The Alpha’s Reclaimed Luna

Aelira’s POV

I shift restlessly in the antiseptic glare of Aethervale Hospital’s waiting room, the white walls nearly humming with their own kind of expectation. My fingers dart across my phone, scrolling aimlessly—anything to distract from the raw nerves shuddering through me. The air reeks of disinfectant, sharp and cold in my lungs. I’m waiting for Dr. Myrren to appear, clutching hope and dread in equal measure.

Three missed calls from my mother blink up at me, insistent, impossible to ignore. I’ll return them. Later.

My thumb halts, suspended mid-scroll. Cyrinne Wynthor’s new post has surfaced at the top of my feed, the algorithm as cruel as fate. She’s the woman who spent her girlhood entwined with Alarion—my mate, my Alpha. The first love he never really talks about.

A knot twists in my gut as I read her caption:

“Officially dissolving the mate bond with Beta Draven. Time for new beginnings! #FreshStart #MovingOn”

Her photo radiates that haunted sort of beauty—her eyes glossy, lips set just so. Sympathy and adoration pour into the comments. Cyrinne always draws people in; the universe seems to rearrange itself around her.

“Mrs. Sunmere?” Dr. Seraphin Myrren appears in the doorway, her presence brisk but warm, white coat immaculate, smile wide enough to light the room. “I have your results.”

I shove my phone away, rising to follow her, heart battering my ribs with frantic hope.

Inside her office, Dr. Myrren settles behind her desk, her golden hair captured in a severe bun, blue eyes sparkling with obvious delight. “I have wonderful news, Aelira,” she announces, voice bright with genuine celebration. “You’re pregnant!”

My hand flies to my mouth, shock and hope colliding in my chest. “Really? After everything—after all this time?”

She nods, eyes crinkling. “Six weeks along. Everything looks absolutely perfect.” She slides a folder across the desk, her fingers lingering in encouragement. “Here’s your prenatal vitamin schedule and your first ultrasound appointment.”

Tears blur the world, relief and joy flooding through me, raw and overwhelming. An entire year of emptiness, of watching Alarion’s shoulders slump with every negative test, dissolves in that instant. At last—our miracle.

“Thank you, Doctor.” My voice shudders, thick with emotion I can’t hide.

Dr. Myrren squeezes my hand. “You’ve shown such patience, Aelira. I’m so happy for you and Alpha Riven.”

Alarion. I need to tell him—now, before the joy bursts out of me. I all but float out of the hospital, clutching the folder to my chest like a secret talisman. Our pack will finally have its heir. Deep inside, my wolf, Eiryn, stretches and purrs, her warmth blossoming within me for the first time in months.

“To the pack house, please,” I tell Rulian as I slip into the SUV’s back seat, the papers pressed tight to my heart.

“Yes, Luna.” He meets my gaze in the rearview mirror, voice respectful, posture impossibly straight.

As we pull away from the curb, my phone rings. Mother’s face glows on the screen, her amber eyes creased in the gentle smile I know so well.

“Hi, Mother,” I answer, unable to keep the thrill from my voice.

“My little wolf,” she murmurs—my childhood endearment, worn soft with time. Her voice sounds fragile today, thinner than usual, and worry needles beneath my happiness. “How are you, sweetheart?”

“I’m good. How are you feeling?” I press, unsettled by the fatigue in her tone.

“Oh, the same as always.” She brushes off her illness, as she always does. “I was thinking about you and Alarion. Have you two discussed the formal mating ceremony yet?”

I hesitate, biting my lip. The ceremony should have happened ages ago—soon after our bond became official. But Alarion’s grandfather fell ill, then pack affairs, business deals, never-ending negotiations kept pushing it aside.

“We haven’t set a date,” I admit, my voice small.

Her sigh drifts through the line, soft but aching. “I’d love to see you both stand before the pack, properly mated, before I…” She drifts off, words unfinished but heavy.

Pubfuture Ads “Don’t say that,” I protest, my voice tight. “You’re going to be fine.”

She’s gentle, but her resolve is iron. “We both know my time is running out, darling. All I want is to witness my daughter honored as Luna before I go.”

Grief claws at my throat. “We’re planning it, Mother. I promise.”

She sounds lighter, relieved. “Good. I love you, dear.”

“I love you too.”

The call ends, but guilt digs in deep. I haven’t lied, exactly, but Alarion hasn’t spoken of the ceremony in months. Now, with the baby, surely he’ll want to make it official.

My phone vibrates again—Alarion’s name flashing. My heart leaps.

“Alarion!” I answer, breathless. “I have incredible—”

“Aelira.” His voice is clipped, all Alpha authority. “I’ll be working late tonight. Don’t wait up.”

My brow furrows. “But I have something important—”

A woman’s laugh, soft and unmistakably feminine, filters through the line. My spine goes rigid.

“Sorry, can’t talk. Important meeting. See you tomorrow.” He disconnects, leaving me stranded in the silence.

Stunned, I stare at my phone. I reopen social media, hands trembling. Cyrinne’s posted again, barely two minutes ago:

“Visiting the pack house.”

The photo is of a man’s back, wide-shouldered, golden-brown hair catching the light. Alarion. There’s no mistaking him.

“Rulian,” I say, my voice colder, harder. “Take me to the pack house.”

He hesitates, worry flickering across his face in the mirror. “Luna, perhaps we should—”

“The pack house. Now.”

He nods, suppressed concern in every line of his body as he merges into traffic.

Twenty minutes later, we arrive at the Thunder Pack’s compound—a fortress of glass and stone, intimidating and grand. My chest tightens as I step out, gaze snagging on the massive LED screen above the entrance.

Cyrinne’s face beams down, radiant and flawless. The caption reads:

“Chief Healer of Thunder Pack’s New Healing Institution.”

When did that happen? Alarion never mentioned any new appointments.

I march through the lobby, ignoring the stares and whispered speculation. As Alpha’s mate, my presence is expected, but today my agitation is obvious, undeniable.

“Luna Sunmere,” the receptionist greets me, nerves evident in her voice. “Alpha Riven is in a meeting—”

“I know.” I don’t slow, striding to the elevator.

My pulse pounds as the elevator lifts me skyward. The folder in my hand feels suddenly heavy, the truth inside it burning. Will Alarion be happy? Will this change anything between us?

I push into his office without knocking.

Alarion stands by his desk, bent over a stack of documents. Cyrinne reclines on the leather couch, legs tucked beneath her, perfectly at ease. Both turn at my entrance.

“Aelira,” Alarion straightens, surprise flashing across his striking features. “I told you I’d be late.”

“You did.” I close the door, refusing to back down. “But I needed to see you.”

Cyrinne’s smile is syrupy sweet as she rises, her movements fluid, practiced. “Aelira! What a lovely surprise. Alarion and I were just discussing my new position.”

I don’t acknowledge her, eyes locked on Alarion. “I need to speak with you. Alone.”

He frowns, uncertain. “Cyrinne’s our Chief Healer now. If it’s about pack business—”

“It’s private,” I insist, steely.

Cyrinne slides her hand onto his arm, the gesture casual yet intimate, a claim staked in plain sight. “Don’t worry, I get it—mate things.” She winks. “But Aelira, there’s no need to be territorial. Alarion and I have been friends since forever.”

‘Far more than friends,’ I think, bitterness coiling in my belly, but I force my features blank.

For the first time, Alarion really looks at me. “What is it? You look… different.”

A flicker of hope trembles in me—maybe he senses it already, the new life flickering inside. I inhale, steadying, and reach for his hand.

“Alarion, I—”

A sudden crash splits the moment. Cyrinne’s crystal water glass hits the floor, shards scattering in every direction.

“Oh!” she gasps, immediately dropping to the ground to retrieve the pieces. “I’m such a klutz!”

“Don’t touch that!” Alarion drops my hand, rushing to her side. “You’ll hurt yourself.”

But it’s too late. Cyrinne inhales sharply as blood wells bright on her finger. The scent lances the air—sharp, metallic, impossible to ignore.

Alpha instincts blaze in Alarion. He kneels beside her, voice low and gentle. “What were you thinking?” He cradles her hand, examining the wound with a tenderness that slices through me.

I stand paralyzed, watching as my mate devotes himself to another woman, all soft concern and focused care. It’s like I’ve become a ghost in my own life, forced to witness intimacy meant for me.

Cyrinne glances up at me, her eyes glittering. “Sorry, Aelira. Don’t be jealous—Alarion’s always been this way. It’s just how he is.”

I muster a brittle smile, feeling something inside me splinter.

“I should get this cleaned up,” she says, still holding Alarion’s hand, making no effort to pull away. She stands, and he rises, fingers lingering on her skin. “You two go on with your…display. I’ll see myself out.”

The way she says “display” is barbed, a reminder that nothing real has passed between us.

The door closes, and I’m left with Alarion and the lingering traces of Cyrinne’s perfume, her blood—a mingling of scents that, suddenly, my wolf registers with brutal clarity.

Nausea surges, sharp and immediate. I slap a hand over my mouth, bolting for the bathroom and barely making it to the toilet before everything in me comes up, violent and wrenching.

Alarion appears in the doorway, face twisted in confusion as he watches me retch.

When I finally straighten, breathless and trembling, the realization dawns in his eyes, shifting from confusion to stunned recognition.

“Aelira, you…” Alarion’s voice falters, eyes searching mine. “Are you… pregnant?”