The Crescent Heir

The silver chains, not designed for comfort, bit deep into Anna Wilson's wrists, leaving angry red welts against her pale skin. The chill radiating from the stone floor of the dungeon seeped into her bones, a constant, physical echo of the spiritual ice that had encased her heart for weeks. Above her, Deimon Ashworth, Alpha of the Ashworth clan and her former mate, stood like a colossus, his immaculately tailored suit an unsettling contrast to the primal fury twisting his handsome features. His eyes, once filled with love and compassion, now radiated hate and despise. Anna had never seen her beloved in such a state, burning with hatred and malice. The man she'd trusted with her soul had become her executioner.

"You carry a stranger's pup,"

Deimon snarled, his voice a low, guttural rasp that seemed to vibrate through the very foundations of the sprawling, opulent Silverwood mansion. Each word dripped with venom, laced with betrayal that cut deeper than any blade.

The Ashworth Empire, a billionaire's sprawling estate on the outskirts of a bustling metropolis, which Anna once called home, was nothing more than a prison now. To Anna, it was a gilded cage turned tomb, where love had rotted into something unrecognizable.

"A bastard! A blight on my bloodline, an insult to our clan!"

Deimon roared, his crimson eyes catching Anna's teary face. The words were weapons, each syllable designed to destroy.

"You mock me in the face of my ancestors by harboring an abomination on these grounds!" His voice echoed off the stone walls, a damning verdict that sealed her fate.

The accusation was a branding iron, searing itself onto her consciousness with each repetition. The pack healer, Edith, an old wolf whose eyes held a flicker of pity she quickly suppressed, had confirmed it: the scent of the life stirring within Anna did not match Deimon's. It was an anomaly, a biological impossibility in a society where mate bonds were sacred, their scents an undeniable testament.

An unwanted pregnancy from an unknown male—a transgression punishable by the harshest of traditions, for it threatened the carefully guarded purity of their hidden lineage. But Anna knew the truth clawing at her chest: she was innocent. Somehow, impossibly, she was innocent.

Deimon's shadow, immense and suffocating, engulfed her small form. He seized her chin, his grip bruising, forcing her to meet the icy fury in his eyes. His touch, once professing love, was now pure possession, a stark violation that made her stomach turn.

"Who was it, Anna? Who dared to taint what was mine?"

The possessiveness in his tone made her skin crawl. She wasn't a person to him anymore. She was property. Damaged goods.

Her silence was a fragile shield, woven from terror and the fragmented, hazy memory of a night that had become a blur of primal instinct and bewildering sensations. She truly didn't know. The gaps in her memory haunted her, taunted her with their emptiness. To admit such ignorance to Deimon, the short-tempered Alpha who ruthlessly despised action without reason, was to invite more horrific torment. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic rhythm against the quiet beat of life within her. Unwanted by this brutal man, but already fiercely loved by her. That child was her only remaining truth in a world built on lies.

The torment had escalated relentlessly since the confirmation. Deimon, who wielded his immense wealth and influence like weapons, ensured her suffering was both physical and psychological. The entire Ashworth clan seemed to have turned on her with sickening speed. Omegas, normally demure, now openly sneered, their eyes reflecting their Alpha's chilling contempt. Former friends whispered behind raised hands, their loyalty as shallow as their Alpha's love had proven to be. No one would believe in a miracle child. Every shred of her dignity was stripped away, each day a slow, methodical assault designed to break her, to force a confession she could not give because it didn't exist.

"I swear by my father's grave, Deimon!"

Anna finally cried out, her frustration taking the better of her. "I had no outside courtship. I swore to only be mated by you, and I've kept that promise. I've never met any other male ever since we bonded—you can confirm this by the scents!" Desperation clawed at her throat, making her voice raw and broken.

Deimon's laugh was bitter, hollow.

"I gave you a life, Anna. I gave you a home, a family to call your own. I bathed you with my love, spoiled you rotten like the queen I thought you were." He paused, and his next words were quieter, deadlier. "And you pay me back with betrayal and defiance."

He backed away from her, moving toward a table standing in front of the cell, lit by a flickering bulb that cast dancing shadows across the stone. Anna watched him, her blood running cold. She could tell he was sorting out torture devices, his fingers trailing over instruments designed for maximum pain. The man she'd loved was selecting tools to break her.

"I'll ask one last time, Anna."

His voice was deceptively calm now, which terrified her more than his rage.

"Who was he?"

"I swear to you, my love, I never had any—"

"Who was he! You lying bitch!" Deimon lashed out, turning with blinding, almost inhuman speed. Rage , dark and ancient, was stitched to the very fabric of his soul. He clutched a torture device in his left , an archaic Ironspider, it's multi-pronged tips glowing wicked in the dim light . He brought it down in a swift practical arc at Anna without hesitation.

Anna gasped, the shock stealing her breath before the pain registered. She couldn't believe it. Was this the monster she once called a soulmate? Deimon had dared use an Ironspider weapon on her, someone he'd professed love to, someone who'd worn his mark with pride. Hot tears fell from Anna's eyes—it was the height of betrayal. She'd known Deimon had a dark side to himself, but to lay a sick hand on her? Blood dripped down her chest, drenching her already tattered gown in crimson. The metallic scent filled the small cell, mixing with the stench of her fear.

Deimon asked yet again, his voice rising with each word, but she kept mute. Her spirit was dead, crushed under the weight of his accusations and the agony radiating from her wounds. What was the point of defending herself to someone who'd already condemned her?

"You whore of a Luna."

Deimon's words were ice and fire combined. "Who knew those innocent looks were a deception? Keep lying. I'll just leave you here. Be thankful it was an Ironspider—the next would be the Judas Crucible." He hissed the threat and spat on her, letting the weapon drop to the floor with a clatter that echoed her shattered heart.

Anna wept silently as Deimon moved to the exit, his muscular figure a sight that once made her feel safe, now only inspiring terror. Each step he took away from her felt like another nail in her coffin.

He paused at the door, his hand on the iron bars.

"You shall present your Blood Ring to the square by the next full moon. Two days from now, when all the elders and pack members will be present, and I shall denounce you as my mate." His voice cracked slightly, revealing a sliver of the man beneath the Alpha's rage. "Anna, you really are my greatest heartbreak."

The words hung in the air like a death sentence.

Deimon slammed the cell door with a powerful bang, making the hinges cry out in protest. The sound reverberated through the dungeon, through her chest, settling somewhere deep in her bones where it would echo forever.

Her life flashed before her eyes. A rejected Luna, refused by her Alpha, was the greatest shame . The world would laugh at her, shun her, cast her out like worthless trash.

She tried to relax her hands, seeking any small relief, but the silver chains, which were specifically made to hurt them, fought back viciously, making her bruises throb with renewed pain. The silver burned against her wolf, weakening her from the inside out.

"This child is yours, Deimon!"

Anna screamed amidst hot tears and pain, her voice breaking on his name."This child is not a bastard! I am not a liar! I am not—"

But her words died in the darkness. Alone in that cold cell, bleeding and broken, Anna felt the child flutter within her—a tiny movement, a reminder that she wasn't truly alone. Two days until the full moon. Two days until her public execution. And somewhere, buried beneath layers of pain and confusion, a question burned: if she hadn't betrayed Deimon, then who had betrayed her? And why couldn't she remember that night?