Pregnant Luna Rejects Her Alpha

I pressed my palm against the swell of my belly, feeling our pup kick as I stood at the pack house entrance. Three months. Ninety-two days since I'd last seen Easton's face, felt his arms around me, heard his voice in my mind instead of through a phone screen plagued by bad Northern Territory reception.

The black SUV rolled up the circular drive, and my heart hammered against my ribs. My wolf stirred, eager and restless, already reaching out through our bond to—

Nothing.

I frowned, trying again. The mind-link should have snapped open the moment he crossed into pack territory. We'd been connected since the day we'd recognized each other as mates, a constant warm presence in the back of my consciousness. Even during his trip, I'd felt the faint thread of him, stretched thin by distance but never severed.

The car door opened. Easton stepped out, and my breath caught. He looked tired—shadows under his eyes, his dark hair slightly longer than he usually kept it. But he was here. He was home.

"Easton!" I moved forward as quickly as my pregnant body would allow, arms already lifting for the embrace I'd been dreaming about.

He met me halfway, but something was wrong. His hug was brief, almost perfunctory—one arm around my shoulders, the other barely touching my waist. No deep inhale of my scent at the curve of my neck. No possessive nuzzle. No scent-marking.

He pulled back before I could properly hold him.

"Hey," he said, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. "Long trip. I'm exhausted."

"I can imagine." I reached for his hand, trying to ignore the way he'd stiffened at my touch. "But you're home now. We missed you so much. The pup's been so active—I think she knows her daddy's back."

"She?" A flicker of something—interest? guilt?—crossed his face.

"Just a feeling." I tried to smile, tried to push down the unease creeping up my spine. "Come inside. I had the kitchen prepare your favorite—"

"I need a shower first." He was already moving toward the entrance, leaving me standing on the drive. "Really need to wash off the travel grime."

I followed him inside, my wolf whining softly in my mind. Something's wrong, she whispered. Something's different.

I reached out through our bond again, a gentle mental touch. Easton? Welcome home, my love.

The wall slammed up so fast it made me stumble. Solid. Impenetrable. Cold.

He'd blocked me. Completely.

My Alpha mate had shut me out of his mind.

***

The shower ran for forty-five minutes.

I knew because I sat on our bed, staring at his luggage, counting every minute on the antique clock on the nightstand. The sound of water beating against tile felt accusatory, each second stretching longer than the last.

To distract myself, I reached for his suitcase. Easton was notoriously messy—clothes usually came home in a jumbled ball of wrinkled fabric that I'd tease him about while sorting through the laundry. It was one of