Draven stood there, silhouetted in the doorway, his golden wolf eyes glowing faintly beneath the flickering sconces. His gaze locked onto mine, as if stunned by something he hadn’t seen in years—my smile.
A real one.
No bitterness. No anguish. Just silence, serenity.
His brow twitched, barely noticeable—but I caught it.
“Freya’s having a rough time with the bond and pregnancy. Morning sickness,” he said, his voice low, clipped. His hand curled into a loose fist by his side. “I have to get back to her.”
He didn’t ask who had called me.
Because if he did, that would mean he still gave a damn.
And admitting that would be a crack in his carefully maintained Alpha pride.
He snatched his suit from the chair and tossed it over his shoulder. “Something urgent at the southern border. I’ll return tomorrow.”
The door shut before I could reply.
I turned to the IV bag pumping wolfsbane antidote into my veins and started counting the drops.
One drop.
Two drops.
Just like I used to count the lies he told me during our seven-year mating.
In Draven’s world, “tomorrow” was a day that never arrived.
--
Three days had passed. He never came.
Instead, I was bombarded with glowing video-scrolls from packmates—footage of Draven at the Alpha Summit, with his hand curved protectively over Freya’s swollen belly. Feeding her honeyed elk meat at the banquet. Kissing her bump under the stars at Blackridge Lake, the same place where he once promised me eternity.
On the day of my discharge, a new Blackthorn Pack broadcast lit up my phone.
Draven had posted a series of nine bonded-mate photos.
He was kneeling in the middle of a wild moonbloom field, his cheek pressed to Freya’s stomach. The caption read:
“Awaiting our little moonflower.”
The comment feed gushed with praise. Freya is glowing! What a perfect Luna!
He hadn’t blocked me.
I tapped the heart emoji anyway.
Seconds later, my device vibrated. Alpha Draven’s name lit up.
I didn’t answer.
I slipped the phone into my hoodie jacket and handed my release paper.
As I walked past the maternity wing of the hospital's hall, I heard a voice that stopped me cold.
“Luna Freya Hart, your mate is so devoted,” a nurse giggled. “He hasn’t missed a single soul check, the alpha always makes sure he's with you every prenatal check-up! Even brought you a heatstone for the chill of the scan.”
I froze. My hand drifted protectively over my flat stomach.