The Heir of the Lycan Empire

A contraction folded me against the wall. Warm water ran down my legs. The twins were coming. “Kaelen!” I gasped, clutching my swollen belly and searching the dim hallway for my mate. Kaelen appeared with Vanya, the pack’s high priestess. No healer. He looked at the wet hem of my dress. For one second, his hand started toward my belly, but Vanya said Liora’s name before he touched me. Kaelen drew his hand back. He led me past the clinic door and down the cellar steps, into the one room I had been forbidden to enter. A round mithril altar stood in the center, lit blue from within. “Kaelen, no.” I covered my belly with both hands. “The pups are coming. They’re ready.” “This is for them.” He pointed to the altar. “Liora’s curse is breaking free. She’s dying. The twins have more life force than they need. You can spare enough to contain it.” Our children were his cure for her. He and Vanya forced me onto the altar. Another contraction arched my back off the metal. When I could see again, I caught sight of an open door at the far end of the cellar. Moonstone warmed the nursery beyond it. Every blanket and cushion I had imagined for our children was already there. Liora lay at its center on a bed of furs. Above her hung the moon-wood charm Kaelen had spent weeks carving. He had told me it was for the twins and that he had sealed his Alpha strength inside it. Now its glow covered Liora’s sleeping face. My next contraction came and went before I could look away. Liora was sleeping in their nursery, under their charm. Kaelen had begun taking from them weeks ago. “Look at her,” Kaelen said. “She’s weak. We have to do this for the pack. Stop being selfish, Sera.” Selfish. Vanya produced a silver knife. “The blood of a fated mate, carrying an Alpha’s heirs, is a powerful conduit, Alpha.” She cut my arm. Blood struck the altar, and the mithril hissed. The metal blackened around each drop and gave off dark smoke. Kaelen watched until Liora moaned. Then he turned to her. A hard pull caught beneath my ribs. The altar was taking the twins with me. My son’s hard kicks weakened. One frantic flutter followed. Then nothing. I pressed both hands against my belly and screamed. “He’s gone!” The words scraped my throat raw. “Kaelen, the baby isn’t moving!” Kaelen never looked back. A crimson thread gathered above the altar, spun from my life and my son’s. He cupped it in both hands. He carried it into the nursery and pressed it to the lips of the woman in my children’s bed.