PREGNANT AND CLAIMED BY THE WRONG ALPHA

Eliza had always believed love was a choice. Not fate. Not destiny. Not the Moon Goddess’ cruelty toward omegas who dared to want more. Love, to her, was deliberate—something you chose every day, even when the world insisted you didn’t belong together. She had chosen Harold. For ten years. He was an Alpha prince, heir to the Grey Pack, born into power and expectation. She was an orphaned omega with nothing but borrowed space in a palace that never quite wanted her. And still, he had chosen her back—stood before his parents and refused to let her go. She leaned against Harold’s arm beneath the towering trees, sunlight spilling through the leaves in golden patches. “I know, babe,” she murmured, closing her eyes as the breeze danced across her skin. “You’ve told me every day since we were kids.” Harold smiled, brushing her hair behind her ear. “I can’t wait to marry you. Sometimes I think waiting is pointless. You’re old enough- what’s the difference between now and next year?” Eliza’s smile faltered. “Your parents would never allow it. Convincing them to let us date was hard enough.” “They’ll come around,” he said quietly, as if they weren’t even obstacles in the world. “When I become Alpha, none of that will matter.” She laughed softly, brushing a strand of hair from her face, just as the crunch of footsteps reached them. Two palace guards emerged from the path, their armor glinting in the sunlight. “Your Highness,” one said, bowing. “Your parents request your presence. Immediately.” Harold’s jaw tightened. He cupped her cheek, lingering a heartbeat longer than necessary. “I’ll come back as soon as I can.” “I’ll meet you at the palace,” she said gently, trying to keep her heart steady. “I still owe you those fruits you like.” He kissed her forehead before leaving, and Eliza watched him disappear down the path, warmth blooming in her chest. She loved him. And love, she believed, was stronger than destiny. With a renewed smile, she gathered their things and ventured deeper into the forest. The familiar path twisted through the trees, leading her to the fruit tree Harold adored. She plucked several, placing them carefully into her basket. That was when the sky growled. Thunder rolled overhead, sharp and sudden. The air shifted violently, cold rushing through the trees. Eliza shivered. “No, not now,” she whispered, quickening her steps. “Please—just let me get back.” The forest darkened unnaturally fast. Rain threatened but never came, leaving behind a heavy, suffocating stillness. Her foot caught on a hidden root, and she stumbled, pain shooting through her ankle as she hit the ground. “Ow—!” When she stood again, her heart dropped. The path was gone. Trees closed in around her, identical and suffocating, their shadows long and dark. Panic pressed at her chest. She clutched the basket as the air thickened, charged with something ancient, something she couldn’t see but felt. Then it came—a warmth, deep in her chest, spreading like fire, curling through her veins, making her knees weaken. “No,” she whispered. “This can’t be happening.” She froze. It wasn’t fear. It wasn’t pain. It was… recognition. Her heartbeat stuttered as the warmth spread, curling through her veins like fire. The air shifted, charged with something unseen, something ancient. “Why do I feel like this…?” she breathed. The pull was undeniable. Gentle but commanding, urging her to turn. Slowly, trembling, she did. A figure stepped out from the shadows. Tall. Broad-shouldered. Powerful in a way that made her instincts scream. He moved with controlled grace, eyes locked onto hers as though nothing else existed. And the moment their gazes met— The bond snapped into place. Her breath left her lungs in a sharp gasp as heat surged through her, overwhelming and absolute. Her knees weakened, her grip on the basket loosening. No. No, this wasn’t possible. Because standing before her, wrapped in darkness and fate, was the one person she had never wanted to meet. Her mate. She felt her breath hitch as she met his gaze. His eyes were green. A deep, striking green that reminded Eliza of leaves after rain—vivid, alive, unsettling. The thought of Harold tried to surface, but it barely lasted a second before it was swallowed whole by the force of the stranger’s gaze. He didn’t look away. He didn’t blink. He simply watched her, still and unreadable, as though he had all the time in the world. Her fingers tightened around the basket. His hair was long, tied neatly at the back of his head. Controlled. Intentional. And for some ridiculous reason, she found herself wondering how it would look if it were loose—if something about him wasn’t so perfectly composed. The thought alone made her chest tighten. He was handsome. Devastatingly so. The kind of handsome that felt unfair, almost cruel, because it made thinking difficult. The kind that stole breath before permission could be given. And that was the problem. Nothing about this made sense. This was wrong. She should have been scared. She should have been running. Instead, she was standing still, heart pounding violently as heat coiled low in her stomach. He was staring at her too. Not greedily. Not hungrily. Intently. As if he felt it too. Her lips parted. “Um—” Thunder cracked overhead before she could say anything else. Rain followed instantly, heavy and unforgiving, drenching the forest within seconds. “Oh—” She gasped, scrambling back as the basket nearly slipped from her hands. “Come,” he said, finally moving. His voice was calm, steady, cutting through the rain. “My tent is close.” She hesitated only a second before following him. The rain left her no choice. The tent was nearby, just as he’d said. Small but sturdy. The canvas walls blocked the rain, muting the storm outside into a steady drumbeat. “This rain won’t stop anytime soon,” he said. “Sit.” Eliza did, carefully lowering herself near the center. The space was tight—too tight. Intimate in a way that made her painfully aware of every inch between them. “Thank you,” she murmured. He didn’t respond. He stood near the entrance, arms folded, watching the rain instead of her. The silence pressed down on her chest harder than the storm ever could. Her mate. The word echoed in her mind like a curse. She had spent her entire life dismissing the idea of him. Of fate. Of bonds she never asked for. Harold had been enough. Harold was enough. So why did her body refuse to listen? She glanced at him again, unable to help herself. The rain had soaked through his clothes, fabric clinging to his broad chest and arms. Water dripped from his hair, tracing paths down skin she absolutely should not have been staring at. Heat surged through her again, sharp and unwanted. She looked away quickly, breath unsteady. “Are you thirsty?” She startled as he turned toward her, his sudden movement making her heart jump. “Yes,” she blurted, desperate for something—anything—to ground herself. She grabbed the nearest glass and drank without thinking, swallowing far too fast. “That wasn’t water,” he said calmly. She froze. “What?” “It was alcohol.” The burn hit her a second too late. “Oh. Oh no.” A pause. “You must have been very thirsty,” he said. “You finished it quickly.” Her eyes squeezed shut. “I didn’t realize—” She stopped. He was closer. Much closer. The space beside her was no longer empty. Her breath caught as she opened her eyes, heart racing as he leaned in—not touching her, not yet—but close enough that she could feel his warmth. Too close. “Are you still thirsty?” he asked softly. “Do you want more?” Her gaze dropped to his lips before she could stop herself. Yes. The answer screamed inside her. Yes to everything she should have been refusing. Her chest tightened painfully. This was wrong. This was unforgivable. Harold’s face flashed in her mind—his smile, his promises, the life they had planned. She should have pulled away. She didn’t. Instead, caught between alcohol, instinct, and a bond she never wanted, Eliza leaned forward— And kissed him. The storm outside raged, but inside, the world narrowed to him. Heat, breath, the force of the bond, pulling her forward, unrelenting. Their kiss deepened and time fractured. A second stretched, then another. Her mind screamed for Harold, for reason, for control—but her body refused. Her hands shook, her heart hammered, and every instinct screamed that this was wrong, impossible, forbidden. It was like she suddenly lost control. Of her mind, her senses and in no time, her clothes, the two of them quickly buried in a pool of inevitable pull. Nothing could stop them. Not at that moment. Because he had found her. And claimed her.