Chapter 2

When the pain and struggle that used to etch my face disappeared and left only a dead, indifferent silence, Jeff’s brow immediately tightened.

As an Alpha he sensed my abnormality keenly — but it didn’t stir concern. It only inflamed his need to control.

“Emily is still a newly differentiated pup. Don’t make a fuss with her,” he said, voice flat with command. “When her cycle’s over I’ll send her home.”

I lowered my head obediently. “Okay.”

Turning to make breakfast, my tail dragged listlessly on the floor — the posture of an Omega yielding. Jeff’s tone softened a fraction when he saw it.

“Weren’t you always craving that elk porridge I used to hunt? I’ll make it today.”

He moved around the kitchen like a predator at ease, tearing raw meat with practiced fangs, elegant as a hunt. But it all felt hollow.

We had been mates for years; he had never hunted or cooked for me. Now that Emily had come back into his life, she enjoyed his care and delicacies every day.

I was about to speak when Emily came barreling out of the bedroom barefoot, deliberately releasing a thick cloud of jasmine pheromones and draping herself over Jeff’s arm. “Jeff, I want those wild-meat dumplings from the Westwood place!”

That restaurant was famous for rare game, an hour’s drive out at the pack’s border. I’d once said I wanted to try it and he’d snapped, “No — that territory is too dangerous.”

Now he only chuckled and, indulgent, tapped her neck with his fangs like spoiling a favorite: “Alright, I’ll pamper my little glutton.”

He took her out without a second thought, forgetting me again.

I quietly finished the meal and calmly canceled the mate-ceremony reservation for the full moon.

No sooner had I hung up than a tearing pain ripped through my lower belly. The aftereffects of the miscarriage folded me to the floor. Instinctively, through the wolf telepathy unique to our kind, I reached for Jeff.

His end answered with an impatient growl: “Tess, have you had enough of this? Can’t you see Emily’s still hungry? Talk about this when we get back!”

“Jeff, I—”

The connection was brusquely severed.

When I came to again I was in the pack’s clinic. The doctor shook his head. “The pup didn’t make it. Your Omega reproductive system is badly damaged — you’ll need three months of rest.”

That night rain ticked against the window.

My phone lit up in the dim room; Jeff’s name pulsed. I answered and his habitual impatience greeted me. “Why aren’t you home yet?”

My fingers picked at the hospital’s white sheets. My voice sounded frighteningly calm. “Working late.”

There was stunned silence on his side. Unexpectedly, he didn’t pry for details. Instead he said flatly, “Emily needs to stay at our house for a few days. Don’t bother her if you get back late.”

The line went dead; the busy tone rang painfully loud in the quiet room.

He had never called to check when I worked late. This call existed only to remind me not to disturb Emily.

That night there was no other message from him. Eyes closed, I saw him wrapping another woman in pheromones the way he used to wrap me.

The next morning I checked out alone, clutching a bag of medicine at the clinic door.

In the pale dawn a pair of entwined figures stood out — Jeff carefully supporting Emily, who leaned on him like a ragdoll, her face painted with just the right amount of weakness.

When Jeff looked up and saw me his expression hardened. He strode over, voice clearly annoyed. “Tess? You here for treatment too?”

I met his gaze quietly and deliberately: “Yes. My stomach hurts.”

His face went suddenly stiff — recalling, no doubt, how two days earlier he’d shoved me from the car because of my “period.”

Emily melted into him with syrupy sweetness. “Tess came by the clinic herself? Then it can’t be that bad.”

She turned on the tears and grabbed his sleeve. “Jeff, I’m useless, aren’t I? I can’t even walk when I’m on my period… you have to carry me.”

His look softened in an instant; he wrapped an arm around her waist without thinking. His voice was tender enough to drip: “Tell me when it hurts. I’ll stay with you, okay?”

As they turned to go, he glanced back as if remembering something. “Come along — I’ll drop you off.” The tone was casual, as if doing a favor for a stray cat.