds scattered across its surface like captured stars, and moon crescents were etched with such precision they seemed to glow. When she lifted it, words shimmered across the back in that same golden script:

"For Luna and Little Star—woven in fate, guarded in love."

The breath left her lungs in a rush.

This wasn't just jewelry. This was artistry. Poetry made manifest in silver and stone. The kind of intimate, deeply personal commission that required months of planning, careful attention to every detail, profound knowledge of what would touch her heart most deeply.

Adrain. It had to be from Adrain.

Her first thought blazed with sudden, fierce hope. This was what love looked like when stripped of politics and duty—thoughtful, protective, beautiful. This was the man who'd fallen for her strength and stayed for her heart, even when the world tried to pull them apart.

The doubts that had been gnawing at her for weeks—the cold nights, the careful distances, the diplomatic necessities that kept stealing him away—began to soften like ice in spring sunlight.

As she lifted the locket toward the light, energy hummed against her fingertips. Not imagination, but something real and ancient, like magic woven into the metal itself. The moment the clasp closed around her neck, power cascaded over her skin in waves.

Nyma gasped.

Warmth bloomed from the silver—not mere heat, but something deeper and more profound. A protective embrace that seemed to enfold both her and the child she carried, like invisible arms made of moonlight and ancient promises. Magic thrummed through her bones, settling deep into her essence like a shield that no ordinary force could break.

This was more than a gift. This was a vow. A silent promise of protection that spoke of love deeper than words, stronger than the political storms trying to tear them apart.

How? The question whispered through her mind even as wonder filled her chest. Did Adrain possess some secret knowledge of the old ways? Had he sought out practitioners of the ancient arts to craft such a talisman?

The effort it would have taken, the care, the sheer devotion required to commission something like this...

"My lady?" Mari's voice carried gentle concern. "Are you well?"

Nyma realized she was crying—not from sorrow, but from relief so profound it felt like drowning in reverse. For the first time in weeks, she could breathe fully.

"I'm perfect," she whispered, and meant it.

Perhaps she'd been too harsh in her judgments, too quick to assume neglect where there had been careful planning. Maybe love didn't always look like constant presence—sometimes it looked like magic wrapped in silver, protection crafted in secret, devotion that worked behind the scenes to keep her safe.

"It's extraordinary," Mari murmured, helping Nyma into layers of flowing fabric that moved like water around her pregnant form. "The Alpha has remarkable taste."

Nyma touched the locket, feeling its protective warmth pulse in rhythm with her heartbeat. "Yes," she said softly. "He does."

As Mari finished the final adjustments to her travel attire, Nyma felt something she hadn't experienced in months—genuine anticipation for seeing her husband. She wanted to thank him for this incredible gift, wanted to see his face when she showed him how perfectly it fit, how beautiful it looked against her throat.

She needed him to know that she understood the gesture, recognized the love and effort behind it.

Alpha? She reached through their mental bond with cautious warmth, her inner voice softer than it had been in weeks. Where are you?

The silence stretched longer than usual—not the comfortable quiet of a busy mind, but something that felt almost... careful.

Good morning, love. His response finally came, warm honey over steel. Training grounds. Morning drills.

Of course. The pack's safety always came first, and she'd never begrudged him that responsibility. But today felt different. Today, she had something wonderful to share.

The gift, she began, touching the locket with reverent fingers. Adrain, it's—

Gift? His mental voice carried a note of confusion that made her pause.

Before she could explain, another thought pressed through their bond—not words, but emotion. Guilt, sharp and sudden, like he'd been caught in some transgression.

About last night, he said quickly, derailing her gratitude. I should have explained sooner. Should have come back.

The warm anticipation in her chest began to cool. What happened?

Lira. Even through the mental link, she could hear the reluctance in his voice. She had too much to drink at the shower. Nearly shifted right there in the main hall—could have been dangerous for everyone.

Understanding dawned, bringing with it a complex mixture of relief and disappointment. Of course. His Beta training, his protective instincts, would never allow him to leave someone in distress, even someone who'd been less than kind to his wife.

So you helped her to safety, she said, proud of how steady her mental voice remained.

Had to get her to the medical wing. His tone carried exhaustion now, the weariness of a long night spent managing crisis. She was... it was touch and go for a while. Took most of the night to get her stabilized.

All night? The question slipped out before she could stop it, tinged with the loneliness she'd been trying to suppress.

By the time the healers had her settled, dawn was breaking. I didn't want to wake you—you need your rest.

The explanation made sense. Perfect sense. And yet something in her chest remained tight, unsatisfied. Perhaps it was just pregnancy hormones, making her needier than usual. Or perhaps it was the memory of how empty their bed had felt, how her wolf had whined softly through the dark hours, missing the comfort of their mate's presence.

I understand, she said, and mostly meant it. Can you come say goodbye before I leave? I have something to show you.

Wait for me. His response came swift and sharp, almost desperate. Don't leave yet. I'll be there as soon as I clean up.

Something in his tone made her wolf prick up her ears—an urgency that seemed disproportionate to a simple farewell. But before she could analyze it further, Mari's gentle cough reminded her that time was slipping away.

Outside, she could hear Kael's voice mixing with Raina's, the solid thuds of luggage being loaded, the restless sounds of wolves preparing for a long journey. Her family waited with patient determination, but she knew that patience had limits.

"Tell them ten more minutes," she instructed Mari, smoothing silk over her growing belly. "Please."

The minutes stretched like hours. The locket pulsed against her throat, its protective magic a constant reminder of Adrain's love even as his physical absence stretched her nerves thin. Where was he? Training couldn't take this long, could it?

Finally, when Kael's pointed throat-clearing reached her chambers, Nyma made her decision.

If Adrain couldn't come to her, she would go to him.

The path to the training grounds wound through gardens touched with early frost, her breath misting in the crisp air. Each step carried her closer to the reunion she'd been anticipating, the moment when she could share her wonder at his gift and see his satisfaction at her joy.

But as she drew nearer to the practice areas, voices reached her—not the sharp commands of drills, but something softer. More intimate.

Nyma slowed, her wolf stirring uneasily.

"...can't keep avoiding this," a female voice was saying. Lira's voice, though it didn't sound like someone who'd spent the night in medical distress. It sounded... knowing. Predatory.

"We have nothing to avoid," came Adrain's reply, but something in his tone made Nyma's chest tighten.

She pressed herself against the trunk of an ancient oak, peering carefully around its bark toward the equipment shed. What she saw made the world tilt sideways.

Adrain stood in the shadow of the building, hair still damp from his shower, training clothes clinging to muscled shoulders. And pressed against him—not weakly, not like someone recovering from near-catastrophe, but with confident sensuality—was Lira.

"Don't we?" Lira's laugh was sharp crystal breaking. "Then explain last night. Explain why you held me for hours, why you chose staying with me over returning to your pregnant wife."

The locket at Nyma's throat suddenly felt cold despite its magical warmth. The woman before her wasn't fragile or recovering. She was alert, predatory, victorious.

"That was medical necessity," Adrain said, but his hands didn't push her away. Didn't maintain the distance a mated male should keep.

"Was it?" Lira pressed closer, her voice dropping to an intimate purr. "Because it felt like coming home. Like destiny finally claiming what was always meant to be."

Destiny.

The word hit Nyma like a physical blow, shattering the warm hope she'd been cradling since opening the locket.

Her fingers found the silver pendant at her throat, its beautiful engravings suddenly feeling like mockery. If Adrain had commissioned this gift, when? Between secret meetings with his first love? As guilt offering for betrayals already committed?

Or—and this thought made her wolf snarl silently—had it even come from him at all?

As she watched her husband stand motionless while another woman traced familiar patterns on his chest, one truth crystallized with painful clarity:

She couldn't trust anything anymore. Not his explanations, not his gifts, not the careful distance he maintained that she'd mistaken for respectful consideration.

But somehow she could feel and trust some weird magic now flowing through her veins.