The nursery was the only place in the Pack House where the air didn’t feel like it was choking me. It was a small room on the third floor, far away from the Alpha’s luxurious suite—the suite that should have been mine by right, but was currently occupied by a woman who wasn't.

"Mama, look," Tommy whispered, holding up a drawing. It was a crude, crayon depiction of a large black wolf standing next to a smaller, golden one. "That's Daddy. And that's me."

My heart clenched, a familiar, dull ache that had been my constant companion for seven years. Tommy had never seen Remington’s wolf form up close. My mate, Alpha Remington Stevens, barely looked at our son, let alone shifted for him. To Remington, Tommy was just a reminder of a political shackle he was desperate to break. To me, Tommy was the only reason I was still breathing.

"It's beautiful, baby," I said, smoothing his dark hair. He had Remington’s eyes—piercing, intelligent, and demanding. But he had my heart.

The peace shattered instantly. The heavy oak door to our quarters didn't just open; it slammed against the wall with enough force to crack the plaster.

Tommy flinched, dropping his crayon. I stood up immediately, placing myself between my son and the intruder.

Anya Diaz stood in the doorway, radiating a scent that made my stomach turn—synthetic vanilla and an underlying rot that no amount of perfume could mask. She wore a silk robe that I recognized. It was one Remington had bought for me years ago, a gift for a mating ceremony that never happened. Now, it was draped over her, cinched tightly above the slight swell of her stomach.

"You're still here?" Anya sneered, her eyes raking over the modest furniture of the nursery. "I told the Omegas to clear this trash out an hour ago."

I straightened my spine, summoning the scraps of dignity I had hoarded over the years. "This is my son's room, Anya. We aren't going anywhere."

Anya stepped into the room, her heels clicking sharply on the hardwood. She placed a hand on her belly, a gesture she performed constantly in public, especially when Remington was watching. "Not for long, Seraphina. Remington and I decided this floor is perfect for the *true* heir. My pup will need the space. Your... mistake... can take the basement."

The insult to me was one thing; I was used to being the 'Late Bloomer,' the weak Luna who couldn't hold her Alpha's attention. But calling Tommy a mistake? My wolf, usually dormant and quiet, stirred uneasily beneath my skin.

"Get out," I said, my voice low. It wasn't an Alpha command—I didn't have that power—but it was the voice of a mother. "Do not speak of my son that way."

Anya laughed, a harsh, grating sound. "Or what? You'll cry to the Elders? Remington doesn't want you. The pack doesn't respect you. You are nothing but a title on a piece of paper."

She closed the distance between us, her face twisting into a mask of pure malice. "I am carrying the future of the Blood Moon Pack. You are just a squatter in my house."

"I am the Luna," I stated, though the words felt hollow even to my own ears. "And until Remington rejects me properly, this is my home."

"Then let's speed up the process," Anya hissed. She lunged forward, her hand raising to strike me.

I braced for the impact, prepared to take the blow as I had taken a thousand emotional ones before. But the blow never landed.

A low, guttural snarl erupted from behind me. It was a sound too deep, too primal for a five-year-old child.

"No hurt Mama!"

Tommy blurred past me.

My breath hitched. My son wasn't just running; he was changing. His small limbs elongated, snapping with the sound of rapid bone growth. Patches of golden-brown fur burst through his t-shirt. It wasn't a full shift—he was too young, it should have been impossible—but his canines extended into razor-sharp points, and his eyes glowed with a fierce, amber light.

A Prodigy. My son was a Prodigy Alpha.

Before Anya could react, Tommy sank his teeth into her calf.

"Ahhh!" Anya shrieked, the sound piercing the air. "Get off! Get off me, you little beast!"

She thrashed, losing her balance. Tommy held on, his small paws digging into the floorboards, growling with a ferocity that shook the room. He was defending me. He was doing what his father should have done.

"Tommy, no!" I screamed, rushing forward to pull him back, terrified of what she might do.

But Anya was faster, fueled by pain and humiliated rage. "You filthy mongrel!"

With a strength amplified by her fury, she kicked out. Her heel connected solidly with Tommy’s ribs. The sound of the impact was sickening—a wet thud mixed with a sharp yelp of pain.

Tommy released her, skidding backward across the polished floor. He scrabbled for traction, his partial shift faltering as pain confused his young mind. He slid out of the nursery door and onto the landing of the grand staircase.

Anya didn't stop. Her eyes were wild, her chest heaving. She looked at the bite mark on her leg, bleeding and ruining her stolen silk, and then she looked at my son, who was trying to stand on the edge of the stairs.

"You shouldn't exist," she whispered.

Then, she shoved him.

It happened in slow motion. I saw her hands connect with his small chest. I saw the look of confusion in his amber eyes. I saw his feet leave the floor.

"Tommy!"

My scream tore through my throat, raw and bloody.

He tumbled backward.

*Thump.*

*Crack.*

*Thump.*

His small body hit every wooden step, a ragdoll tossed aside by a careless child. The sound of bones breaking echoed off the high ceilings of the Alpha’s house. It was a rhythm of horror that would play in my nightmares for eternity.

When he hit the marble floor of the foyer at the bottom, he didn't move. His neck was twisted at an unnatural angle. His legs, still partially covered in that beautiful golden fur, twitched once—a violent convulsion—and then went still.

Silence descended on the Pack House. Heavy. Suffocating. Final.

I stood at the top of the stairs, my hand reaching out toward empty air, my heart shattering into a million irreparable pieces.

My feet barely touched the steps. I didn’t run; I fell, scrambling and sliding down the grand staircase, my hands burning as they grazed the polished banister. The world had narrowed down to a single, horrific image: my son, my little boy, lying broken on the cold marble of the foyer below.

"Tommy! Tommy, baby, please!"

I hit the bottom floor, my knees colliding hard with the stone, but I didn't feel the pain. I only felt the terror clawing at my throat. I crawled the last few feet to where he lay.

He was so small.

His body was twisted at an angle that made bile rise in my throat. One leg was bent underneath him, and his head… oh goddess, his head. Blood was already pooling beneath him, dark and thick against the pristine white marble, soaking into the golden fur that still patched his skin from his partial shift.

"No, no, no. Look at me. Tommy, look at Mama."

His eyelids fluttered. The fierce amber glow of his wolf eyes was fading, replaced by a dull, glassy haze. A wet, rattling sound escaped his lips, accompanied by a bubble of blood.

"M-Mama…" It was a whisper, barely audible over the thundering of my own heart.

He needed a Healer. He needed the Alpha.

In our world, the Alpha’s aura was pure power. It could command, it could destroy, but it could also sustain. An Alpha’s presence could bolster a pup’s healing, forcing their wolf to knit bones and stem bleeding until a Healer arrived. It was the only thing that could save a Prodigy pup whose body was failing.

I squeezed my eyes shut and threw all my mental strength into the mate bond—the connection I had tried to ignore for seven years, the tether that usually brought me nothing but cold indifference.

*Remington!*

I screamed his name through the mind-link, projecting the metallic scent of blood, the image of our broken son, and the sheer, suffocating panic consuming me.

*Remington, please! It’s Tommy! He’s dying! I need you! Bring the Healer! Now!*

The connection flared to life. For a split second, I felt him. I felt his annoyance, his impatience. He was sitting in a leather chair, surrounded by the scent of coffee and old paper—a pack meeting.

His voice echoed in my head, cold and sharp as a blade. *"Seraphina? I am in the middle of negotiations with the Northern territory."*

*"He’s dying!"* I sobbed mentally, cradling Tommy’s head in my lap, my hands slick with his blood. *"Anya pushed him! He fell down the stairs! Remington, his aura is fading! Help us!"*

There was a pause. A heartbeat of silence where hope dared to rise.

Then, a scoff reverberated through the link.

*"Anya pushed him?"* Remington’s mental tone dripped with disbelief and disgust. *"Do you really think I am that stupid? You are interrupting pack business with your jealous lies. I told you to stay in your room, and now you’re using the boy to manipulate me?"*

*"No! Remington, I swear—"*

*"Enough,"* he commanded. *"I don’t want to hear another word until I return. Do not disturb me again."*

And then, the worst thing imaginable happened.

I felt a slam. It was a physical sensation, like a heavy steel door crashing down inside my mind. The connection didn't just fade; he severed the line. He used his Alpha authority to block me completely.

Static. Cold, empty static filled my head.

"Remington!" I screamed out loud, my voice cracking.

But he was gone. He had chosen to be deaf to my pleas. He had chosen his meeting, his pride, and his mistress over the life of his own son.

I looked down at Tommy. Without the support of his Alpha father’s aura, his small body couldn't fight the trauma. The golden fur on his arms began to recede, his wolf retreating deep inside to die before the human part of him did.

Tommy’s eyes found mine one last time. The fear in them was gone, replaced by a terrible, heavy exhaustion. He tried to lift his hand, perhaps to wipe the tears falling onto his cheeks, but his arm was too heavy.

"D-Daddy… coming?" he wheezed.

A sob tore through my chest, shattering my ribs. I couldn't lie to him. I couldn't tell him that his father was coming to save him, because his father had just hung up on his life.

"I'm here, baby," I choked out, brushing the hair back from his clammy forehead. "Mama is here. Mama loves you more than the moon and the stars."

He let out a long, shuddering sigh. The light in his eyes flickered once, twice, and then extinguished.

His chest stopped moving.

The silence that followed was heavier than the scream. It was a silence that sucked the air out of the room, out of the house, out of the entire world.

I waited. I waited for him to breathe. I waited for his wolf to jump start his heart. I waited for the miracle that was supposed to happen for special pups like him.

But there was only the dripping of blood onto the marble.

"Tommy?" I whispered.

He didn't answer.

A strange numbness washed over me. It started in my fingertips and spread to my chest, freezing the agony into something solid and sharp. My son was dead.

Slowly, moving like a machine that had rusted over, I slid my arms under his small, limp body. He was heavy. Dead weight was always heavier than living weight.

I stood up. My legs trembled, but they held. I didn't look at the bloodstain on the floor. I didn't look for Anya, who must have fled or hidden herself away. She didn't matter. Nothing mattered.

I held Tommy close to my chest, his blood soaking through my shirt, staining my skin, marking me with his final moments. I turned away from the front door, away from the pack lands, and began to climb the stairs.

One step. Two steps.

I would take him back to his room. I would lay him in his bed. I would wait for the Alpha to come home and see what his silence had cost.

The climb up to the third floor took an eternity. Every step was a mountain I had to conquer. My arms burned, but I held Tommy tighter against my chest. His blood had soaked completely through my shirt, cooling against my skin in a sticky, horrifying reminder of my failure. He was so heavy now. Dead weight was always heavier than living weight.

I turned the corner to the nursery. I just wanted to lay him down. I wanted to put him in his bed, wrap him in his favorite star-patterned quilt, and wait for the nightmare to end.

I reached for the brass doorknob. It wouldn't turn.

Locked. From the inside.

A low, vibrating snarl echoed in the empty hallway. It didn't come from my throat, but from deep within my soul. My wolf, dormant and quiet for so long, was thrashing against my ribs, awakened by the scent of blood and profound loss. I didn't think. I just gripped the handle, letting my grief fuel a sudden, violent surge of canine strength.

*Crack.*

The metal mechanism snapped with a sharp groan. I shoved my shoulder against the heavy oak, bursting into the room.

The air hit me like a physical blow. It wasn't the familiar, comforting scent of crayons and baby shampoo. The nursery was suffocatingly hot, thick with the musky stench of sweat, arousal, and that nauseating, synthetic vanilla.

My eyes adjusted to the dim light, and the last fragile piece of my sanity shattered into dust.

There, on Tommy’s small bed—on the very sheets I had tucked him into last night—were two tangled bodies. Remington and Anya. My fated mate, the Alpha of the Blood Moon Pack, was burying his face in his mistress's neck, his hips moving in a rhythmic, sickening display of infidelity.

In our son's bedroom. On his bed.

Remington froze. He pulled back, his broad, muscular shoulders tense. He turned his head to look at me. His eyes, usually a striking ice-blue, were dilated with lust, which instantly melted into a glare of absolute, unadulterated fury.

He didn't look at the blood painting my clothes. He didn't look at the unnatural angle of his five-year-old son's neck. He only saw a nuisance interrupting his pleasure.

My legs gave out. I collapsed to my knees, taking Tommy down with me so I wouldn't drop him. I pulled his small, broken body to my chest, threw my head back, and screamed.

It wasn't a human sound. It was the raw, bleeding howl of a mother whose universe had just been violently ripped apart. The agony tore through my vocal cords, echoing off the nursery walls, begging the Moon Goddess to strike me dead right there on the floor. It was a sound of pure, concentrated betrayal.

Remington didn't flinch. He didn't rush to us. Instead, his eyes flashed with Alpha gold.

"Silence!"

The Alpha Command hit me like a falling vault. The sheer, oppressive gravity of his aura slammed into my back, crushing me against the hardwood floor. My jaw snapped shut so violently my teeth clicked, the metallic taste of my own blood flooding my mouth. My scream was choked off, trapped in my throat as I was physically pinned over my dead child.

"Are you completely out of your mind?" Remington snarled, stepping off the bed. He didn't even bother to dress. Anya sat up behind him, a wicked smirk playing on her lips as she casually pulled Tommy's star-patterned quilt over her bare breasts.

"I told you not to disturb me, Seraphina," Remington spat, his voice dripping with venom. "But you just can't help yourself, can you? Your hysterical jealousy knows no bounds. You drag the boy around, putting on this pathetic, dramatic performance just to ruin my peace."

I couldn't speak. The command kept my lips sealed, my body paralyzed. Tears streamed down my face, mixing with Tommy's drying blood on the floorboards. *Look at him,* my mind screamed. *Look at your son!*

But Remington wasn't looking. He closed his eyes and pushed his aura out further, forcibly tearing open the pack's mental mind-link. He was broadcasting to every single wolf in the Blood Moon territory.

*"Hear your Alpha,"* Remington's voice boomed inside my skull, vibrating with righteous anger. *"Luna Seraphina has crossed the line. Once again, she neglects her duties as a mother, using her pup as a prop to fake emergencies. She has violently interrupted my sacred time with Anya, the true mother of my future heir. She is unstable, jealous, and a burden to this pack."*

The response was instantaneous. The link, usually a quiet hum in the back of my mind, erupted into a deafening roar of collective disgust.

*"Crazy bitch,"* an Enforcer's voice sneered in my head.

*"The Alpha deserves so much better,"* an Omega whispered.

*"She shouldn't even be Luna. Disgusting."*

Wave after wave of telepathic hatred crashed over me, stinging like acid. The entire pack was judging me, despising me, cheering for my humiliation while I lay paralyzed in a puddle of my dead son's blood.

Under the crushing weight of my mate's command, I looked into Tommy's dull, glassy eyes. The mate bond inside my chest—the golden thread I had clung to for seven miserable years—withered and turned to ash. Something ancient and unforgiving woke up in its place.