My Mate Watched His Mistress Murder Our Unborn Child

A week passed in a haze of grief. I moved through the pack house like a ghost, hollow-eyed and empty. The loss of my pup had carved a void inside me that could never be filled. Luna, my wolf, had grown so faint I could barely feel her presence anymore.

I stood at the window of my small room, watching rain streak down the glass. Each drop seemed to mirror the tears I could no longer shed. My body had gone numb, my mind disconnected from the world around me.

*We need to leave,* Luna whispered, her voice barely audible. *Before they destroy us completely.*

"We will," I promised aloud, my fingers tracing patterns on the cold window pane. "Today."

I pulled my suitcase from beneath the bed and began packing the few belongings I still had. My hands trembled as I folded the clothes Sara hadn't yet "requisitioned" for herself. The door burst open without warning.

Charles stood there, his imposing frame filling the doorway. "What are you doing?"

I didn't look up from my task. "What does it look like? I'm leaving."

"You're not going anywhere." His voice was cold, controlled. "You're my mate."

The word 'mate' from his lips made me flinch. How could he call himself that after everything?

"Reject me," I said, finally meeting his gaze. "I want you to reject our bond."

Something flickered across his face—surprise, perhaps even panic. "You don't know what you're saying. You're still grieving."

"I know exactly what I'm saying." I straightened my spine, finding strength in my desperation. "Reject me, Charles, or I swear I'll tell my father everything."

His face paled. We both knew what would happen if Alpha Andrew discovered how his daughter had been treated. The Moonriver Pack would descend upon Silverclaw like a vengeful storm.

"You're mentally unstable," Charles said, his voice suddenly smooth, reasonable. "The grief has affected your judgment. I won't enable this behavior."

"Then let me go," I pleaded. "Just let me go home."

"No." His eyes hardened. "You're staying here where you belong."

Before I could respond, he turned and called for the guards. Two burly Deltas appeared instantly, as if they'd been waiting just outside.

"Take her to the Omega quarters," Charles ordered. "She needs rest and isolation for her own safety."

"Charles, no!" I backed away as the guards approached. "You can't do this!"

But he could. And he did.

The guards dragged me down winding stone stairs to the basement level of the pack house. The air grew damp and cold as we descended, the walls closing in around us. Finally, we reached a heavy metal door with a small window barred with silver.

"Inside," one guard grunted, shoving me forward.

I stumbled into the cell, my eyes adjusting slowly to the dim light. The walls were lined with silver—a precaution for containing rogue wolves or those who had committed crimes against the pack. Never had I imagined I would find myself imprisoned here.

Charles appeared in the doorway, his face impassive. From his pocket, he withdrew a thin silver collar.

"This is for your protection," he said, stepping into the cell. Before I could react, he clasped it around my neck. The silver burned against my skin, sending waves of nausea through me.

The collar tightened slightly, then settled into place. Immediately, I felt the effect—a heavy fog descending over my mind, cutting off the mental links that connected me to other wolves.

"You'll stay here until you're... stable again," Charles said, his voice distant through the fog. "No one can hear you now. No one can help you."

The door slammed shut behind him, the sound echoing through my prison.

Days blurred into weeks. The cell remained damp and cold, the only light filtering through the tiny window set high in the wall. My meals consisted of scraps brought by a silent guard who wouldn't meet my eyes.

My body weakened rapidly. The Wolfsbane Joint Syndrome, combined with the silver collar and poor nutrition, left me barely able to stand. Luna had gone completely silent within me—not dead, but dormant, conserving what little strength remained.

"Brooke, darling," a voice cooed from outside my cell. "How are you enjoying your accommodations?"

Sara stood at the door, her face pressed against the bars, eyes gleaming with triumph.

"Come to gloat?" I managed, my voice raspy from disuse.

"I came to check on our future," she replied, gesturing to herself. "Charles has been quite attentive since your... confinement. The pack is already accepting me as their true Luna."

I leaned against the wall for support. "He'll never mark you."

"He doesn't need to." Sara smiled cruelly. "Once you're gone, I'll be all he has left. A tragic illness, so sad—the Luna couldn't recover from losing her pup."

The realization hit me like a physical blow. They weren't just imprisoning me—they were letting me die slowly, quietly, where no one would question it.

"You won't get away with this," I whispered.

Sara's laughter echoed down the corridor as she walked away. "I already have, little Alpha's daughter. I already have."