Forbidden Temptation

Chapter One

The smoke curled thin and silver-gray toward the healer’s hut ceiling, but the scent of the herbs in the air—once something I loved—now made my stomach turn immediately. My skin under the sleeve of my cloak was cold, yet I was sweating as if a fever burned. The copper cauldron bubbled softly and evenly over the embers, but the silence was filling with a growing tension. The bench creaked as I shifted, trying to find a more comfortable position.

“Breathe deeper, Seraphine,” the healer said, placing a hand on my wrist. Her skin was dry. “It won’t hurt.”

I nodded. My throat tightened. Alongside the smoke and herb scents a faint but unmistakable smell attached itself: the pack’s. Glass vials lined the hut’s shelves, filled with dark, opalescent liquids.

My wolf stirred inside me—she wasn’t sleeping, only waking somewhere deep, like a snow-covered forest that sniffed out danger.

“Listen,” she whispered, that rough, instinctive voice that is not mine and yet belongs to me. “Something has changed.”

“I know,” I answered in thought, and my hand slid to my belly. The healer’s eyes followed the movement but she said nothing. Her face was calm; her gaze deep and patient.

“Have you been dizzy these past weeks?” she asked quietly. “Morning sickness? Smells that would never have turned your stomach before?”

“Yes,” I groaned. “The smoke… roasted meat… even fresh bread is sometimes too sweet.”

“I see.” She nodded. “And your wolf?”

“Watchful. As if she wants to protect for some reason,” I admitted.

The healer stepped closer; her ears twitched almost imperceptibly. Her palm hovered gently above my belly; she didn’t touch, yet I felt every nerve in me tremble.

“Quiet,” she signaled. “Just listen.”

I closed my eyes. The fire’s crackle drew close and then receded; the smoke wrapped around me. My wolf shifted behind my sternum—she placed her paw over my heart, a silent sign to pay attention.

The healer touched my temple with two fingertips; her other hand rested on my wrist. Something extremely subtle, almost imperceptible yet undeniable, accompanied the rhythm of my blood—an extra beat. Like two streams meeting in the wood.

I opened my eyes. The healer’s face smoothed.

“There is life in you,” she said simply. “Another, besides your own. You are with child.”

The word “child” felt too large for the narrow hut. The air stopped for a heartbeat. My wolf inside trembled. One thought pulsed through her: “Protection.”

“Are you sure?” I asked, though beneath my skin I already felt the answer.

“Certain,” she nodded. “Your body’s signs are clear, and so is your wolf’s. I heard her reaction.”

My hand clenched into a fist under my cloak, then slowly relaxed.

“Breathe deeply,” the healer said, taking a thin vial from the shelf. “One sip of this in the morning, one at night. Avoid unnecessary strain. Rest as much as you can.”

At the words “unnecessary strain” my shoulders tightened automatically. Robert—my alpha—had changed. Not fiercer, not wilder; on the contrary, his silence had grown denser. A silence in which one mishears one’s own footsteps. He used to follow me with his glance; now he turned his head away as if listening inward to something for which I had not been invited.

“And your Alpha?” the healer asked.

“Busy,” I answered shortly. Robert’s terseness had become thick lately: a cold, watchful quiet. A silence that more closely resembled the tense calm before a storm than peace. I no longer saw him as my mate. I saw him as Alpha.

“Alphas carry many burdens,” the healer said. “But their burdens must not stand in the way of their watch. If you need me, call. Even at night.”

I nodded. Tears stung the corners of my eyes. I turned away quickly. The healer labeled the little cloth bags: “morning,” “evening,” “nausea,” “calm.”

“You must eat properly,” she continued. “Your wolf will demand more. Listen to her. But don’t fight, don’t run, avoid needless adrenaline. If your body panics, your wolf may take over. It’s important she understands now that protection can be quiet.”

“Yes,” my wolf rumbled from within. “If necessary, I will take care of everything.”

“Quiet,” I soothed inwardly, stroking her neck. “There is no threat. We are watchful.”

I stood. The bench groaned. My legs felt heavy for a heartbeat. The healer called after me: “Seraphine. Joy is real too. Keep it. He will keep you as well.”

I stepped out into the afternoon. The village street was noisy. Everything was familiar and yet as if a fine layer had settled over that familiarity—transparent, warm, protective.

My hand slid almost unconsciously across my belly. My wolf shifted—not leaping forward, only curling inward like a mother-wolf.

“I hear it,” she rumbled within. “Not his voice—its presence. It is here.”

I smiled. Inside the Palace walls the air felt cooler. The smell of stone—old water, moss, iron—filled my chest. From the training yard came the scent of fresh scrapes: sand, blood, the bitter tang of sweat. My wolf pricked her ears toward the sound. “No danger,” I reassured.

I climbed the Palace steps more slowly. My body protected itself by instinct. My room welcomed me quietly.

“You’re here,” I whispered, looking at my belly. “Do you hear me?”

My own voice softened, and my wolf answered with an impatient grunt that was at once chastisement and tenderness.

I put the healer’s cloth bags on the dresser. Order calmed me. I closed my eyes. Bright images flashed: small hands searching for mine; warm breath at my nape.

Robert’s face surfaced too, but blurred. He has changed, I admitted finally, honestly. My wolf snorted softly. “If he does not look for you, I will,” she said.

The thought touched me: perhaps this news will bring back the old warmth. The pup would be his as much as mine.

I rose and went to the window. I will rise early tomorrow, I thought. I will go to the market.

I set down the teacup. I will not beg. I will speak the fact. In a voice that commands respect.

In the silence that was no longer empty, I heard that barely perceptible extra beat again. My wolf breathed slowly and deeply with me.

“We are here,” she said at last. “And from now on we do everything differently. Not weaker. Smarter. We will not accept rejection again.”

That thought was a cold, hard promise. Tomorrow I will confront the Alpha. I knew two things: I am no longer alone, and the old order of Robert’s Palace would fall to pieces by morning.