He Rejected Me, Then Claimed Our Son

Chapter Two Born in the Forbidden Storm

The forbidden forest swallowed me whole.

One moment, I was running across the rain-soaked courtyard of Nightfall Pack, the shouts of warriors and elders tearing through the storm behind me.

The next, I was beneath the black trees. The world changed instantly.

The great hall vanished behind a wall of rain and shadow. The warm glow of candlelight disappeared. The smell of wine, blood, betrayal, and frightened wolves faded beneath the thick scent of wet bark, moss, and wild earth.

I should have stopped.

I should have turned back.

I was barefoot, bleeding, eight months pregnant, and weak from the rejection that had torn my soul open. Every breath burned in my lungs. Every step sent pain ripping through my stomach.

But the voice inside me kept whispering. Run.

So I ran.

Branches clawed at my face and arms. Thorns caught the hem of my ruined white gown, tearing through silk and lace as if the forest itself wanted to strip away every trace of the woman I had been inside that hall.

Future Luna. Beloved mate.

Cassian’s chosen one.

I was none of those things now. I was only Nyra Elowen.

Rejected. Bleeding.

Carrying a child no one wanted to claim.

Another contraction seized me so suddenly that I stumbled against a tree. My knees nearly buckled. I bit down hard on my lip to keep from screaming, but the sound escaped anyway, torn and helpless.

My hands flew to my stomach.

“Please,” I sobbed, leaning my forehead against the wet bark. “Not yet. Little wolf, please, not here.”

The baby shifted beneath my palm.

Weakly.

But enough to tell me he was still alive. I cried harder.

“Good boy,” I whispered. “Stay with Mommy. Just stay with me.” Behind me, a howl rose above the storm.

Deep. Commanding. Terrifying.

Cassian.

My entire body reacted to the sound.

Even after the rejection, even after he had humiliated me in front of the entire pack, some broken part of me still knew his call. My wolf lifted her head inside me, whimpering in answer before I forced her down.

No.

Not anymore.

He had rejected us.

He had denied his own child.

He had called me a liar without asking why the truth in my eyes still looked like love. Another howl answered his.

Then another. Warriors.

They were coming after me. Of course they were.

Not because they cared whether I lived or died. Maybe some did. Maybe Cassian did, now that blood had stained his perfect ceremony. But it did not matter.

If they found me, they would drag me back to the great hall.

Back to the healers.

Back to Luna Mireya’s cold smile. Back to Valeria’s poisonous eyes.

Back to the pack that had watched me break and done nothing. The voice inside me returned.

Deeper this time.

Do not let them take the child. My blood turned cold.

“Who are you?” I whispered into the storm. Only thunder answered.

I pushed away from the tree and forced myself forward.

The forest seemed to move around me. Roots twisted out of the mud like fingers. The trees stood close together, ancient and watchful, their branches bent beneath the rain. I had heard stories about this place since I was a child.

No one entered the forbidden forest.

Not unless they wanted to meet what lived inside it. Rogues.

Cursed wolves. Dead spirits.

Moonless beasts.

Cassian had once told me the stories were meant to keep foolish wolves from wandering beyond pack borders. He had said it with a smile, his arm wrapped around my waist, his lips brushing my temple.

“If you ever feel like breaking rules,” he had murmured, “break them with me beside you.” I laughed then.

I had believed him then.

I nearly choked on the memory. The pain came again.

Worse. Sharper. Lower.

This time, I fell.

Mud swallowed my knees. My palms hit the ground hard, sinking into wet leaves and cold earth. The shock of it shot up my arms. I tried to breathe through the contraction the way the pack midwife had taught me, but all I could do was tremble.

Something warm slid down my thighs. More blood.

Too much blood.

Fear wrapped its hands around my throat. “No,” I whimpered. “No, no, no.”

I crawled toward the base of an enormous tree and leaned back against it, shaking so badly my teeth clicked together. The rain soaked my hair and gown, plastering both to my skin. My belly tightened again.

This was not fear anymore. This was labor.

My child was coming. Here.

In the forbidden forest. Alone.

A laugh broke out of me, wild and empty. Of course.

Of course my son would enter the world the same night his father rejected him.

“Nyra!”

Cassian’s voice crashed through the trees. I froze.

The sound came from far behind me, but not far enough. “Nyra!”

Pain and fury tangled in his voice. He sounded less like the cold Alpha from the platform and more like the man who had held me in the dark when my nightmares got bad.

My chest hurt.

I pressed one hand over my mouth. Do not answer.

Rain blurred my vision. My body begged me to call out. To let him find me. To let his strong arms lift me again. To let him carry the weight for once.

But he had carried me before. Straight into humiliation.

Straight into heartbreak.

Straight into the moment where he looked down at my stomach and said our child was not his. My palm lowered to my belly.

“He is not safe with you,” I whispered. The baby moved.

A small roll beneath my skin. Almost like agreement.

Cassian’s footsteps pounded somewhere in the distance. Branches snapped. Warriors shouted behind him.

“She went this way!”

“Alpha, the blood trail leads north!” Blood trail.

My heart slammed against my ribs. I looked down.

Even in the rain, red drops marked the mud behind me. They would find me.

Panic gave me strength.

I grabbed the tree trunk and pulled myself upright. My legs shook beneath me, but I forced them to move. One step. Then another.

The forest darkened.

The deeper I went, the quieter the storm became. Not gone. Never gone. But muffled, like the trees were closing around me and swallowing every sound before it could reach the world beyond.

Cassian’s voice faded. The warriors faded.

Even the thunder seemed distant now.

I did not know whether that comforted or terrified me. Then I smelled smoke.

Not the rich, cedar smoke scent that clung to Cassian’s skin. This was different.

Woodsmoke. Herbs.

Fire.

My head lifted.

Through the curtain of rain, I saw it.

A faint orange glow between the trees. A cabin.

Small. Crooked. Half-buried in moss and vines, with smoke curling from a stone chimney. It looked impossible, sitting there in the middle of the forbidden forest like something from an old fairy tale.

My knees weakened with relief. “Help,” I tried to call.

It came out as barely a breath. Another contraction hit.

I screamed this time.

There was no stopping it. The pain tore through me, sharp and cruel, splitting me open from the inside.

The cabin door flew open. A woman stepped out.

She was older, perhaps in her sixties, with dark brown skin, long gray braids, and a cloak wrapped around her shoulders. Her eyes were pale green, almost glowing in the storm.

The moment she saw me, she went still. Not surprised.

Not afraid.

As if she had been expecting me.

“Oh, child,” she whispered. “You came bleeding.” My vision swam.

“I need help,” I said. “My baby—” “I know.”

She moved faster than any woman her age should have been able to. One moment she was at the doorway. The next, she was beside me, her arms strong around my waist.

I flinched.

“Please,” I gasped. “Do not take me back.” Her eyes sharpened.

“Back to Nightfall?”

I nodded, tears mixing with rain on my cheeks. Her mouth tightened.

“No one is taking you anywhere tonight.” Another howl ripped through the forest. Cassian again.

The woman looked over my shoulder.

For a moment, the air around her changed. The rain seemed to curve away from us. The trees rustled though no wind passed through them.

Then she spoke into the darkness. “Not this one.”

Her voice was quiet. The forest listened.

A chill swept over my skin.

Behind us, the sounds of pursuit grew faint. Then fainter.

Then gone.

I stared at her, shaking. “What did you do?”

“What the forest owed your blood.” She looked back at me. “Can you walk?” I almost laughed.

“No.”

“Good. Then stop pretending.”

She slid one arm beneath my shoulders and another behind my knees. I gasped as she lifted me like I weighed nothing.

The movement made pain burst low in my body. I cried out and clutched my stomach.

“My baby.”

“He is impatient,” she said, carrying me toward the cabin. “Powerful children rarely wait for permission.”

I did not have the strength to ask what she meant.

The inside of the cabin smelled of herbs, smoke, clean linen, and something sweet that reminded me of moonberry tea. Bundles of dried plants hung from the rafters. Glass jars lined crooked shelves. A black iron kettle hissed over the fire. Candles burned in every corner, their flames gold, not blue.

The woman laid me on a narrow bed near the hearth. I grabbed her wrist.

“Please save him.”

Her expression softened. “I will try to save you both.” Both.

The word frightened me.

I had been so focused on my child that I had forgotten my own body could fail.

“I am Maera,” she said, pulling blankets over my shaking legs. “I was once healer to no pack and many desperate fools. Tonight, I am yours.”

“Nyra,” I breathed. “My name is Nyra.” “I know your name.”

My heart stuttered. “How?”

She did not answer.

Instead, she reached for a blade, several cloths, and a bowl of steaming water.

“Listen to me, Nyra. Your pup is coming too early. You have lost blood. The rejection shock has weakened your body, and the bond break has torn through more than your heart.”

A sob caught in my throat. “Is he going to die?”

Maera looked me directly in the eyes. “Not if his mother fights.”

“I am tired,” I whispered. “I know.”

“I am so tired.”

“I know that too.”

Another contraction rolled through me. I cried out, arching against the bed, fingers twisting in the blanket.

Maera placed one firm hand on my stomach. The moment she touched me, she froze.

Her eyes widened. The candles flickered. Not blue.

Silver.

My breath caught. “What?” I asked.

Maera slowly lifted her hand.

For the first time, I saw fear on her face. Not fear of me.

Fear for me.

“Who sealed you?” she whispered.

I blinked through the pain. “What?”

“Your wolf.” Her voice lowered. “Who sealed your wolf, child?”

“My wolf is not sealed.” My laugh came out broken. “She is just weak.” Maera stared at me as if I had spoken nonsense.

“Your wolf is not weak.”

The words slid beneath my skin and found a place I had never dared to touch.

All my life, I had been told I was gentle. Faint-scented. Soft-blooded. A wolf who would make a good mate because I would not challenge power.

Even Cassian had once called me delicate. He had said it like praise.

Maybe I had believed him because I wanted to be loved. Another pain tore through me.

I screamed.

Maera’s hands moved quickly beneath the blankets.

“The pup’s head is low,” she said. “Nyra, you need to push when I tell you.” “No.” Terror seized me. “It is too early.”

“He disagrees.” “He is too small.”

“He is stronger than you know.” I shook my head, sobbing.

“I cannot do this alone.” The words broke me.

Because I had imagined this night so differently. Cassian beside me.

His hand wrapped around mine.

His voice low and steady, telling me I was brave.

His forehead pressed to mine as our child cried for the first time. I had imagined love.

I had imagined family.

I had imagined our son being placed in his father’s arms while the pack celebrated the future of Nightfall.

Instead, I was lying in a hidden cabin in the forbidden forest, rejected and bleeding, while a stranger told me to fight for the life Cassian had denied.

Maera touched my cheek. “You are not alone.”

I looked toward the empty doorway. “Then why does it feel like I am?” Her expression softened.

“Because the one who should have stood beside you failed.” The truth of it hurt worse than the contraction.

Outside, thunder shook the cabin. Inside, something moved in my chest. My wolf.

Quiet. Wounded. But present.

I felt her rise slowly, pressing her nose against the inside of my ribs, not with strength but with sorrow.

Mate left us.

I squeezed my eyes shut.

“I know.” Pup stays.

My eyes flew open.

The voice had not come from Maera. It had come from inside me.

My wolf.

Clearer than I had ever heard her before. Pup stays.

A new kind of strength moved through me.

It was not the strange silver heat from the great hall. Not exactly. This was rawer. Maternal. Fierce. It crawled through my pain and wrapped around it, not erasing it but giving it purpose.

I gripped the blanket. “Tell me what to do.” Maera nodded.

“When the next pain comes, you push.” It came quickly.

Too quickly. I pushed.

The scream that tore from me did not sound human. It sounded like something wounded and wild, something born under moonlight and blood.

Maera worked between my knees, murmuring instructions, prayers, and curses in equal measure.

Again. Push. Breathe. Again.

Do not close your eyes. Again, Nyra.

Fight.

Time became strange.

The cabin blurred around me. The fire snapped. Rain beat against the roof. My body opened in waves of pain so deep it felt endless.

Once, I thought I heard Cassian’s voice outside. Not close.

Not real.

A memory.

“Breathe with me, little moon.”

He had called me that when we were alone. Little moon.

I hated the nickname now.

I hated that it still warmed something inside me.

I hated that part of me wanted him to burst through the door and fall to his knees. But he did not come.

And I did not call for him. I pushed again.

Maera’s voice sharpened. “That is it. Again, child. Again.” “I can’t.”

“You can.”

“I can’t!”

“You ran bleeding through a cursed forest while carrying an Alpha’s heir,” she snapped. “Do not insult me by pretending you are fragile now.”

A weak laugh escaped me. Then a sob.

Then another scream as the next contraction took me. I pushed with everything left inside me.

Pain burst. Pressure. Fire.

Then suddenly, relief.

For one terrible second, there was silence. No cry.

No movement.

No sound except rain. My heart stopped.

“Why is he not crying?” I whispered. Maera did not answer.

She bent over the small, wet body in her hands, rubbing him hard with a cloth, clearing his mouth, murmuring words too low for me to hear.

“Why is he not crying?” I asked again, louder. My body tried to sit up, but I was too weak. “Maera!”

Still nothing.

The silence stretched.

It became the great hall all over again.

The pack staring. Cassian denying.

My baby still inside me. Too still.

“No,” I cried. “No, please. Please, no.” The candles flickered.

Silver. Then blue.

Then silver again. The windows rattled.

Maera looked at me sharply. “Call him.”

“What?”

“Call your son.”

“I do not know his name.”

The answer rose from somewhere deep inside me. Not chosen.

Remembered. “Lior,” I whispered.

The fire snapped high. Maera froze.

I did not know why I had said it. Cassian and I had argued over names for weeks, laughing in bed with his hand on my stomach. He had wanted strong Veyr names. Names of warriors and kings.

I had wanted something soft.

Something with light in it. But we had never agreed. We had never chosen.

And yet the name sat on my tongue like destiny.

“Lior,” I said again, voice breaking. “Come back to me. Please, little wolf. Mommy is here.” For one heartbeat, nothing happened.

Then my son cried. The sound was small. Sharp.

Furious. Alive.

A sob ripped through me.

Maera exhaled hard, almost laughing as she wrapped him in a clean cloth. “There you are,” she murmured. “Dramatic little prince.”

Prince.

The word barely reached me.

All I could see was the tiny bundle she carried toward me. My arms lifted before I had the strength to hold them up. Maera placed him against my chest.

He was so small. Too small.

His skin was warm and flushed. Dark curls were plastered to his tiny head. His fists curled near his face, trembling with newborn rage. His mouth opened in another cry, and I pressed my lips to his forehead, breathing him in.

Milk.

Rain. Blood. Moonlight. Mine.

“Oh,” I whispered, tears falling onto his blanket. “Oh, my baby.” He quieted at the sound of my voice.

Not completely. Just enough.

His cheek pressed against my skin.

Something in my broken chest stitched itself around him. Not healed.

Never that. But bound. A new bond.

Older than mates. Stronger than rejection.

I looked down at him and understood, with sudden terrifying clarity, that I would burn the world before I let anyone hurt him.

“He is beautiful,” I whispered. Maera said nothing.

I looked up.

She was staring at him.

Her face had gone pale again. “What is it?”

“Nyra,” she said carefully, “open his blanket.”

Fear returned instantly. “Why?”

“Look at him.”

I swallowed and gently pulled the cloth away from his tiny face. At first, I saw only my son.

His small nose. His soft mouth.

His perfect little chin. Then his eyes opened. The world went silent. Not blue.

Not brown.

Not Cassian’s gold. Silver.

Bright, impossible silver.

They glowed faintly in the dim cabin, reflecting the candlelight like twin moons. Maera took a step back.

I held him tighter.

“What does that mean?” I whispered. She did not answer quickly enough. “What does that mean?” I demanded.

The old healer looked toward the window, where the storm still raged against the glass.

“It means,” she said slowly, “that every wolf who smells his blood will either kneel to him…” Her eyes returned to my son.

“Or try to kill him.”

My arms tightened around Lior. Outside, something howled.

Not Cassian.

Not Nightfall warriors. This sound was lower. Rougher.

Hungrier.

Maera moved to the door and blew out one candle, then another. “Do not make a sound,” she whispered.

My heart pounded.

Lior stared up at me with those glowing silver eyes, too calm for a newborn, too aware for something only minutes old.

Then, inside my mind, I heard the voice again. The ancient one.

Hide him, daughter of the sleeping moon. The cabin door shook.

Once. Twice.

Then something dragged claws slowly down the wood. A voice from outside rasped through the storm.

“We smell royal blood.” Maera’s face went hard. I looked down at my son.

His silver eyes blinked once.

And then, impossibly, every candle in the cabin went out.