Luna Rejects Cheating Alpha

The contraction hit me like a freight train, doubling me over in the middle of the pack emergency meeting. I gripped the edge of the conference table, my knuckles turning white as pain radiated through my abdomen.

"Luna London?" Marcus's voice cut through the sudden silence. "Is it time?"

I nodded, unable to form words as another wave crashed over me. Eight years of building this pack with Sullivan, and now our pup was finally coming—six weeks early.

"The Alpha!" someone shouted. "Where's Alpha Sullivan?"

The room erupted into chaos. Marcus pushed through the crowd, his face tight with concern. "I'll find him. Someone get Luna London to the pack hospital."

Another contraction seized me, stronger than the first. My wolf, Aria, whimpered inside me. *Something's wrong. Where is he?*

"He's not answering his phone," Marcus said, already moving toward the door. "I'll track him down."

"Go," I managed to gasp. "Find him."

Two hours passed in a blur of pain and fear. The pack doctor's face grew increasingly concerned as my contractions intensified without progress.

"Where is that man?" she muttered, checking my vitals again. "Your blood pressure is rising dangerously."

Aria paced restlessly within me. *He's not coming. He knows we need him.*

"No," I whispered, both to her and myself. "He'll be here."

Four hours turned to six. The pain became unbearable, and something deeper—a hollow ache in my chest—began to spread.

"His scent," I whispered suddenly. "I can smell... another woman."

The doctor's eyes widened slightly, but she said nothing.

When Sullivan finally burst through the door eight hours after my labor began, I knew immediately. His shirt carried a floral scent that wasn't mine. His eyes—those eyes I'd gazed into for eight years—wouldn't meet mine.

"Sullivan," I gasped, reaching for him. "Thank the Moon Goddess."

He approached reluctantly, hovering at the edge of my bed instead of taking my hand. "London, I..."

Aria howled in anguish inside me, retreating deeper as my contractions grew more violent.

"Something's wrong with the pup," the doctor announced urgently. "We need to move now."

The next hours passed in a haze of pain and blood and fear. Sullivan stood by the wall, watching as if from a distance. I screamed for him once—just once—and he flinched but didn't come closer.

Aria was fading, retreating so deeply I could barely feel her. *He betrayed us,* she whimpered. *During our pup's birth.*

I woke eighteen hours later to the sound of hushed voices. My body felt hollow, emptied of both pup and strength. The room was dim, lit only by moonlight streaming through the window where Sullivan stood with his back to me.

"Sullivan?" My voice was a rasp.

He turned slowly. There was no relief on his face at seeing me awake. No joy.

"The pup?" I asked, though I already knew from the gentle weight against my chest that our son lived.

"He's fine," Sullivan said flatly.

I reached for our mind-link, that sacred connection that had bound us