Alpha Val:His Secret Babies

The little plastic stick felt cool and smooth in Issa's trembling hand. Two lines. Faint, yet undeniably there. A new life. Her breath hitched, a shaky sound of pure, disbelieving wonder. It was impossibly, miraculously positive.

After four long, agonizing years of wishing, countless doctor's visits, and heartbreaking disappointments, this time, it was real. A baby. Their own baby. The impossible dream had finally, miraculously become true.

Hot and sweet tears rolled down her cheeks. She couldn't wait to tell Marcus. This will fix everything, she thought, a surge of desperate hope flooding her chest. This will bring back the man I married.

A low, rhythmic moaning drifted from the bedroom, slicing through the fragile bubble of her joy. Issa froze, the plastic stick almost forgotten in her hand. What was that? Her brow furrowed, a small, uneasy frown creeping onto her face.

It was too early for Marcus to be home. He'd called, hadn't he? Said he was tied up at the office. Just stress, Issa. Don't be ridiculous. It's just... the house settling. She tried to rationalize, tried to dismiss the cold dread beginning to coil in her gut.

He'd been distant lately-his once bright eyes now dull with what she couldn't decipher, his warm laughter replaced with tired sighs even when he didn't need rest. He had suddenly started keeping late nights at the office, although he explained that it was due to the pressure of his new project. But also, his once loving touch had grown hesitant, then absent. The tender kisses he used to give her every morning before going out and at night before bed had turned into quick pecks, which she even had to remind him of.

But of all these, she had told herself, it's just stress. She'd come back to him when the project was over, when life settled. This baby, she had silently prayed, would be their fresh start. Their reconnection.

The moaning intensified. It was no longer a faint sound, but a clear grunting. And it wasn't just Marcus's voice. There was a second voice-soft and breathy. A woman.

Cold and sharp fear coiled in Issa's stomach. Her heart began to hammer against her ribs, faster than her breath could catch. Her fingers tightened around the slender white stick as she walked towards the bedroom door. This time, the sound grew louder, clearer, leaving no room for denial.

No. Please, no. This can't be happening.

She pushed the door open-slowly at first, then she let it swing wide.

The scene unfolded before her in that hot, vibrant afternoon light. Marcus and Sarah-his best friend's wife. Naked. Legs on hips, skin sleek with sweat on their marital bed. The smell of sex hung heavy in the air, nauseating and suffocating.

Issa stood there. She did not scream. She did not cry. Her breath paused-and then it seemed to stop altogether. Her mind went numb. She simply watched the man she loved, the man she'd just discovered was to be the father of her child, thrusting into another woman frantically.

And the woman was the same person who had shared their dinner table with them, laughed at their jokes, and listened to her heartaches. Her gaze was fixed on the sinful, unacceptable act being displayed before her. She stood there, unblinking, looking at Marcus's face ruffling in the disgusting pleasure with his eyes closed.

How could he? How could they? The questions screamed in her silent mind, but no sound escaped her lips.

And just like someone had tapped him, his eyes flickered open-and they met hers.

His body paused for a few seconds, stiffened in subtle fear. Sarah, who was still beneath him, shifted her body, her eyes still closed and oblivious to what was going on. Marcus's eyes were wide with shock, and then, just like someone who was possessed, he continued thrusting into Sarah.

He didn't stop.

He looked at her-like truly looked at her-standing there in the doorway, the small white pregnancy test clutched in her hand. And still, he continued. His gaze held hers, looking her eyeballs to eyeballs, not wavering. The rhythmic thrusts continued, faster than before. He watched her watching him, until his body tensed, a low groan escaped his lips, and then he arched his hips, spilling himself into Sarah.

It was in that moment, as his eyes closed again while he savoured the aftermath of his pleasure, that the dam broke.

It wasn't a trickle, but a river of hot, steaming, uncontrollable tears. They streamed down Issa's face, blurring the horrible image before her-but the tears were not enough to erase the feeling of being torn to pieces from the inside out. Her knees wiggled, and she immediately gripped the doorframe, trying to remain upright, trying not to collapse.

The joy, the hope, the impossible, miraculous baby-all of it had turned to dust. All those things were crushed.

Then finally, when she regained her voice-

"I want a divorce," she broke out in a raw, crackling whisper.

The words felt foreign on her tongue, yet utterly, undeniably right.

Marcus, who was still tangled with Sarah, flinched. His eyes snapped open again, sharper this time, a flicker of something more like genuine surprise than remorse.

He pushed himself off Sarah, hastily grabbing a sheet, his body still reeking of his recent pleasure. Sarah whimpered in surprise and shame, pulling the sheet higher.

"Issa, wait. No. Don't be ridiculous," Marcus said, his voice flat, dismissive. He didn't even sound like he cared. "Come on... this... this is nothing. It's just a mistake. I mean, we can fix this." He started to rise, taking a step toward her.

Issa stared at him, tears still flowing like a hot river down her cold cheeks. Her jaw tightened.

"Fix this?" Her voice was low and crowded with tears, thick with disbelief. "There is nothing left to fix, Marcus. It's done. We are done. I want a divorce."

How dare he? How dare he try to minimize this?

She took a step back, her hand dropping from the doorframe, the pregnancy test falling silently to the carpet.

Marcus's jaw tightened. The feigned remorse vanished completely. His eyes hardened, glinting with a cold, possessive light she had never seen directed at her before.

"A divorce?" he scoffed, pushing the sheet away. He stood, naked, displaying his dominance, his voice dropping to a low growl.

"You must be joking, Issa. You're not divorcing me. Don't be stupid. You don't get to walk away."

He took another step, closing the distance between them.

"You're mine. And I own you."

The air in the bedroom, once thick with the scent of illicit pleasure, was now sharp with the smell of betrayal and the chilling words Issa had just uttered. Marcus, scrambling for a pair of shorts, still bristled with a raw, disbelieving rage at her statement.

"Divorce? Are you insane, Issa?!" he spat, his voice incredulous.

Sarah, still huddled under the sheet, made a pathetic whimper. "Marcus, maybe just... talk to her."

Issa's gaze snapped to Sarah, her tear-filled eyes now coated with pure venom. The audacity.

"You," she spat, the word laced with nothing but fury. "You dirty whore. Get out!"

Sarah flinched, her eyes wide as she began to awkwardly untangle herself from the bed, desperate to escape.

Marcus stepped in front of Issa, his face devoid of remorse. "Don't you dare speak to her like that! This is my house, and I decide who stays!"

Issa laughed, a harsh, brittle sound that held no humor. "Did you just say your house? Your bed? The very bed you defiled?" She took two steps forward, closing the distance between them. "Marcus. You defiled everything." Her voice, raw with newfound strength born out of betrayal, rose with every word.

"I've been a fool," she accused, her voice cracking. "For years, I've watched you grow distant, make excuses-stupid excuses. The late nights, the 'stress' of work, the cold shoulders you give me every time in our own bed. And I believed you! I blamed myself! I thought if I just loved you more, and tried harder, cooked better meals, that you'd come back to me. All while you were right here, with her!"

Her gaze swept over him, seeing him truly for the first time-not as the loving husband she remembered, but the treacherous, selfish man he had become.

"I am done, Marcus. I am so utterly fed up with you, with this stupid godforsaken marriage. I am done pretending to be okay. And just so you know, I'm leaving. With or without a divorce. I. Am. Leaving."

Sarah, now clumsily dressed, scurried out of the room like a terrified mouse, avoiding Issa's gaze.

Marcus scoffed, a cocky smile twisting his lips. "Leaving? To where? What do you have, Issa? You have nothing without me. You're just a barren woman. Who's going to want you?"

The cruel words, meant to shatter her, instead hardened Issa's heart. He truly believes I am nothing without him. He thinks I'll break.

"I have myself," she stated, her voice now steady even with the brewing sorrow, "and that's more than enough. Mr., you'll hear from my lawyer."

She turned on her heel, her legs shaking, but her spirit utterly determined to leave. As she stormed past the living room, a figure emerged from the kitchen doorway. It was Marcus's mother, Evelyn. Her arms were crossed, her eyes narrowed in satisfaction. She had always made her hatred for Issa clear, never hiding the fact that she wanted Issa out of her son's life-especially after the years of childlessness.

"Who made the eggless hen angry?" Evelyn mocked sweetly, feigning ignorance to the situation, though her eyes gleamed with malice. "Oh my... did you finally decide to leave? Good decision, my dear. Marcus deserves a woman who can give him proper children, not some dessert."

Issa looked at her, eyes filled with controlled anger. Not worth it. Not them. Not anymore.

"You and him-you both will get what you deserve someday." She walked past the woman, leaving the bitter words hanging in the air like a curse.

Issa rushed to the guest bedroom, pulling an old bag from the closet. She didn't bother with careful packing. Just necessities. A few clothes she could change into, her wallet, her phone. Each item she tossed into the bag felt like shedding a piece of a life that was now utterly meaningless.

Marcus appeared in the bedroom door, his face now hard, his earlier feigned composure replaced by a chilling possessiveness.

"What are you doing? Stop it, Issa. You're not going anywhere." His voice wasn't apologetic; it was laced with flat annoyance, as if she were a stubborn child defying a simple rule.

He isn't sorry for the cheating, Issa realized, watching him. He's outraged by my audacity to leave. He truly believes I owe him, that I'm supposed to silently endure because he 'stayed' all these years without a child.

"I told you, Marcus. I'm leaving." Her voice was flat, final.

She zipped the bag, the harsh rasp of the zipper slicing the tense silence in the room.

He moved, blocking the door. "You owe me, Issa. This house. Everything. You think you can just walk away?"

His hand shot out, grabbing her arm, his grip familiar and bruising. "You're mine."

Issa met his gaze. Her eyes surprisingly held no fear; it was totally replaced by a cold, unwavering resolve. "I owe you nothing."

She tried to pull away, but his grip tightened.

"Let me go!" she screamed, the sound tearing from her throat. His grip was firm, unyielding.

Out of anger, desperation, and every other indescribable feeling, she landed a hard kick to his shin. He grunted in pain, his grip loosening just enough.

Issa yanked her arm free, turned around-totally ignoring his pain-and snatched her bag as she went. She didn't look back. Not even for a second.

She ran out the door into the darkening evening. She fumbled for her car keys, her heart pounding drastically against her ribs. She threw her bag into the back seat, jumped into the driver's seat, and with shaking hands, started the engine.

The car roared to life, and just like that, she sped down the driveway, leaving the ruined home behind her.

The sky suddenly hung low and bruised. Rain began to fall-a relentless downpour. Water streamed down the windshield, exactly like the tears that now coursed silently down her face. She was weeping, not with the raw sobs from before, but with a deep, silent ache that settled into her very bones and deep inside her mind.

The road ahead became blurry. She drove and drove, with no destination in mind-only a desperate need to go as far as possible from the betrayals that had shattered her very existence.

Then, finally, she stopped.

And almost immediately, like it was timed, a dark figure loomed through the rain-streaked window, tapping furiously on the glass. Then another strong, intimidating silhouette of a man.

His voice, muffled but deep, cut through the sound of rain, commanding her to open the door.

Before she could react-before she could even scream a final, desperate No!-a deafening crash erupted. The man had shattered the window of her car.

A hand reached in, strong and brutal, twisting the lock, yanking the door open.

Her scream was swallowed by the sudden rush of wind and rain. A powerful arm circled around her neck, dragging her out into the storm. She fought, kicked, but it was useless.

A blinding pain exploded in her head.

And then, darkness.

A dull ache throbbed behind Issa's eyes as she opened them. Every muscle screamed in protest, fire licking at her limbs. Her head pounded frantically. She groaned, a weak sound barely escaping her sore throat. Slowly, her eyelids fluttered open, heavy and hesitant. Her vision was a watery blur, slowly focusing on unfamiliar canvas above her. This isn't my car. This isn't anywhere familiar.

Her wrist, bound painfully with a strong, harsh leather thong to a thick wooden post dug into the earth, confirmed the nightmare wasn't over. The image of the shadowy figure, the shattered glass, the blinding pain-it all crashed back in. She looked around. No one. Where am I? What happened? Panic flared, hot and sharp. Get out. You have to get out now, before whatever it is comes back.

Without thinking, a desperate instinct kicked in. Issa pulled and tugged at her bound wrist, her entire body straining against the leather. It clung to her skin, causing raw bruises, but she pulled harder. The wooden post groaned, and the earth surrounding it slightly shifted. Just a few more inches. Almost free. I have to try.

"Foolish human."

A low growl cut through the stillness. Issa froze, her blood immediately turning to ice. A massive shadow fell over her. She slowly lifted her head. The silhouette was standing over her at the entrance of the tent. It was the same intimidating figure who had pulled her from her car. His eyes... and everything about him screamed inhumane.

"Did you really think that would work?" he sneered, his voice mocking. "You're not going anywhere."

He moved with sudden, impossible speed. Before Issa could even flinch, his large, powerful hand shot out and clamped around her bound wrist. He didn't bother to loosen the thong on her arm. With a single, brutal pull, he ripped the post from the ground, causing Issa to fall backward onto the ground with a heavy thud. Her head snapped back, hitting the rough earth. Pain exploded throughout her spine and abdomen. She cried out, a sharp, ragged sound.

"Please! Don't! What are you?" Issa shrieked, her voice raw with terror, scrambling backward on the ground. Her eyes were wide with horror now as she looked at him, truly seeing the golden light in his inhuman gaze, the rough, animalistic power radiating from him. Gods. No. This isn't just a man. This was a nightmare made manifest. Monster. He's a monster.

"Stay away! Please, I beg you!"

Then, a new wave of pain, a different and more terrifying one, ripped through her lower abdomen. A sharp, excruciating cramp, followed by a sudden gush of something warm between her legs. No. Not this. Not now. Not my baby. Fear, cold and absolute, swallowed the physical agony. Her eyes squeezed shut, silent pleas trapped in her throat.

He stood over her, his intimidating golden eyes gleaming. He clearly saw the tremor that ran through her, the sudden clenching of her body. And he didn't care. He doesn't care. He doesn't even know what he's done.

"Get up," he snarled, nudging her with his foot, the half end of the broken post still dangling from her wrist. "If you don't work here, there's no food for you."

Issa lay there, tears streaming down her face.

"No!" she screamed, a raw, guttural sound.

She wasn't crying for the fall, and certainly not just from fear of the creature standing over her. The tears now were for the undeniable, agonizing truth unfolding within her.

"My baby," she choked out, a raw sob tearing from her throat, her voice barely a whisper against the growing misery. Her hand subconsciously went between her thighs, only to discover the wet stickiness there, confirming her deepest fear.

"No... please... my baby..."

The tiny life she celebrated just days ago was gone. Flushed away by the brutal reality of this place and the violence of this monster and his kind. Her last hope for anything good, anything human, had been shattered. She was utterly broken.

---

Three weeks later...

Issa moved like a ghost. Her body a constant ache, her mind numb, shielding her from the rising despair. Every weary step carrying timber, every bite of tasteless gruel, was shadowed by the relentless questions: Did Marcus look for me? Would I have been safer if I hadn't left? Would my baby be safe, would it even be, if I had just endured?

A bitter self-loathing festered. I hated myself for leaving. I blamed myself every passing day. A child she had sought for all her married life, lost, like some carelessly dropped candy on a picnic blanket, snatched away by monsters. By her own foolish choices.

She saw the other captives, a grim collection of humans these monsters seemed specialized in kidnapping. Over the weeks she had learned that they were werewolves. The same werewolves she read in fiction and folklore.

It's real. This nightmare is real.

It was a reality she desperately wanted to wake up from. Amongst the captives were women, and a few others were men. They rarely spoke to each other. Issa learned to be invisible, to keep her head down, to never draw attention. Especially because she hadn't gotten over the grief of betrayal and loss, and a strange new fear. The werewolves. Real. Terrifying.

God, just let me get through another day.

"Gather up all young ladies!" a voice growled, startling her.

Issa's stomach dropped. No. Not now. Not this.

All the captive young women immediately sectioned themselves, a palpable dread rippling through their huddled forms. They were led into a large, open clearing. The air reeked of raw energy, filled with predatory anticipation from the werewolf pack members surrounding them.

A large, burly guard with a heavy scar on his face and golden predator eyes stepped forward.

"Listen up, humans!" His voice boomed, cutting through the silence of the night, silencing even the rustle of their fear. "This is a great honor for you little ones. Tonight, you serve the Alphas. Do not speak. Do not resist. Do not make any sound unless you have been ordered to. Any deviation from these laws will be met with immediate, painful consequences. Understood?"

A few terrified nods rippled through the huddled women. No one dared to speak, but Issa saw the fear in their widened eyes, the trembling of their lips. Serve the Alphas? What does that even mean?

A chill, colder than any rain, seeped into her bones.

"Good," the guard grunted, a cruel smile twisting his scarred mouth. "Now, strip."