CHAPTER 04: A FATHER'S WRATH

VELARA’S POV

There's a heavy, suffocating air in the room, and it feels like every breath I take is fighting against an invisible force. My thoughts are racing, and it feels like the ground is moving beneath me. I grip the sides of my chair, not sure if I'm going to pass out or scream.

“Yes, Alpha. I will test it again,” the pack doctor, Stone, says hurriedly before hastily retreating from the room. He doesn’t look back. No one dares challenge my father’s fury, not even someone as respected as Doc Stone. His footsteps echo against the floor like the tick of a countdown I cannot escape.

Even though my father moves slowly and deliberately, every step he takes has the weight of a storm that is about to blow. Then he stops suddenly and turns to face me with a cold stare. My chest roars with my heartbeat.

“He must be mistaken,” he growls, his voice low but filled with venom. “You’re not that kind of girl. You wouldn’t disgrace me like this.”

His eyes search mine, desperately seeking some explanation that could dissolve his horror. But I have none. I sink deeper into my seat, my throat tight with dread, my tongue frozen. I have no excuses to offer, only shame crawling up my spine.

The door creaks open again, and the tension in the room thickens as Doc Stone re-enters. He looks like he aged ten years in the few minutes he was gone.

“The results haven’t changed,” the doctor says softly, eyes shifting toward me. There is pity in his gaze. It stings more than any slap could.

I feel like a hunted creature, looking to him for protection he cannot offer. I want someone to stand between me and the Alpha’s fury. But Doc Stone, with his thinning gray hair and shaking hands, could never be my shield. And neither can I, not when I haven’t even shifted yet.

For our kind, shifting marks the moment we step into adulthood, the moment we can sense our fated mates. It is sacred. I’ve watched others experience it, and I was supposed to be next. But instead, I carry something else within me, a secret that could unravel everything.

Pregnancy halts the shift. Our bodies instinctively protect the unborn. And that delay has now betrayed me.

My father’s growl rumbles low in his chest, the sound vibrating in the air around me. He turns on his heel, a murderous expression spreading across his face. His hands curl into fists at his sides, knuckles whitening as he struggles to restrain himself. I can see it happening, his muscles tense, the veins in his neck bulge. His aura flares violently, oppressive and terrifying. His eyes start to flicker from gray to a pitch-black void. He’s barely managing to suppress the wolf inside him.

He is trying not to shift. Trying to maintain control.

But I’ve never seen him like this. Not even during pack wars or political disputes. His rage now is personal, visceral. I remind him of himself. I have his dark hair, his sharp features, and those piercing bluish-gray eyes. He always told people I was his pride and joy, the future Alpha in his own image. He raised me to lead. But now he looks at me as if I’ve committed treason. As if I’m something shameful and unwanted.

“How far along is she?” he asks, his voice cold and detached.

The doctor glances quickly between us before replying, “An ultrasound next week should confirm the gestational age.”

“No. Do it today. Right now. We need to handle this before it spreads,” my father snaps. His eyes narrow. “I won’t let this disgrace stain our name. I won’t have a disobedient daughter, carrying some low-born mutt’s child. We’ll deal with it now. Quietly.”

I blink, my mouth falling open, stunned by the words that fall so easily from his lips. Did he truly just say that? Did he mean it?

“It’s forbidden,” I whisper, the realization stealing my breath. “To end a pregnancy… it goes against everything the Moon Goddess teaches us.”

My voice is barely audible, but my father hears it. His head turns sharply, and the aura around him pulses darker, more dangerous. The doctor shifts uncomfortably, inching farther away from him, clearly sensing the shift in the air.

“Forbidden or not, this ends today,” my father growls. “We clean this up, and we move on. You will still lead. You will still be Alpha. But only if this mistake disappears.”

“But Dad…”

"Do not condemn me for how I respond, Velara! I may be her father, but I am a ruler too!”

I shake my head, disbelief anchoring me to my seat. “No… I can’t do that,” I say, my voice trembling.

“You will do as I say!” he snarls, the force of his rage crashing into me like a wave. “Speak to your mother? What good would that do? This isn’t a family matter, it’s a pack matter. It affects us all. This mistake of yours could ruin everything.”

I’m crying now. The tears fall freely, hot and silent, streaking down my face. I never wanted to be pregnant. I never planned for any of this. But ending a life, my pup’s life, is something I cannot accept. It is not just against the laws of the pack, but against the divine order itself.

“I won’t,” I whisper, the words barely escaping my lips. But they are solid. Unshakeable.

The room stiffens. Doc Stone clears his throat, nervously adjusting his coat. “Alpha, I can’t proceed unless she consents. It would be unethical, and dangerous. The laws still apply, even in private.”

My father doesn’t even acknowledge the doctor’s words. His eyes are locked on mine, blazing with fury and disbelief. “You’re willing, aren’t you, Velara?” he asks slowly, each word a calculated demand.

I meet his gaze with everything I have left. I do not flinch. I do not look away.

“No,” I reply firmly. “My decision is final.”

A silence heavier than before falls across the room. Doc Stone exhales shakily. My father’s jaw tightens, rage brimming just below the surface, and for a moment, I wonder if he’ll shift despite himself.

But I do not back down. My body may be trembling, but my soul is steady.

He can threaten me. He can rage and pace and scream. But I will not become the killer he wants me to be.

No title, no legacy, no shame will force me to destroy the life growing inside me.

"Repeat what you just said," my father demanded with a quiet intensity.

"I won’t," I responded firmly, not bracing myself for what came next.

In all my years, not once had my father laid a finger on me. That’s why, when his hand struck the side of my face, it wasn’t the pain that overwhelmed me, it was the shock. My skin flared instantly beneath his palm, his fingers leaving an invisible brand that throbbed with betrayal. The sound of the slap echoed louder in my heart than in the room.

“You hurt me, my child.”

His eyes, cold and unflinching, bore into mine as he uttered words I never thought I’d hear. “If that’s your decision, then you are no longer my child.”

He turned abruptly and walked away, leaving behind a silence that felt heavier than any scream. I stood frozen, heart pounding, face stinging, soul reeling from a wound no apology could ever mend.