The Alpha’s Barren Luna

The kitchen smelled of rosemary and butter.

I stirred a sauce that hadn't needed it in ten minutes, because my hands needed something to do while I waited.

Through the window, the training grounds sat empty, swept clean for the warriors' return. I kept glancing at the door, half-convinced it would open early if I wanted it badly enough.

I'd worn the green dress because he loved it—told me once it matched my eyes exactly. On the counter sat a small box, wrapped twice because my hands had shaken the first time. Inside it: two pink lines.

Four weeks. Five years of the pack elders counting my failures on their fingers, and that morning my body had finally opened the door they'd all decided was locked for good.

I hadn't told anyone. I wanted his face to be the first thing I saw when he knew.

A horn sounded beyond the walls, and my whole chest lifted. He was home. My Kade.

I didn't remember deciding to run. One moment I was setting down the spoon, the next I was through the door and down the steps, packed earth cool under my bare feet, heart slamming.

Warriors filled the courtyard—dust-streaked, bloodied at the edges, but alive. And there he was, taller than all of them, dark and certain as always.

The Alpha the whole pack turned toward without meaning to.

His arm was around a woman.

Talia. I knew her; everyone did. The Beta's daughter. His oldest friend, his shadow since childhood—the girl he'd told me a hundred times was like a sister and nothing more.

Her stomach was rounded and unmistakable.

The courtyard tilted. Somewhere far off, I heard him say it.

"She's carrying my pup." No apology in it. His voice was steady, like he was handing me something he expected me to be grateful for.

The whispers started up around me like a fire catching.

"Finally, an heir," one elder said.

"Did you see her face?"

"She's had years, and it takes the warrior girl one battle."

"Maybe now he'll choose someone worthy of him."

An elder clapped him on the back, then looked at me the way you'd look at a hen that had stopped laying.

I didn't feel my own face. I only felt the box in my fist, corners biting into my palm. And somewhere under the shock, something that had been bowed for five years straightened its spine.

"Say it to me," I said.

My voice carried farther than I expected. The whispers faltered.

"You've had five years of practice saying it behind my back. Say it to my face. Which one of you is brave enough?"

No one was. Of course no one was. The elder who'd clapped him on the back suddenly found something fascinating about his boots.

"Enough." Kade's voice cut through the courtyard, but it wasn't a shield held up for me. It was the voice of a man whose property was being discussed in public. "She is still your Luna."

He said it like a ruling, not a defense, and the title settled on me like a collar.

He started toward me, one hand held out—not arms open, but palm up, the way you'd call a wolf to heel.

I put both hands against his chest and shoved.

It didn't move him—he was an Alpha, I couldn't have moved him if I'd tried—but he let himself be pushed back a step, surprise crossing his face, and then something darker settling behind it.

I didn't run. I turned to Talia.

She stood half a step behind him with one hand curved over her stomach, wearing an expression so carefully wounded it could have been painted on.

"Five years," I said to her, quietly enough that she had to lean in to hear it. "Five years you ate at my table and smiled at me. Whatever you think you've won today, understand this: I know what you are now. I won't pretend otherwise."

"Elira—" Her eyes went wide and wet on cue. "I never meant—"

"Don't." I didn't raise my voice. "You don't get to cry in front of me. You haven't earned it."

Kade's hand closed around my arm. "That's enough. Inside."

"Take your hand off me."

For a moment I thought he wouldn't. Then he did, jaw tight, and I walked back toward the Alpha House on my own two feet with my head up, past every wolf who had spent five years watching me flinch. Not running. I was done running toward people who wouldn't catch me.

He followed. She followed too, a few steps behind him, like she had every right to be there.

I didn't let myself shake until the door of our room was nearly shut—and then he was already inside it with me, and I made myself stand straight.

"What is this?" He was growling now. "I come home from the border, from rogue wolves, and instead of a welcome I get disrespected in front of the entire pack."

"Disrespected." I laughed, and it came out sharp as broken glass. "You walked a pregnant woman into my courtyard with your arm around her. You humiliated me first."

"I don't answer to you for how I secure this pack." Cold. Flat. "I'm tired. Come here."

I stepped back. "You got her pregnant. We are mated. You swore to the Goddess. How could you—"

"I was drunk." He said it like that explained anything. "I woke up and she was there. The healer confirmed it days later. It's done. There's an heir growing inside her, and I'm keeping it. And you will remain my Luna."

"Then send her away."

A pause, half a second too long—not hesitation, I realized later, but calculation. "The pup will be raised in this house, and you'll stand beside it as its mother where the pack can see. The elders get their heir. You keep your title. This is what's best for the pack—the elders have wanted an heir for years—"

"I don't want an adopted child." The words tore out before I could stop them, before I remembered the box crushed in my hand. "I don't need one."

"Don't make a scene tonight, of all nights." His voice dropped—not softer, only lower, colder. "You'll do as you're told, Elira. You always have."

Not once in five years had he asked me what I wanted.

I opened my mouth to tell him.

To say I'm pregnant too—four weeks—you don't need her child, you have mine.

A cry cut me off. She was doubled over behind him, one hand pressed to her stomach, face twisted in performance-perfect pain. "It hurts—"

He was already turning away from me before she finished the sentence.

"Kade." I said it sharply, the way I never had. "Look at me. I have something to—"

"Stop making trouble," he said, not even looking back. "You've always been the sensible one."

The door shut behind them.