Rejected, Claimed by the Alpha King

The pregnancy test sits on Dr. Morrison's desk, two pink lines screaming the truth I've been hoping for.

"Congratulations, Mrs. Blackwood." Dr. Morrison's smile is warm, professional. "You're about eight weeks along. All the initial markers look good."

My hands shake as I reach for the report. A baby. Another baby. After six years of marriage, six years of hoping, praying that maybe another child would fix whatever's broken between Damien and me...

'This is it. This is the sign. He'll love me again when he knows.'

"Thank you," I whisper, clutching the paper like it's made of gold. "Thank you so much."

The walk from the pack hospital to the parking lot feels surreal. Sunlight filters through the trees, and for the first time in months, I let myself smile. Really smile. Today is our sixth wedding anniversary. Six years since I became Luna of the Shadowcrest Pack, six years since Damien reluctantly slipped that ring on my finger because his grandfather, the former Alpha King, commanded it.

But this...this baby...this will change everything.

I pull out my phone, already imagining Damien's face when I tell him. Maybe we'll go to that restaurant he likes, the one with the private booths where we can...

The notification banner drops down from the top of my screen.

Isolde Vance updated her status.

My finger freezes over the screen. I shouldn't look. I know I shouldn't look. But my thumb moves anyway, tapping the notification like I'm pressing a knife into my own chest.

The photo loads.

Isolde stands in front of what's clearly an airport terminal, her perfect blonde hair catching the light, her smile radiant. But it's not the smile that makes my blood turn to ice. It's the sapphire necklace resting against her collarbone...the one with the teardrop blue diamond that catches the light like captured starlight.

My anniversary gift.

The one Damien said he ordered specially for me.

The one that was supposed to be waiting at home.

My vision blurs. I blink, and the caption comes into focus:

"Home sweet home! Nothing like a warm welcome from an old friend. Some people never forget how to make you feel special. 💙 #BlessedBeyondMeasure #WorthTheWait"

In the background of the photo, barely visible but unmistakable, is Damien's profile. His hand rests on her luggage, his posture protective, attentive.

The pregnancy report crumples in my fist.

I don't remember getting in the car. Don't remember driving home. But somehow, I'm pulling into the circular driveway of the packhouse, and my hands won't stop shaking.

'She's back. Isolde's back.'

The memories crash over me like a riptide.

We're both daughters of Silvermoon Pack's Beta, both raised in privilege and pack politics. But that's where the similarities end. Isolde inherited our father's wolf...strong, graceful, powerful. A natural warrior with the kind of beauty that makes wolves howl and humans stare.

And me? I got nothing. No wolf. No shifting ability. Just a broken link where the bond to my inner beast should be. The pack doctors tried everything when I was younger, but there's no cure for being defective.

"The wolfless daughter," they called me. Still do, when they think I can't hear.

Isolde was Damien's first love. His true love, if the whispered stories are accurate. They were inseparable until Damien's grandfather, Alpha King Alaric, decided that the future Alpha King couldn't mate with just anyone. He needed a politically advantageous match, and Isolde's family, while respected, wasn't powerful enough.

So they broke up. She left the territory. And I...pathetic, desperate me...spent years nursing a hopeless crush on my sister's ex-boyfriend.

Until that night six years ago. The night I got drunk at a pack celebration. The night I ended up in Damien's bed, even though I still don't remember how. The night that resulted in Leo, my beautiful son, and a shotgun wedding orchestrated by a dying Alpha King who demanded his great-grandson be legitimate.

'I was never his choice. Just his obligation.'

The blue diamond necklace glints in my memory, mocking me.

Damien's BMW X8 pulls up to the packhouse just as I'm standing there, frozen on the front steps like an idiot.

He gets out first, all Alpha grace and expensive suit, then circles around to open the passenger door. Isolde emerges like she's stepping onto a red carpet, her designer heels clicking against the pavement, her laughter bright and musical.

She sees me, and her smile sharpens.

"Elara!" She glides forward, arms outstretched like we're long-lost friends instead of sisters who haven't spoken in six years. "Oh my God, look at you! You haven't changed a bit."

The necklace...my necklace...swings between us as she moves. She knows I see it. Her fingers drift up to touch the blue diamond, a casual gesture that feels anything but casual.

"Damien was just telling me how busy you've been with pack duties. He said you probably wouldn't even notice I was coming home." Her eyes meet mine, and there's a challenge there, sharp as claws. "But I'm sure you don't mind me borrowing this beautiful piece, right? He said it was just sitting in a drawer, and it matches my dress so perfectly."

The pregnancy report is still clenched in my hand, the paper damp with sweat.

Damien barely glances at me. "Isolde's going to be staying in the east wing for a while. Her apartment in the city isn't ready yet."

"The east wing," I repeat numbly. The guest suites. Not the servants' quarters. Not the overflow rooms. The guest suites, with their luxury bathrooms and mountain views and proximity to the master bedroom.

"Is that a problem?" Damien's voice carries that edge I've learned to recognize...the one that says I'm being difficult, unreasonable, too much.

'Say something. Tell him about the baby. Tell him you're pregnant and today is your anniversary and that necklace was supposed to be YOURS...'

But Isolde sways suddenly, one hand pressed to her forehead. "Oh...I'm sorry, I think the flight is catching up with me. Damien, could you..."

He catches her before I even register she's falling, his arms wrapping around her waist with a gentleness I haven't felt in years.

"I've got you," he murmurs, and something in his voice...something tender and protective and real...makes my chest crack open.

The pregnancy report slips from my fingers, fluttering to the ground between us.

Damien glances down. His eyes catch on the letterhead...Shadowcrest Pack Hospital, Obstetrics Department...and for a split second, something flickers across his face.

Then Isolde makes a soft, pained sound, and his attention snaps back to her.

"Let me get you inside," he says, already moving toward the door with Isolde cradled against his chest. "You need to rest."

He steps over the fallen paper without picking it up.

I stand there, watching my husband carry my sister into our home, the blue diamond necklace catching the dying light of the afternoon sun.

Behind me, the wind picks up, scattering the pregnancy report across the driveway like worthless trash.