Pregnant with the Alpha’s Baby and He Has No Idea

Chapter 20 – Wolves and Strays

By the time Pierce’s car disappears down the road, my adrenaline has finally run out.

The office feels oddly hollow without his bland concern lingering in the corners. Hazel’s gone back to the school. Immy texted “heard you verbally suplexed the state, proud of you, fries on me” with a string of emojis I don’t have the energy to decode.

Now it’s just me, Kaelan, and Wren in the cramped little room that’s somehow become the valley’s confession booth.

“You sure they won’t come back with a warrant?” Wren asks, arms wrapped tight around herself.

“If they do, it won’t be today,” Kaelan says. He’s half‑leaning against the wall by the window, arms folded, watching the lot like trouble might pull in at any minute. “Bureaucracies move slower than old wolves.”

“Hey,” I say. “No slander of my new favorite demographic.”

He huffs, almost a laugh.

Wren’s gaze flicks between us, then drops to the chalk smudge still faintly visible on her wrist. “I don’t get it,” she says. “Why fight that hard to stay? If I had a way out—money, program, whatever—I’d be gone.”

“You had a way out,” I say gently. “You took it. You’re here.”

“That’s not the same,” she mutters.

“No,” Kaelan says. “It’s harder.”

She flinches, then scowls at him. “You don’t know anything about my choices.”

“I know what cowards do,” he says, mild. “They cut deals that keep themselves comfortable and throw everyone else to the dogs. You walked up to a stranger’s front desk with your bruises showing and no plan but ‘room for the night.’ You’re not a coward.”

Something in her expression cracks. She looks away fast.

“So what am I?” she asks. “Because right now I feel like a grenade someone dropped in your lobby.”

“Pack,” he says.

I snort. “Careful, that’s how it starts. Next thing you know he’s dragging you up a hill and showing you the scenic trauma tour.”

He shoots me a look that can’t decide if it’s annoyed or fond. “I didn’t drag you.”

“You emotionally dragged me.”

Wren blinks between us. “You two always like this?”

“Unfortunately,” I say.

“Frequently,” he corrects.

Her mouth tugs, like she wants to smile and doesn’t quite remember how.

Before the moment can shift too far into soft, a sharp rap sounds on the office door. Three quick knocks, one longer.

Not Sera’s heavy bang, not Nolan’s measured thump. Lighter. Familiar.

“Come in,” I call.

The door swings open and Lyric spills in like a burst of color—short dark hair with a streak of blue today, leather jacket, combat boots, grin. Jax is right behind her, taller, inked, looking perpetually like he just got caught doing something but isn’t sorry.

“Maris!” Lyric beams. “I heard you told off a state guy. Sera said it was glorious. Did you throw anything? Please say you threw something.”

“No projectiles,” I say. “Just words.”

“Words can be projectiles,” Jax offers. “Ask Fen.”

Lyric notices Wren then, eyes flicking to the way she’s half‑curled in her chair, shoulders hunched.

“Hi,” Lyric says brightly, like they’re meeting at a bonfire instead of my panic‑office. “I’m Lyric. This is Jax. We’re the fun ones.”

Jax lifts two fingers in a lazy salute. “Allegedly.”

Wren goes stiff. “You’re…wolves,” she says. It’s not a question.

“Last time I checked,” Lyric says. “You?”

The question hangs there like a dare. Wren stares at her, throat working.

“Not anymore,” she says at last. “Not anywhere.”

“Bullshit,” Jax says cheerfully.

“Jax,” I hiss.

He shrugs. “You don’t smell like ‘not anywhere.’ You smell like ‘ran so hard you left half yourself behind and the rest is still catching up.’” He glances at Kaelan. “Also, Blackpine. Old alpha.”

Lyric’s grin vanishes. “Rowan Crest?”

Wren flinches at the name. “Yeah,” she says, voice flat. “That was the last ‘pack’ I had.”

“Was,” Lyric echoes. She saunters over, hops up to sit on the counter next to the monitor, boots thumping. “Cool. Then you’re due for an upgrade.”

Wren’s laugh is short and bitter. “You keep saying that like it’s a thing you can just…order off a menu.”

“You’re standing in the lobby of the ‘upgrade,’” Lyric says. She gestures around, wide. “Welcome to the Thorne Nightfall Home for Lost Causes and Questionable Life Choices.”

Kaelan presses his fingers to the bridge of his nose. “We are not calling it that.”

“I like it,” I say. “It’s honest branding.”

Wren looks overwhelmed. “Look, I appreciate the…whatever this is. But you don’t even know me. You don’t know what I’ve done.”

“Don’t need to,” Lyric says. “We know what he did.” Her voice darkens. “Rowan’s not exactly a subtle rumor in the north packs.”

Jax chimes in, ticking points off on his fingers. “Alpha who thinks mates are property. Likes collars more than consent. Throws out anyone who doesn’t shift on his schedule. That guy?”

Wren’s face has gone the color of paper. “Yeah,” she whispers. “That guy.”

Kaelan’s jaw is clenched so tight his teeth might crack. “He’s had a long leash,” he says. “It’s getting shorter.”

“You can’t go after him because of me,” Wren snaps, fear twisting into anger. “That’s not how this works. He’ll burn you for it.”

Kaelan’s gaze is steady. “We’re not staging a war over one wolf,” he says. “We’re not stupid. But we’re not handing you back if he comes sniffing around our door, either.”

“You’re under our protection now,” Lyric adds. “Territorial clauses, Article ten, subsection ‘try us and see.’”

“That’s not a real law,” Kaelan mutters.

“It is now,” she says.

Wren’s breath shakes. “What if he brings others? What if he has friends on your Council? On theirs?” She jerks her chin toward the window, toward the world beyond the valley. “I’ve seen what happens when an alpha decides someone is his and the rest of the world shrugs.”

The baby shifts under my palm, a little too sharply. Old anger, the kind I thought I buried with my city ID and first positive test, rises hot in my chest.

“Then we don’t shrug,” I say.

Wren looks at me.

“I’ve been the person no one stood up for,” I tell her. “The one everyone thought was easier to ignore than fight over. That ended the night something with teeth tried to come through my wall.” I nod toward the back. “We drew lines. We’re not erasing them for a bully who likes collars.”

Silence stretches. Outside, a car door slams. Somebody laughs in the distance. The world continues, oblivious.

Wren’s eyes glisten. She blinks hard, jaw tight.

“You’re all insane,” she says hoarsely.

“Probably,” Lyric says, wholly unoffended. “But we’re not boring.”

The office fills with the warm, bitter scent of coffee and the underlying musk of wolf and wet earth. The monitor cycles through its feeds: lot, alley, trees. On one of them, Talon appears for half a heartbeat—small, bundled in a hoodie, chasing a ball with two pack kids in the yard behind the house.

My son. In the middle of this.

The tight fist around my heart loosens just a little.

“You can stay as long as you want,” I tell Wren. “You can leave when you’re ready. No collars. No debts we don’t put in writing.”

She swallows. “And if Rowan comes?”

I glance at Kaelan, then back at her.

“Then,” I say, “he meets the home team first.”

Kaelan’s eyes meet mine, something fierce and unwavering in them.

“Pack,” he says again, like a reminder. Or a vow.

This time, the word doesn’t scare me.