The betrayed king

Elara Vance POV:

A gasp tore from my throat, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. The dream clung to me—my wolf, Lyra, howling alone in a snow-swept wasteland, the sound a visceral echo of my own desolation.

My hand instinctively shot out, seeking the warmth of my mate. It met only cold, crisp sheets. Empty. Again. The chill of the fine linen was a stark, physical reminder of his absence.

I tried to reach for him through our Mate Bond, the sacred link that the Moon Goddess bestows upon Fated Mates. Where there should have been a comforting warmth, a sense of his presence, there was only a chilling void, a wall of ice. The sudden emptiness sent a jolt through me, and the baby in my womb gave a restless flutter, a tiny life reacting to the void where its father should be.

A bitter pang of memory surfaced. My father, the previous Alpha, would have sooner set the Packhouse ablaze than let my mother sleep a single night alone. The comparison was a shard of ice in my gut.

My inner wolf, Lyra, paced restlessly in my mind. *He's wrong. Our mate is wrong.* The thought was a low, dangerous growl, vibrating through my very bones.

I pushed myself up, swinging my legs over the side of the massive bed. I padded to the wardrobe and pulled on a silk robe, my hand resting protectively over the slight swell of my stomach. "It's okay, little one," I whispered, the words feeling hollow even to my own ears. "Daddy's just… busy with pack business." The lie tasted like ash on my tongue.

That primal certainty, that growl from my wolf, propelled me from the room. I had to find him. I had to know.

The Packhouse was silent, a grand tomb of polished wood and deep carpets that swallowed the sound of my bare feet. The air was still, heavy with the scent of old power and secrets. I didn't head for the meeting rooms or the training grounds. My instincts, sharpened by pregnancy and a growing dread, pulled me in one direction—towards Ryker’s study.

The one room he had recently, and casually, forbidden me from entering.

The heavy oak door was closed, but a sliver of light bled from beneath it. He was in there. I took a deep, steadying breath, raising my hand to knock, but it froze midway.

A scent. It was faint, almost completely smothered by Ryker's powerful Alpha aura of forest and storm, but my werewolf senses couldn't be fooled. It wasn't the clean scent of a maid or the leathery smell of a warrior.

It was the scent of another she-wolf.

Sweet and cloying, like wild ginger flowers after a rain. It was a provocative, territorial scent that had no place in my home, on my floor, near my mate. My blood ran cold. A wave of nausea, more potent than any morning sickness, roiled in my stomach.

My hand, now trembling, didn't knock. It pushed.