There was a time when Draven had been just as anxious for me. Just as tender.
I’d been pregnant once.
But I never got the chance to tell him.
Because the day I returned from a healing mission, I found him and Freya entwined on the floor of our room, their snarls and moans echoing off the walls.
When she spotted me, Freya faked a whimper and curled against him. “Please, don’t misunderstand, Luna Rayven,” she sniffed. “Alpha Draven was just… relieving his stress, I was just helping him.”
I was so stunned, I forgot how to breathe. I opened my mouth to speak—to tell him he was going to be a father.
That I didn’t need anyone else to carry our bloodline.
But a sharp, brutal pain lanced through my womb.
By the time I collapsed, I was already bleeding out.
Draven Blackthorn never knew.
How would he know? When he was too busy growling at me, cradling Freya like a fragile pup.
“Ella, what the fuck is wrong with you?! You scared her! You can’t even keep a pup alive. You're useless, why don't you just fucking die already?!”
I felt his words had slashed deeper inside me than any claw.
Now, standing in that corridor, the smell of antiseptic and iron in the air, I nearly retched.
“Why are you here?”
That familiar growl snapped me back to reality.
Draven was there again—unannounced. Freya clung to his arm, her belly prominent.
I took a step back. “I’m just signing my discharge papers.”
“You look pale, Ella,” Freya said sweetly, her fingers toying with his ceremonial Alpha tie. “Draven, can’t we bring her home? She donated blood to me. She was so selfless.”
Alpha Draven pinched her cheek. “You’re always so compassionate.”
Then he turned to me, his voice cool. “Get in the car. Don’t make my Luna wait.”
I wanted to refuse.
But the marriage documents I needed were still in the packhouse's study, so I followed in silence.
The home that was once mine now stank of foreign magic and Freya’s cloying perfume—sickly sweet, like decayed lavender and lust spells.
In the study, I began to search the drawers. But beneath one set of scrolls, something caught my eye.
A torn lace strap of underwear. Black. Slick with old scent.
Freya appeared behind me, her cheeks flushed.
“Oh! How is that still here?” she gasped. “So embarrassing…”
Draven strolled in, saw the strap, and chuckled. “Must’ve slipped her mind.”
I stared at the desk.