We’re Divorcing, Alpha (On Live TV)

I always imagined this specific moment would be beautiful.

I thought it would happen in a sunlit room, with birds outside the window, soft music drifting in from somewhere… oh, and maybe my husband by my side.

But I've always been a dreamer and a romantic, to my own detriment.

Apparently, no amount of lived experience has managed to cure me of it. And reality, as always, has other plans.

So instead of that cinematic moment, I'm sitting in a cold doctor's office, all alone, staring at an older male doctor with absolutely no emotion across his face.

"Luna," he says carefully, folding his hands together and taking a deep breath, "The test came back positive. You are pregnant."

"Oh," I say.

Not the dramatic gasp I always imagined from myself. No overwhelmed tears. No hands flying to my mouth. Just one flat, deflated syllable.

I think I always assumed the news itself would do the heavy lifting. That the word pregnant would make me light up or something. Instead, I just feel... oh.

"Are you absolutely sure, Doc?"

"Yes, Luna."

"Is there a possibility you're even a little bit mistaken?"

"No," he responds, maybe a little annoyed—fair enough, I suppose, "I can arrange an appointment with our OB-GYN, she can give you a sonogram, if that would make it feel more real. But I can assure you, I am not mistaken."

I nod again, my fingers drifting absentmindedly to my abdomen. Pressing gently, expecting to feel something significant there, something different. There's nothing, of course. Just me, same as always.

Pregnant, I think again, turning the word over.

"But there's something else I need to discuss with you first," the doctor continues.

Something in his tone makes me sit up straighter. "What is it?"

"This pregnancy…" He reaches for the bloodwork results, fixes his glasses, and scans something with an expression I can't quite read, "There is something unusual about it."

"Unusual how?"

"Well, your hormone levels resemble those of an unmarked Omega, yet you are carrying the child of an Alpha. That is very unusual. Normally, an Alpha knows better than to leave an Omega unmarked… especially if there is a chance of pregnancy." He turns the sheet of paper toward me, pointing to a cluster of numbers and metrics that mean absolutely nothing to me, "Your body is not adapting to the pregnancy as it should, which explains the fainting episode of this morning. Without a mating mark as a link to the father, there is no proper wolf energy for the child to absorb. You need a completed mate mark in order to give your child access to wolf energy, since you don’t have it."

I stare at him.

I've never heard anything like that in my life, and I've heard quite a lot of things. I've sat through more Pack meetings than I can count, smiled through more political dinners than I care to remember. And yet somehow, this particular piece of information never made it onto my radar.

"And... what if that doesn't happen?" I ask, looking down at my fingers, "What happens if I can't get a mark?"

The doctor meets my gaze, his expression turning serious. It makes my stomach drop before he even opens his mouth.

"Then a formal rejection must occur instead. You see… an Alpha-Omega union is very black or white. Your child only has two options. If you give them access to the father's energy through a mate mark, they can absorb his Alpha energy. But if you break the bond to the father completely, your child will stop trying to look for something that isn't there and they will be an Omega, just like you."

Huh.

"If you don't go through either of those processes..." He pauses, looking for the right words, like he's trying to find a gentler way to say something that has no gentle version, "Both you and the child could be in danger."

"Of death?" I ask, and my voice comes out smaller than I intend it to.

The doctor nods.

"For better understanding purposes, we could compare this child to a parasite. It will continue draining your energy and resources while searching for something that isn't there. Eventually, your body will fail to sustain it… and the consequences will be fatal. For both of you."

Well, fuck.

I stare at him. The words settle over me one by one, slow and heavy.

Mate mark. Rejection. Parasite. Fatal.

It's impressive, really, how quickly an inconvenient morning can transform into something life-changing.

"Oh," I say again, though this time the word comes out softer. Quieter.

Because here is the problem.

Kael Draven — Alpha of the Greyhound Havoc Pack, candidate for the Worldwide Council, and reigning champion of Emotional Unavailability — and I have not been on speaking terms for over a month.

There have been some conversations, of course. Functional exchanges about schedules and public appearances, but those don't really count. Those are just two people managing a shared calendar.

Kael has been entirely consumed by his ambitions in the past few months, although things aren't that much different from before. His ambitions have simply gotten louder. More all-consuming.

But our marriage has always been a negotiated arrangement rather than something warm and alive.

Even before Kael was so thoroughly swallowed by his ambitions, he was never a real fated mate. Not in any way that counted.

He never marked me. Never truly claimed me. Never got too close, never asked questions or even tried to make it seem like he’s in any way in love with me. He's a self-centered, detached and selfish man… but, I'll give him this, not a terrible husband. He keeps his side of the arrangement. He always has.

And I've always known the truth, anyway. Love was never part of our deal.

Marrying into the Greyhound Pack brought me money, protection, stability, status and comfort. That was everything I wanted five years ago.

The arrangement works just fine.

Or it did, anyway.

But now there's a child in the mix.

A very inconvenient child, who is apparently stealing resources from me like a parasite.

So, whether I like it or not, it's time to make some changes.

I let out a slow breath and stand up, my movements composed. I would never step out of line in public. Not even after receiving news that have just rearranged my entire life.

"Thank you," I say to the doctor, offering him a polite smile that I've had years to perfect, "For seeing me on such short notice. I'll make an appointment with the OB-GYN myself."

He nods, offering me the bloodwork results, watching me with careful concern as I walk away before he can say anything else.

There is only one person I need to speak to now.

And unfortunately, he is not going to make this any easier.