Pregnant With My Father-In-Law’s Baby

Chapter 14

Chapter 14

Amara’s POV

The cold leather of the man's gloves bit into my bruised arms, the sudden violent pull jerking my neck backward so fast my vision swam with dark spots.

"Let go of me!" I gasped, my voice raspy and thin as I tried to twist out of his iron grip.

My ankle buckled beneath me, the white-hot pain shooting up my leg, but the two men didn't care. They yanked me upright, dragging me backward into the shadow of a narrow, damp alleyway between two towering brick buildings. The stench of stale rain, garbage, and aggressive wolf pheromones filled the enclosed space, suffocating me.

The man holding me pinned my back against the cold brick wall, while the second one stepped into the dim light. He reached into his leather jacket, pulled out a glossy piece of paper, and held it right in front of my face.

It was a photograph. A high-resolution picture of me taken back at the Silver Moon Pack house, wearing a formal dress from the annual winter gala, looking composed, gentle, and happy.

"Look familiar, Luna?" the second guard sneered, his voice dripping with venom as he slammed the paper back into his pocket.

My breath hitched, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs as recognition washed over me. These were Silver Moon enforcers. Michael's elite guards. He had sent them all the way across the ocean to track me down like an escaped criminal.

"What... what do you want?" I demanded, trying to keep the tremble out of my voice, forcing myself to glare up at them despite the icy fear pooling in my stomach. "How did you find me?"

SLAP!

The blow was so sudden and brutal my head cracked back against the brick wall. A blinding burst of white light flashed behind my eyes, and the metallic taste of copper flooded my mouth as my lip split open. I gasped, tears instantly springing to my eyes from the sheer force of the shock.

"Shut your damn mouth!" the guard who slapped me growled, stepping so close I could smell the tobacco and sour alcohol on his breath. "You have any idea what you’ve put us through, you ungrateful b***h? Alpha Michael has made our lives a living hell because of you!"

"He's turned the entire pack upside down!" the guard holding my arms barked into my ear, his grip tightening until I heard my knuckles crack. "Sending patrols out night and day, tearing through territory lines, threatening to execute anyone who doesn't bring back a lead. All because you threw a temper tantrum and refused to go to his family’s estate like a good, obedient wife!"

"And look at you now," the first guard mocked, sweeping a disgusted, condescending look down my disheveled appearance. "Running away to Europe, wandering around the dirty streets like some cheap, desperate prostitute looking for her next client. You’re a disgrace."

"I am not a prostitute!" I choked out, a sob tearing through my throat as I tried to yank my wrists free. "Leave me alone! Just let me go! I told him I’m never going back!"

"You don't get a choice," the guard snapped, grabbing the lapels of my coat and shaking me violently. "You belong to the Silver Moon Pack, whether you like it or not."

As he shook me, the small brown bag of prescription medication slipped from my coat pocket, clattering onto the damp pavement.

"Wait—no! My medicine!" I cried out, reaching down in desperation. Those drugs were the only thing keeping the severe infection and internal bleeding from returning.

The guard looked down at the paper bag, a cruel, sickening smirk spreading across his face. Before I could reach it, he brought his heavy, steel-toed boot down, stomping directly onto the bag with full force. He ground his heel into the concrete, pulverizing the glass pill bottles inside until the sharp crunch of shattered medicine filled the alley.

"No! Please!" I wept, watching my only lifeline turn into crushed powder and glass shards in the dirt.

"You don't need pills where you're going, sweetheart," he hissed, his eyes narrowing with pure malice. "You're going back in chains."

A spark of pure, furious rage flared through the ice in my veins, burning through the fog of my pain. I looked at the two men who had once bowed their heads to me, men who had eaten at my table and sworn oaths to protect the pack.

"I used to be your Luna!" I shouted, my voice ringing out with every ounce of authority I had left in my battered body. "I was your boss's wife! How dare you lay your hands on me?! How dare you treat me this way?!"

The guard in front of me threw his head back and laughed, a cold, grating sound that bounced off the alley walls.

"Our Luna?" he mocked, leaning down until his eyes were level with mine, his expression twist into pure contempt. "You were never a real Luna. You were just a pathetic, useless piece of furniture Michael was too soft to throw out. A barren woman who couldn't even give the pack an heir."

The word sliced through me deeper than any blade. Barren.

"Keep quiet and follow us back to the transport," he whispered, his voice dropping into a dark, sadistic threat, "or I swear to God, I will kick your womb until you can't ever bear a child again."

The air left my lungs. My mind shattered. The memory of the blood, the stairwell, the loss of the tiny life I hadn't even known I was carrying—it all rushed back, exploding inside my chest like a bomb.

"Don't you dare insult me and my unborn children!" I screamed.

With every last drop of strength remaining in my body, I raised my right hand and swung it with all my force, aiming a sharp, stinging slap directly at his face.

Clack.

He caught my wrist mid-air with ease. His grip was like a vise, crushing my bone until I let out a sharp cry.

"You bastard," he spat, his face contorting in ugly, unbridled rage as he glared down at me. "Trying to slap me? A broken, worthless b***h trying to raise her hand against a warrior?"

He drew his heavy, thick arm back, curling his fingers into a massive fist. He sneered, winding up to hurl a brutal, bone-crushing strike straight into my face.

"I'm going to teach you your place once and for all—"

He never finished the sentence.

Before his hand could land on my face, the air in the alley instantly froze.

A flash of silver light blurred through the shadows—a sound like a heavy blade whipping through thick silk cutting through the silence.

SHLICK!

A violent jet of hot, thick, crimson blood sprayed across the brick wall, splattering directly over my face and chest.

The guard’s sentence died in a sickening gasp. He froze, his eyes widening in complete, paralyzed shock as he looked down at his arm.

His entire forearm—severed cleanly at the elbow—was gone.

A second later, the heavy, blood-soaked limb hit the wet floor with a dull, wet thud, his fingers still twitching in the dirt.

The sheer horror of the spray, the sudden overwhelming smell of fresh, metallic blood, and the sight of the severed arm lying on the pavement ripped through my throat in an ear-splitting, blood-curdling scream of pure, unadulterated terror.