The Alpha Wants My Son Dead

“Smile,” the attendant hissed under her breath. “They’re watching.”

I already knew.

The moment I stepped through the towering doors of the Ravenscroft estate, eyes locked on me—curious, gleeful, cruel. Their whispers brushed against the marble like wind through brittle leaves. I held my head high.

The hunting banquet was the crown jewel of our pack’s calendar. A night of feasting, boasting, and legacy.

As Luna, I should have been at the center. Instead, I stood in a borrowed shadow, heart braced for what I knew was coming.

Gasps broke like waves across the hall.

I didn’t need to turn to tell. He had arrived.

Chris.

My Alpha, my mate. The father of my son.

Walked in with another woman on his arm.

Bella slinked beside him like a queen already crowned, her hand draped over his in a possessive curl. A gleam against her neck—a black gold chain, elegant and ancient.

The hall split in reverence as they walked. Every inch of me burned

It was my chain.

The Luna’s chain.

Now on Bella’s neck. As if it belonged to her.

My nails dug into my palm.

"Alpha Ravenscroft and his mate have arrived!" the master of ceremonies called out, voice booming.

Mate.

The word slapped harder than a punch. My title—my name—was gone. Stripped from me like the necklace that once belonged to generations of Lunas before me.

I barely noticed the young Beta who approached until he cleared his throat awkwardly.

“Luna Whitmore,” he said, the name tasting foreign even to him. “You’ve been seated at the east table.”

I blinked. East table.

It was the table for the unmated. The outsiders.

I nodded as if he'd offered me a place of honor.

“Thank you.” My voice didn’t shake, but something deep inside did. I walked toward my new seat, spine straight, face still. Just like Father taught me. A Luna never bends. Even when her bones are splintering.

The whispers followed.

“...finally made it official…”

“...Whitmore blood’s thinned out…”

“...even her son’s sickly…”

Leo.

The name made me freeze.

The shame I could endure. But not him. Not my son.

A young she-wolf at the table glanced up, then dropped her gaze quickly, guilty just for looking at me. No one spoke. No one dared. I might as well have been a ghost.

“Wine, Luna?” an older Beta woman asked, voice soft with sympathy.

“Yes. Thank you.” I gripped the glass like a lifeline.

From here, I could see everything. Chris held court at the head table—my table—laughing like nothing was broken. Bella leaned into him, her red dress clinging to every curve. She was everything the pack admired: radiant, fertile, dominant. And now she wore my title.

Marcus Thornfield approached her, bowing deeply. “Luna,” he said, loud enough for the room to hear. “The hunt was glorious. Your Alpha brought down a stag fit for legend.”

Bella’s laugh rang clear and triumphant. “My Alpha is unmatched,” she purred, casting a glance my way that landed like a blade.

Toast after toast followed, until Chris stood with a glass in hand.

“To new beginnings,” he said, raising it high, “and stronger bloodlines.”

The omission was unmistakable.

There would be no toast for the Luna.

Because to them, I no longer existed. Because they wanted me erased.

The halls were quiet when I returned to the estate. My heels clicked softly against stone, each step pulling me farther from the glittering world I once ruled.

I didn’t stop at my rooms. I went to Leo.

He lay curled beneath a wolf-patterned blanket, his little hand clutching the stuffed toy I gave him on his second birthday. His face, usually so full of questions, was pale. Too still.

I brushed the hair from his forehead. Damp.

“Ellie,” said a voice from behind.

Maria, his nanny, stood in the doorway. Her hands were folded tightly, her brow lined with worry.

“He asked for you. Again.”

I swallowed. “Is he still sick?”

She nodded. “Fatigue. No appetite. Said his stomach hurt.”

I closed my eyes. “Did Dr. Thorne come?”

She hesitated. “Alpha said no. He said... it’s just weakness. That Leo will grow out of it.”

He wouldn’t. Chris had been brushing it off for weeks, dismissing my concern like it was a personal failing. I kissed Leo’s forehead and turned to leave, but my hands were shaking.

He was getting worse. My son, my pup, my little precious.

How could I save him?

-

I went downstairs and locked eyes with Chris.

I thought he wouldn’t return.

“Checking on the runt again?” Chris’s voice echoed from the hallway, sharp and slurred with wine. He didn’t explain why he came back tonight.

I didn’t bother to ask, either.

I stepped into the grand foyer. He stood at the bottom of the staircase, one hand braced on the banister, the other hanging limp.

“Our son has a name,” I said, my voice lower than his, steadier.

He laughed coldly and closed the space between us in seconds. “Our son? That sick little thing can barely hold a spoon without shaking.”

I stepped back. “He needs real care. A doctor who—”

“What he needs,” he snapped, “is to stop being a damn embarrassment. Like his mother.”

I stiffened.

“You’ve brought shame to this house, Ellie,” he growled. “Your blood is weak. That boy is proof.”

A small sound from the staircase made us both turn. Leo stood there in his pajamas, eyes wide with fear, clutching his stuffed wolf to his chest.

“Mommy?”

His voice cracked like a twig. He held his stuffed wolf in one hand, the other rubbing his eyes.

I moved toward him instantly.

“Back to bed, baby,” I said, trying to smile. “Everything’s fine.”

"Nothing is fine!" Chris roared, his eyes flashing with Alpha power. "Look at him, cowering like an Omega! This is your legacy, Ellie. A son who'll never be fit to lead!"

Leo flinched, tears welling in his eyes. I rushed to him, scooping him into my arms despite knowing it would only enrage Chris further.

"It's okay, baby," I whispered, feeling him tremble against me. "Mommy's here."

"Pathetic," Chris spat, turning away. "Both of you."

He turned and stalked away, the echo of his fury trailing behind him like smoke.

I carried Leo back to his room, and laid him gently in bed. His forehead was hotter now. Burning.

I sat beside him, whispering soft lullabies I barely remembered from my own childhood. His breathing slowed, but his little hand clung to mine, even in sleep.

Then I saw it, totally by accident...

His wrist. A faint shimmer under the skin—veins glowing a sickly silver, barely visible in the moonlight.

No. No way.

My heart seized.

Silver… Poison. Someone had been dosing my son.

Suddenly, everything clicked—the fatigue, the pale skin, the pain. This wasn’t nature. This wasn’t weakness.

This was intentional.

And for the first time in weeks, my fear gave way to something else.

Rage.

They wanted to erase me. But now they were coming for him.

I would not let them.