The Alpha's Biggest Regret

CHAPTER 6: The Second Heartbeat

Heat.

The first thing I registered was the heat. It was not the biting, freezing wind of the mountain pass, nor the icy sting of the snow against my cheek. It was a deep, steady warmth that seeped directly into my bones.

I kept my eyes closed, drifting in a hazy, floating space between sleep and waking. The scent of crushed mint, dried lavender, and burning cedar filled my lungs with every slow breath. I was resting on something incredibly soft. Thick, heavy furs blanketed my body, completely chasing away the bitter cold of the cliff.

Then, the pain registered.

It started as a dull ache on my right side, right over my ribs, before flaring into a sharp, burning throb. I gasped, my eyes flying open.

The vaulted ceiling above me was carved from dark, polished wood, completely unlike the pale stone of the Silver Moon packhouse. The walls were lined with rich, thick tapestries depicting sprawling forests and giant wolves. A massive stone fireplace took up an entire wall to my left, the logs popping and hissing cheerfully.

"Do not try to move," a calm voice instructed.

I turned my head, wincing as a fresh spike of pain shot through my side. A woman sat in a high-backed wooden chair near the fire. She looked to be in her late fifties, with deep laugh lines around her mouth and thick gray streaks running through her dark hair. But her eyes gave her away. They were a bright, glowing amber. A Lycan.

I instantly tensed, my hands gripping the edges of the thick fur blankets. "Where am I?"

"You are in the royal stronghold of the Lycan Court," the woman replied. She stood up, wiping her hands on a linen apron. She approached the bed slowly, keeping her hands visible. "My name is Leontyne. I am the head healer here."

The memory of the cliff rushed back. The snowy incline. Russell and the assassins. The silver spear tearing into my ribs. The terrifying, endless fall. And then… the golden eyes in the dark. The King.

"My daggers," I rasped, my throat dry and scratching. "Where are they?"

Leontyne poured a cup of water from a ceramic pitcher on the bedside table. "They were cleaned and set aside. You will not need weapons in this room, Evie. You are safe."

She knew my name. Of course she did. The King knew who I was the second he caught me. I pushed myself up onto my elbows, ignoring the fiery protest in my ribs. I looked down. I was wearing a soft, oversized linen shirt. My right side was heavily wrapped in thick white bandages, stained with a small spot of faint red.

"The assassins used pure silver," Leontyne explained, offering me the cup of water. I took it with shaking hands, drinking greedily. "It burned deep into the tissue. Your inner wolf is very strong, but she struggled to heal the wound. The silver drained a significant amount of your energy."

I handed the cup back, my breathing shallow. "I heal fast. I just need a few hours of rest, and then I will leave. I won't be a burden to your King."

Leontyne set the cup down. She did not step back. Instead, she looked at me with a soft, deeply sympathetic expression that made my stomach twist into a tight knot.

"Your wolf is exhausted because she was fighting the silver," Leontyne said quietly, her amber eyes locking onto my silver-gray ones. "But she was also dividing her strength. She was redirecting her energy to protect something else."

I frowned, a cold prickle of unease washing over my skin. "Protecting what?"

Leontyne reached out, her warm fingers lightly touching the blanket covering my stomach.

"You are with child, Evie."

The room went totally, completely silent. The crackling of the fire faded into a distant hum. The air in my lungs turned into a solid block of ice.

With child.

"No," I whispered. The word slipped out of my mouth before my brain could process it. I shook my head, a frantic, jittery energy bubbling up in my chest. "No, that’s a mistake. Your magic is wrong. I cannot have children. I am barren."

Leontyne’s expression remained gentle, but her voice was firm. "Lycan healers do not make mistakes of the blood. You are roughly six weeks along. The pup’s heartbeat is faint because of the trauma of the fall, but it is there. It is strong."

A harsh, broken sound clawed its way out of my throat. I pressed my hands against my flat stomach, my fingers trembling violently.

Seven years. Seven years of empty nurseries, bitter herbal teas, and silent prayers to the Moon Goddess. I remembered the heavy, crushing humiliation of standing on that wooden dais in the grand hall. I remembered Delroy’s voice booming over the crowd, exposing my deepest shame to hundreds of people. Evie is barren. I need an heir.

The memory of my hand striking his cheek flashed in my mind—the sharp crack of the slap in his study, the righteous anger I felt when I confronted him about his mistress. He had justified his betrayal by blaming my broken body. He threw me off a cliff and replaced me because I could not give him a son.

And now, when I had nothing left, when I was stripped of my title, my home, and my mate… I was pregnant with his child.

The irony was a jagged blade twisting directly into my heart.

Panic hit me like a physical force. My chest tightened until I could barely draw a breath. My heart hammered wildly against my ribs, matching the frantic pacing of my inner wolf.

He will take it, my mind screamed. If Delroy finds out, he will hunt me down. He will take the baby and give it to Róise to raise. He will kill me to ensure there are no rival claims.

"I have to leave," I gasped, throwing the heavy furs off my legs. I swung my bare feet over the edge of the mattress.

"Evie, stop!" Leontyne warned, reaching out to steady my shoulders. "You will rip your stitches. You have lost too much blood."

"You don't understand!" I pushed her hands away, my voice rising in pitch. The room began to spin, the edges of my vision turning blurry. "If they know… if the Silver Moon pack finds out I survived, they will come for me. I am in enemy territory. The Lycans will use this child as leverage. I need my daggers. I have to go!"

I stood up, but my legs buckled instantly. The silver wound flared, sending a blinding shock of pain through my torso. I braced myself for the hard impact of the stone floor.

It never came.

The heavy wooden door to the bedchamber swung open, and the overwhelming scent of dark cedar and amber flooded the room. Massive hands caught my shoulders, lifting me effortlessly before my knees could even graze the ground.

I flinched, fully expecting to be thrown back onto the bed or restrained by a guard. Instead, the grip was incredibly steady and completely gentle.

"Leontyne," a deep, rumbling voice commanded. "Leave us."

"Yes, Your Majesty," the healer murmured, immediately bowing her head and slipping out of the room, clicking the door shut behind her.

I looked up. King Flannán stood over me.

He was even more intimidating in the light of the fire. He wore a simple black shirt and dark trousers, but the casual clothes did nothing to hide the sheer, terrifying bulk of his frame. His golden eyes stared down at me, tracking the frantic, shallow rise and fall of my chest.

He did not force me into the bed. He simply held me upright, his large hands resting lightly on my arms, offering support without trapping me.

"Let me go," I breathed, trying to pull away.

Flannán released me instantly, taking a full step backward to give me space. He raised his hands slightly, showing me his empty palms. "You are free to move, Evie. But if you walk out that door in the snow with a silver wound, you will die before you reach the border."

I gripped the wooden bedpost to keep myself steady. My breathing was ragged. I stared at him, searching his harsh, scarred face for the deception I was so used to seeing in Delroy's eyes. I found nothing but total, unnerving calm.

"You know," I said, my voice shaking. "The healer told you."

"I knew the moment I caught you at the bottom of the cliff," Flannán replied evenly. "I could hear the second heartbeat."

A fresh wave of terror washed over me. I pressed my back against the bedpost, wrapping my arms defensively over my stomach. "What do you want from me? Lycans and werewolves have despised each other for centuries. I am a rejected Luna with no pack, no wealth, and no army. Why did you save me?"

Flannán did not blink. He walked slowly toward the stone fireplace, picking up a heavy iron poker to adjust the burning logs. The firelight danced across the faded scar on his jaw.

"I do not care about werewolf politics," Flannán said, keeping his voice low and even. "I do not care about the Silver Moon pack. And I certainly do not care about the fool who rejected you."

He set the iron poker down and turned to face me.

"You expect me to ask for a price," he continued, reading the fear in my eyes perfectly. "You think I will use you as a hostage, or ransom the child back to your former mate."

"Won't you?" I challenged, my chin lifting in a weak attempt at defiance. "That is how the world works, King Flannán. No one offers shelter without expecting payment in return. Especially not to an enemy."

Flannán closed the distance between us in two slow strides. I stiffened, but I refused to look away. He stopped just a foot away, towering over me. The sheer heat radiating from his massive body was a sharp contrast to the cold fear freezing my veins.

He did not loom over me. Instead, he dropped to one knee, lowering his imposing height until his golden eyes were exactly level with mine.

The gesture shocked me so deeply I momentarily forgot how to breathe. Kings did not kneel. Alpha males did not lower themselves for anyone, let alone a broken, discarded female.

"Listen to me very carefully, Evie," Flannán said. His voice was a quiet, deep rumble that seemed to vibrate straight into the floorboards. "You fell into my territory. That makes you mine to protect. I will not trade you. I will not sell you. And I will burn this entire continent to ash before I let that Alpha lay a single finger on you or the child you carry."

I stared into his luminous golden eyes. There was no lie hidden in his gaze. There was no calculated manipulation. There was only a fierce, terrifying sincerity.

For the first time since Delroy pulled Róise into the grand hall, the tight, panicked knot in my chest loosened. A single, hot tear escaped the corner of my eye, tracking slowly down my cheek. I had spent my entire life fighting to prove my worth to a man who constantly demanded more. Now, a terrifying warlord was offering me total safety, asking for nothing.

Before I could find my voice to respond, three sharp, urgent knocks echoed on the heavy wooden door.

Flannán did not break eye contact with me. "Speak," he commanded without turning his head.

The door opened just a fraction. A tall Lycan guard with a thick gray beard stepped partially into the room, bowing deeply.

"Forgive the intrusion, Your Majesty," the guard, Wilt, said quickly. "But we have a situation at the southern river border."

Flannán finally stood up, his jaw tightening. His aura shifted instantly from protective warmth to a cold, lethal pressure. "Report."

Wilt swallowed hard, glancing nervously at me before looking back at his King.

"A delegation from the Silver Moon pack has arrived at the bridge," Wilt stated. "Elder Cedric Vaughn and a company of Elite Guards. They claim a pack member was lost to the river during a rogue attack. They are formally demanding permission to cross into our lands."

My blood ran completely cold. My hands gripped the fabric of my shirt. They were not satisfied with pushing me off the cliff. They wanted proof. They wanted my body.

"Demanding?" Flannán repeated, the word dripping with dark, dangerous amusement.

"Yes, Sire," Wilt nodded grimly. "They say they will not leave until they recover their Luna's corpse."

Flannán turned his head slightly, his golden eyes flashing with a predatory, feral light. He looked at me, seeing the sheer terror gripping my pale features. He reached out, his knuckles lightly brushing my arm in a silent, grounding promise.

He looked back at the guard.

"Tell the Silver Moon delegation," Flannán ordered, his voice echoing like thunder in the quiet room, "that if they take one step across my bridge, they will not have enough living men left to carry a corpse home."