Three Days

The next evening a servant came for Bonita while she was still in bed. Her body had not recovered. Every step sent a sharp ache through her lower stomach and between her legs. She moved slowly, one hand pressed against the wall for balance. The servant did not offer help. She only waited by the door and said, “Alpha Drogo wants you in his study now.”

Bonita changed into a simple dress. It hung loose on her frame. She had lost weight during the pregnancy and the birth had taken more. She tied her hair back with shaking fingers and followed the servant through the long corridors of the pack house. Pack members stepped aside when they saw her. Some looked away. Others watched with open curiosity. No one spoke.

The study door was already open. Drogo stood behind his desk with his back to her, looking out the window. He did not turn when she entered. The servant left and closed the door.

“Come closer,” he said.

Bonita walked forward until she stood a few feet from the desk. Her legs felt weak. She wanted to sit but there was no chair offered and she knew better than to ask.

Drogo turned. His eyes moved over her once, from her pale face down to the way she held herself carefully, then back up. There was no concern in his expression.

“You look worse than yesterday,” he said. “That is not important.”

He walked around the desk and stopped in front of her. He was much taller. She had to tilt her head to meet his eyes.

“I have made my decision,” he said. “You will no longer be Luna of this pack.”

Bonita’s hands tightened at her sides. She stayed quiet.

“In three days we will hold the full-moon ceremony,” Drogo continued. “I will present my new mate to the pack that night. She is already chosen. After she is accepted, I will announce what is to be done with you and the five girls.”

The words settled over her like cold water. She felt her pulse in her throat.

“I am telling you this now so you will not be surprised,” he said. “I do not want any scenes in front of the pack.”

Bonita forced her voice to stay steady. “What will happen to the girls?”

Drogo’s mouth tightened. “That is not your concern anymore. They are my blood whether I want them or not. I will decide their place. You will accept whatever I announce.”

She looked at him and saw nothing of the man who had once claimed her as his mate. There was only cold calculation.

“I carried them,” she said quietly. “I gave birth to them. They are my daughters.”

“And they are the reason this pack has no heir,” he answered. “Five times you failed. The mage told me the last one was a boy. You still produced a girl. The Moon Goddess is either mocking me or she has decided you are not worthy of giving me a son. Either way, I am finished waiting.”

He walked back to the desk and picked up a paper. He held it out so she could see the writing, though she could not read the full content from where she stood.

“This is the formal rejection,” he said. “I will sign it at the ceremony. After that you will have no standing here. No title. No protection from me.”

Bonita’s stomach twisted. The pain from the birth mixed with the new fear until she felt light-headed. She locked her knees to keep from swaying.

“Drogo,” she said, using his name for the first time in months. “They are children. Mira is only eight. The baby is two days old. Whatever you feel toward me, they have done nothing.”

He dropped the paper back on the desk. “Do not use their ages against me. I have given you years. I have given you chances. Every pregnancy I hoped. Every time you came out of that room with another girl I told myself the next one would be different. It never was. You are the common factor in every failure.”

He stepped closer again. His voice stayed low but the anger under it was clear.

“I will not keep a Luna who cannot give me an heir. I will not keep daughters who remind the pack every day that their Alpha has no son. The new woman I have chosen is young and strong. The healer has already confirmed she is fertile. She will give me what you could not.”

Bonita felt tears rise and forced them back. She would not cry in front of him again. She had done that too many times after earlier births and it had never changed anything.

“When do I see the girls?” she asked.

“You may see them until the ceremony,” he said. “After that it depends on what I decide. Do not try to turn them against me. Do not fill their heads with stories. They will accept whatever place I give them.”

He turned away as if the conversation was finished. Bonita remained standing. Her legs shook. The bleeding had started again with the walk and the stress. She felt it and said nothing.

“You may go,” Drogo said without looking at her. “Rest while you can. I expect you to appear at the evening meal tomorrow. The pack should see that you understand your position. Wear something clean. Do not look like a victim. I will not have the pack feeling sorry for you.”

Bonita turned and walked to the door. Each step hurt. She opened it herself and stepped into the corridor. The servant who had brought her was gone. She moved slowly back toward the far wing, one hand against the wall when the pain became too sharp.

When she reached the nursery wing the door to the children’s room was half open. Mira sat on the floor with the twins, helping them with a simple puzzle. Lila sat nearby holding the newborn carefully against her small chest. The baby was awake, dark eyes open.

Mira looked up first. She stood quickly and came to the door.

“Mama,” she said. Her voice was quiet. “Are you okay?”

Bonita forced a small nod. She stepped inside and closed the door. The room smelled of milk and clean cloth. She lowered herself carefully onto the edge of the bed. Lila brought the baby over and placed her in Bonita’s arms. The weight was familiar and heavy at the same time.

Mira watched her face. At eight years old she already knew how to read the signs. “He called you,” she said. It was not a question.

Bonita looked at her oldest daughter and felt the familiar ache of knowing how much this child already understood.

“Yes,” she answered. “He did.”

She did not tell them the rest. Not yet. She held the baby and let the other girls come closer. Rosa leaned against her leg. Elena climbed onto the bed beside her. Lila stayed near, quiet and watchful.

Bonita stayed with them until the baby fell asleep again and the younger ones grew restless. She helped Mira settle them for the night. When the room was quiet she sat alone for a while with the newborn still in her arms, staring at the small crescent mark on the baby’s shoulder.

Three days.

In three days he would stand in front of the entire pack and decide their lives.

She pressed her lips to the baby’s forehead and stayed there until her back hurt too much to hold the position any longer. Then she laid the child in the small crib and stretched out on the narrow bed in the corner of the room. Sleep did not come. She kept hearing his voice listing her failures and stating the date of the ceremony as if it were already finished business.