Chapter Nine: My pack 2

(Elara's POV)

Today, yet again is one of those parties held in my pack, hosted by Damon, the only thing I've ever known him to love is parties. So since the moment he became the Alpha of our pack, the pack hall became a party hall as he's always hosting parties after parties.

A wave of nausea had hit me when I walked into the hall and saw him dancing with Seraphina, the woman he was in our matrimonial bed with on the day I confirmed my babies’ gender. I had ran out to relieve my disgusted guts.

The moment I stepped back into the massive foyer of the pack house, I could feel eyes on me—the scrutinizing stares of pack members like knives against my skin, each judgment digging deeper into the raw agony I felt. The scent of homey meals wafted through the air, almost suffocating, and I could hear the laughter of children echoing from a nearby room. Yet, none of it felt like home to me anymore. My heart raced, twisting with each pulse that echoed the memory of Damon in that bed, that woman in his arms.

As I pressed my back against the cool wall, I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to suppress the memories flooding back—the way he had laughed when I had told him about my pregnancy, the way his expression had twisted into something dark and resentful when I had dared to mention the possibility of happiness. I was carrying twins, for god’s sake! Two lives I had fought so hard for, and yet here I was, questioning my worth.

“You came back?” Damon’s sardonic voice cut through my thoughts. I opened my eyes to see him leaning against the grand staircase railing, a smirk etched onto his features like a permanent tattoo. “I thought you’d be too busy to slum it with us common folk.” The wolves around him chuckled—a low, menacing sound that settled in the pit of my stomach.

A wave of nausea swept over me, and I swallowed hard to keep it together. “Damon… I—”

“Save your excuses. You always have them, don’t you?” His words were like shards of glass, each slicing through the fragile semblance of strength I had left. I had barely managed to escape this toxic realm for a night, the safety of Kaelen’s unwavering support still fresh in my mind, but here I stood, drowning in Damon’s poison once more.

“I got sick,” I admitted, my voice quaking. “I needed air.” My insides curled at the dishonesty spiraling from my lips. It was more than just the morning sickness, but I didn’t dare voice it. Not to him.

“You needed air?” he parroted, a mocking lilt to his tone. “Or maybe you just needed a reminder of your place? Because you seem to forget quite often.” The laughter that erupted from the other pack members was a howling wind that tore at my spirit. “Look at her, everyone! Our dear Elara seems to think she’s special. News flash: you’re not.”

His words were a pendulum swinging back and forth, each taut moment amplifying my growing sense of despair. I gripped the railing for support, too frightened at that moment to move.

The morning had begun like any other, save the gnawing need to wretch and curl into a ball. I had clutched my abdomen, feeling the stirrings of life within me—a sensation that should have felt safe and joyous. Instead, it was a bitter reminder that I was tied to Damon’s cruelty. The morning sickness had struck with a vengeance, and as I knelt by the toilet, dry heaving until my throat burned, I had wished for someone—anyone—who could support me through this.

But none came.

Damon had heard my retching but had elected to ignore it, muffling his chuckle behind his closed office door. I had stumbled out into the pack house, desperate, before slinking back into my room, where ugly memories lurked in the corners, shadows of happier times before I had married my mate. The longing for Kaelen, for reassurance, clawed at my heart.

“Why are you still standing there?” Damon’s voice snapped me back to reality, his piercing gaze holding me captive. “If you think you can earn sympathy, honey, you’re mistaken. You’re a burden to me. Just a pathetic little girl playing house.”

His words echoed, a siren call of despair. I could almost feel the walls closing in. For months, I had learned to doubt my perceptions, to second-guess my emotions. Was I really that worthless? Was I a burden, not just to him but to myself? I wanted to scream, to run, to find solace in the arms of a better alpha—but the guilt tethered me. What about the babies? Besides, we're already mated,mate bonds can't be broken, I can't believe I dared to hope for another, I can only hope it gets better with Damon.

“Damon…” I tried to reason, hoping he would glimpse the desperate plea in my eyes.

“Don’t!” He interjected, his voice rising. “You think I care about your whining? You think I’ll allow my pack to be dragged down by a weak mate?”

I felt tears prick at the corners of my eyes, a sign of weakness I could never show him, or—god forbid—anyone else. So, I swallowed hard, clenching my fists at my sides to keep my composure.

“Carrying my pup should be nothing you complain about, Elara. It’s a privilege.”

In that moment, he pulled back, his predatory gaze shifting from me to a pack member who just approached. “Rhys, isn’t it?” The young wolf shifted nervously under Damon’s direct stare. “Help Elara back to our room. I wouldn’t want her to get lost, seeing as she can’t even keep her breakfast down.”

They laughed. Laughter rang through the hall, a chorus of disdain. It echoed in my ears as I trudged past them, feeling every stare. Rhys shuffled beside me, casting glances at Damon as if he awaited permission before he could support me. When I finally reached the stairs, nausea flared once more, and I grabbed hold of the banister.

“Don’t take too long, Elara,” Damon called from behind. “People are still waiting to be entertained.”

The shame suffocated me. Angry tears rolled down my cheeks, despite my efforts to hold them back. I was spiraling, a tempest in a facade of calm. I marched up the stairs, each step heavy, my breath uneven as I forced myself to tread back into the room that felt like a cage.

One moment I wished was different, one moment I wished could be rewritten, and I felt myself torn inside.

Woe to the moonlit nights, if only they could grant me a spark of courage to break free from a life that had become shackles. The silence seeped into my skin, turning into despair. It left me questioning whether anyone could save me, or if saving myself was the only way out. But how could I abandon the very lives that depended on me?