Alpha's Regret: Chasing My Pregnant Luna

Ivy's POV

"The Lycan King's wrath knows no bounds and once again, he has proven that he is the most feared being in the kingdom!" A pale-faced anchor reports on the television screen behind me.

"The King's betrothed was confirmed to be tragically killed during a robbery at a bridal shop last week," the anchor continues.

At those words, my fingers stumble over the bottle of foundation I am trying to pick up. A sharp pain slices through my chest as I whip my head towards the screen.

The robbery.

Scenes of people screaming, men in masks and chaos everywhere flash in front of eyes in a panicked haze.

It was one of the worst days of my life.

Tears form in my eyes as I look at the picture of the golden-haired woman on the screen. The Lycan King's betrothed wears a kind smile much like what she was wearing when I last saw her in the robbery.

Ever since the day of the robbery, I have been compulsively checking news about her, hoping and praying that she survives.

Now, the confirmation of her death hits me like a brutal blow.

This world isn't fair.

How could I miraculously survive that night and she couldn't?

The thought brings a wave of sadness through me, and tears prick my eyes.

Suddenly, the image on the screen changes, and I freeze.

Now, the camera is zooming in on the face of the king.

Jet black hair falls in thick waves to his shoulders, framing a short rough beard that accentuates his chiseled jaw. But it's his eyes that send a shudder through me - glacial blue, like ice piercing into your soul, devoid of warmth or mercy. Rumor has it that he stole the throne from his father and imprisoned his mother. His very presence radiates danger, and even through the screen, I can feel the menace he exudes.

The anchor's shaky voice plays in the back.

"Rogues were said to be responsible for the attack, and King Alexander has vowed not to spare anyone involved in her death."

The screen shifts to show graphic images - blood splattered walls, bodies torn apart with savage force. The brutality is unimaginable. The anchor's voice quivers as she describes the scene. I stare at the screen, unable to tear my eyes away from the horror displayed.

"Reports indicate that he has already dealt with most of the rogues responsible ... except one. There is one culprit whose identity is unknown. All we know is that the Lycan king is coming for him."

Once again, the camera pans towards the king standing in the middle of the carnage. He casually takes out a handkerchief and wipes away the blood on his hands. Then, slowly, he lifts his face and stares straight into the camera.

A shiver runs through my spine. The king's predatory accusing stare seems to penetrate through the television screen. It's like he wants the culprit to fear his retribution.

A strange sort of alarm races through me as I look at his face.

His stare is so nerve-wracking that it almost feels like he is coming ... for me.

Suddenly, the door slams open behind me, and I whip around to see who is here.

My step-mother stomps inside with a frown on her face, effectively bringing me out of all my thoughts.

"What are you still doing in the bridal room?" she snarls, her eyes narrowing at me. "The guests are out, and the wedding is about to start. You are wasting my time, you pathetic girl."

My shoulders hunch down like they always do under the weight of her verbal assault.

"I don't even want to be here," she continues, her voice dripping with disdain. "If it wasn't for the fact that a woman of my stature needs to keep up appearances, I would throw you out on the streets to get married."

She stalks towards me, her eyes burning with anger, and grabs my wrist painfully, twisting it. I gasp in pain, trying to pull away, but her grip is too strong.

"And what are those tears?" she spits, her face inches from mine. "You ungrateful witch, isn't it enough that I am letting you marry who you want to? Why are you crying now?"

I wince, biting my lip to keep from screaming out as her grip tightens. I can already feel the bruise forming under her fingers.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, instead. "I'll be right out."

"You'd better," she hisses, releasing my wrist with a shove. "Get ready and come out quickly, or this wedding won't happen."

With that, she stomps back out, leaving me trembling and alone.

"Just a few more hours, Ivy," I whisper to myself. "Just a few more hours, and life will be better. James will always keep you safe, then."

James.

The thought of him brings a small, genuine smile to my lips. He's the only person who's ever made me feel valued. Today, I'm marrying him, and that thought alone is enough to push back any more tears that are threatening to spill over.

I take a deep breath, steadying myself.

I can do this.

I smooth my dress one last time and follow her out of the room.

The wedding venue is small and plain. The decorations are simple - white flowers and delicate ribbons - but they add a touch of elegance to the room. My heart swells with joy as I step inside.

James stands at the altar, looking more handsome than ever in his tuxedo. His blonde hair is perfectly styled, and his brown eyes sparkle with warmth and affection.

I can't wait to be his wife! I think giddily.

However, just as I am about to take my first step towards him, a sudden, intense feeling grips me.

I feel like someone is watching me.

It's as if predatory eyes are boring into the back of my head, almost like someone has a gun trained on my back.

The sensation is so strong, so palpable, that it sends shivers down my spine. Fear washes over me, cold and suffocating, making my heart race and my breath hitch.

I fight the urge to turn around, to look for the source of this terrifying feeling. I freeze as my mind races, conjuring images of danger lurking in the shadows, ready to strike.

But then, my eyes lock with James's, and immediately, the fear ebbs away.

He's my safety, my haven.

I take a deep breath, letting calmness wash over me.

These must be wedding jitters, and nothing else - I convince myself and move forward.

With each step closer, the intensity of the fear diminishes. Finally, I reach James, and he gently clasps my hands in his. Soon, we exchange our vows, and each word feels like a promise, binding us closer together.

The priest smiles warmly at us, then at the few people in the audience.

"Now, it's time for the rings," he announces. James and I are handed the rings, our hands trembling slightly with excitement.

As the priest looks over at the audience, he jokes, "Well, this marriage is about to happen, so if anyone objects, speak now or forever hold your peace!"

No one speaks up, and I smile, my heart swelling with happiness.

James lifts the ring, ready to slide it onto my finger. My eyes are fixed on it as I hold my breath.

Only a few seconds now ...

Just as the ring is a few centimeters from my finger, a sudden whoosh of air slices through the room.

A blade, moving with alarming speed, strikes James's hand.

The ring flies from his grasp and slams into the wall behind us. Blood splashes over my white dress, and James lets out a panicked yell, doubling over in pain.

Chaos erupts.

People gasp and scream, turning to look at the man who threw the blade. I feel like I've been plunged into ice water, my skin going pale as dread takes hold. The strange fear I felt before comes rushing back over me like a tsunami.

The room spins, the noise a deafening roar in my ears.

I can't move, can't breathe, as I see the blood dripping from James's hand.

My heart races, pounding so hard it feels like it might burst from my chest. I turn my head, following the horrified gazes of our guests, to see who could have done this.

Slowly, I look up at the entrance, fear pooling in my belly.

Standing there, bathed in the shadows with a wicked smirk on his lips, is the devil I never thought I would ever see in person.

The room seems to darken around him, his presence casting a chilling aura that makes the air feel thick and suffocating.

His jet-black hair, wild and untamed, falls over his shoulders, giving him a savage, almost primal look. The same glacial blue eyes I saw on the news earlier, lock onto mine, narrowing with brutal intensity.

Every step he takes exudes power and menace, each movement fluid and lethal.

He is here.

Alexander Reed

Our Bloodthirsty Lycan King.

He catches my gaze, and his smirk widens, revealing sharp, predatory teeth.

"Of course, I object," he declares, his voice a low, dangerous rumble that silences the room.

"After all, little Ivy here can only be my wife alone."

With that, he advances towards me, and I have nowhere left to run.