my mate belonged to another woman

I learned very early that fate does not always come with kindness. Sometimes, it comes quietly. Sometimes, it comes wearing the face of the man who is supposed to love you. I am Kaela, Luna of the Duskwatch Pack, at least in name. In truth, I have never truly been anything to Alpha Darius except an obligation he was forced to accept. Three years of marriage, and he has never once called me mate. The word sits heavy in my chest as I walk through the packhouse, my steps slow and careful. Wolves bow their heads as I pass, their respect automatic, practiced. They respect the title. Not the woman wearing it. I don’t blame them. I barely respect myself anymore. The morning sickness hits suddenly. I grip the edge of the wooden railing, breath shallow, heart pounding as bile rises in my throat. I close my eyes, fighting it back, forcing myself to breathe. This has been happening for days now. I press a hand to my stomach, fingers trembling. There’s a tightness there. A strange awareness. A quiet hope I’ve been too afraid to say out loud. Please… I straighten slowly and continue walking. The halls feel colder than usual. Or maybe it’s just me. Darius prefers the cold. He always has. His study door is slightly open. I pause. Normally, I would turn away. I have learned when to disappear and when to make myself small. But today, something in me refuses to step back. My heart beats faster, louder, like it’s urging me forward. Maybe this child will change everything. I knock lightly. No response. I push the door open. The room smells like cedarwood and smoke—him. Darius stands near the window, his back to me, tall and rigid, shoulders broad beneath his dark shirt. The mate bond stirs weakly in my chest, a dull ache rather than the warmth stories always promised. He doesn’t turn. “Darius,” I say softly. His jaw tightens. “What do you want?” No greeting. No warmth. Just irritation. I swallow. “I thought we could talk.” He exhales sharply, finally turning to face me. His golden eyes flick over me like I’m an inconvenience he can’t get rid of. “If this is about the council meeting, handle it yourself.” “It’s not,” I whisper. For a moment, I think I see something flicker across his face. Annoyance. Maybe impatience. But nothing else. I take a step closer, my hands clasped together, nails biting into my palms. “I haven’t been feeling well,” I begin carefully. “The healer says” “Then see the healer,” he cuts in. “You don’t need my permission for that.” The words sting more than they should. Maybe because I wasn’t asking for permission. I was asking to be seen. “I think I’m pregnant.” The room goes painfully silent. My heart hammers as I watch his face, searching for something—anything. Surprise. Shock. Even anger would be better than this emptiness. He stares at me, expression unreadable. Then he laughs. It’s short. Sharp. Disbelieving. “That’s impossible.” The words land like a slap. “I—I don’t think so,” I say, my voice shaking despite my effort to keep it steady. “The signs are there. The healer said, "—" “You’re wolfless,” he interrupts coldly. “You barely survived your first heat. You expect me to believe you’re carrying my child?” My chest tightens. “Stranger things have happened.” “Yes,” he says flatly. “Like lies.” I flinch. “I’m not lying,” I whisper. “I would never—” “You’ve embarrassed me enough,” he snaps, stepping closer. His presence is overwhelming, crushing. “Don’t add this to the list.” Tears burn behind my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. Crying has never softened him. It only makes him colder. “I just thought you should know,” I say quietly. His gaze hardens. “Until there is proof, I don’t want to hear another word about this.” I nod slowly, my throat too tight to speak. As I turn to leave, his voice stops me. “And Kaela,” he adds, tone sharp. “Don’t spread rumors you can’t defend.” I walk out of the room with my head high and my heart in pieces. The packhouse feels larger as I move through it, emptier. Wolves avert their eyes. Whispers trail behind me. I don’t need to hear them to know what they say. Wolfless. Weak. Unworthy. Back in my room, I sit on the edge of the bed and finally let the tears fall. I press my hands to my stomach again, this time protectively. “It’s okay,” I whisper, though I don’t know who I’m trying to comfort, myself or the fragile hope growing inside me. Maybe Darius is just scared. Maybe he needs time. Maybe this child will finally make him look at me the way fate promised he would. I lie back slowly, staring at the ceiling, clutching hope like it’s the last thing I have left. I don’t know yet that this hope will be ripped from me. That love will turn to accusation. That my blood will stain the forest floor. For now, all I know is this: I am still waiting for the mate who never chose me.