He Killed Our Pup: The Alpha's Ultimate Regret

My husband locked me in a glass cage in the center of the ballroom, announcing to the elite of the pack that my father was dead.

While his assistant, Debra, draped herself over him, Austen turned the thermostat down until industrial coolant pumped into my prison.

I was eight months pregnant with his heir, begging for mercy, but he only raised a champagne glass to his new "Nolan Pack."

To prove my submission, he ordered warriors to douse me in ice water laced with silver and wolfsbane.

The chemicals burned my skin, but the cold killed my unborn son.

As I lay in a pool of frozen red blood, watching the life fade from my womb, Austen finally panicked-not for me, but for his reputation.

My father, the Supreme Alpha, wasn't dead. He tore the doors off their hinges to save me, but it was too late for the baby.

Waking up in the hospital, empty and broken, I listened to Austen beg not for forgiveness, but for a cover-up to save the stock price.

"We can just make another one," he said, dismissing my dead son like a broken toy.

That was the moment the weak, loving wife died.

I stood up, my eyes glowing with the ancient silver light of the White Wolf.

I didn't just divorce him. I used the Alpha Voice to sever our bond, stripping him of his rank, his sanity, and his name.

Now, I am the Queen of the Winter Moon Pack.

Chapter 1

Isolde POV:

The heat wasn't just in the room; it was inside my marrow.

It felt like I was being cooked from the inside out. My skin was slick, my dress clinging to me like a second, suffocating skin. Pregnancy in the third trimester is a marathon for any woman, but carrying a werewolf pup turns your body into a blast furnace. My metabolism was running at redline to fuel the rapid growth of the life inside me. But this... this was torture.

I reached for the thermostat on the wall of the Alpha's office, my fingers trembling. The digital display read eighty degrees.

"Please," I whispered to the empty air, dialing it down to sixty-five. "Just a little coolness. Just for the baby."

"Oh, Luna Isolde, are you touching that again?"

The voice was cloying, like cheap syrup. I turned to see Debra, my husband's personal assistant, leaning against the doorframe. She was a Beta-lower in rank, theoretically-but she walked around this office as if she owned the very air we breathed. She was wrapped in a cashmere shawl, shivering theatrically.

"It is freezing in here, Luna," Debra complained, hugging herself. "My human side is so frail. You know I get sick so easily. Unlike you... with your strong, royal blood."

Her eyes mocked me. She knew exactly what she was doing.

"Debra, I am pregnant," I said, trying to keep my voice steady, though my wolf was pacing anxiously in the back of my mind. "The pup needs a regulated temperature. I feel like I'm going to pass out."

She smirked, walking over and turning the dial back up to eighty. "And I feel like I'm going to catch pneumonia. Surely the future Alpha needs a healthy assistant more than a pampered wife needs air conditioning?"

Before I could snap back, the heavy oak door swung open.

Austen walked in.

The scent hit me first-expensive cologne, stale coffee, and the underlying musk of a male wolf. But there was no spark. There never was. When we first met, I didn't get the lightning strike, the scent of rain and home that the legends promised for Fated Mates. I chose him. I chose Austen Nolan because he was hardworking, and I thought my love could bridge the gap of destiny.

I was a fool.

"What is going on here?" Austen growled. He didn't look at me. His eyes went straight to Debra, who immediately shrank back, making herself look small and pathetic.

"Alpha," Debra whimpered, her voice trembling perfectly. "I was just trying to work on the merger files, but Luna Isolde keeps freezing the room. She knows how weak my constitution is. She... she used her rank to order me away."

Lies.

"Austen, that's not true," I stepped forward, hand on my swollen belly. "I'm overheating. The doctor said-"

"Enough!" Austen turned on me. His face was twisted in a snarl. "Always you, Izzy. Always your needs, your comfort. Do you ever think about the Pack? Debra works twelve hours a day to help me run your father's company, and you bully her over a thermostat?"

"I am incubating your heir," I snapped, the heat making me bold.

Austen's eyes flashed a dark, warning amber. The air in the room suddenly grew heavy, pressing down on my shoulders like a physical weight.

Alpha's Command.

Even though he wasn't a born Alpha, my father had granted him temporary authority. He was using that sacred weight against me.

"Submit," he said, his voice layered with a growl that vibrated in my bones.

My knees buckled. It wasn't a choice. My wolf, instinctively protecting the pup, forced my body to lower to reduce the threat. I fell into the leather chair, gasping for breath.

"Austen, please," I wheezed, fighting the crushing pressure. "The baby..."

Seeing me cowed seemed to satisfy something ugly inside him. The pressure lifted instantly. He walked over, his expression shifting from rage to a smooth, terrifying mask of concern. He placed a hand on my shoulder, but I felt no warmth. No electric spark. Just the cold weight of a stranger.

"I'm doing this for us, Izzy," he whispered, leaning down. "For the Pack. You need to stop being so selfish. Debra is essential."

I tried to reach out to him through the Mind-Link, the telepathic bond that connects all pack members. Austen, please, I'm scared. Something feels wrong.

I hit a wall. A cold, gray wall of mental static. He was blocking me. Again.

"We have the celebration tonight," Austen said aloud, straightening his tie. "Go get ready. And leave the thermostat alone."

He turned his back to me. Over his shoulder, I saw Debra. She wasn't shivering anymore. She was looking at me, and the corner of her mouth quirked up in a victorious, chilling smile.

My Inner Wolf let out a low, mournful whine. Run, she whispered. Run.

But I couldn't run. I was heavy with the future of the Blackwell Pack. And I had nowhere to go.

Isolde POV:

The world came back to me in fragments of cold and light.

The memory of the limousine ride was hazy-Austen handing me a glass of sparkling water that tasted like bitter almonds.

Now, I was waking up on a hard, transparent surface.

I tried to sit up, but my head swam. I blinked, my vision clearing. I was in a box. A glass box, roughly eight feet by eight feet, situated in the center of the club's grand ballroom.

Panic, sharp and immediate, clawed at my throat. I scrambled to my knees, my hands pressing against the glass. It was cold. Ice cold.

"Austen?" I called out. My voice sounded muffled, bouncing back at me.

Beyond the glass, the ballroom was filled with people. The elite of the Blackwell Pack, business partners, wealthy humans in the know. They were all holding champagne flutes, looking at me. Not with concern, but with the detached curiosity of visitors at a zoo.

And there, standing on a raised platform just outside my cage, was Austen.

He looked magnificent in his tuxedo, holding a microphone. His arm was wrapped possessively around Debra's waist. She was wearing a red dress that looked like spilled blood, diamonds glittering at her throat-diamonds that belonged to my mother.

"Ladies and Gentlemen," Austen's voice boomed through the speakers, though I could only hear it muffled through the thick glass. "Welcome to the dawn of a new era."

I pounded on the glass. "Austen! Let me out! What is this?"

He didn't even look at me. He addressed the crowd. "For too long, the Blackwell Pack has been held back by outdated traditions. By weak bloodlines that hide behind ancient names."

Debra giggled, leaning her head on his shoulder. "Look at her," she mouthed, pointing a manicured finger at me.

I realized then what the floor of the cage was. It wasn't just glass. Beneath the transparent floor, I could see coils. Cooling coils. And vents.

"Tonight," Austen announced, "we mourn. We have received confirmation from the Elders." He paused for dramatic effect. "The Supreme Alpha, Ezra Warner... my beloved father-in-law... is dead."

The world stopped.

No. Not Dad. He was just in hiding. He was testing Austen. That was the plan. He couldn't be dead.

Dad! I screamed into the mental void, throwing my mind out as hard as I could. Daddy, please! Austen has gone mad! He's hurting me!

Silence. Just the roar of the crowd applauding Austen's ascension.

But then... faint, like a radio signal from a dying star... a vibration.

...hold on... my little wolf...

It was him! He was alive! But he was far away, too far to help me now.

"With Ezra gone," Austen continued, his voice rising with arrogance, "The Blackwell assets and the Alpha power transfer to me. But a true Alpha cannot be tied to weakness."

He finally turned to face me. His eyes were dead.

"Isolde Blackwell," he said, his voice projecting so everyone could hear. "You claim to be royalty. You claim to be strong. But look at you. Trapped. Scared. You can't even Shift, can you?"

He was right. I tried to call upon my wolf, to break my bones and reshape into a beast that could shatter this glass, but nothing happened. The glass... it was treated. And the cold.

"Let's see how much royal blood can withstand," Austen sneered. He signaled to someone off-stage.

A vent hissed open in the ceiling of the glass box.

"Let's cool her down," Debra laughed, her voice carrying through the glass. "She was complaining about the heat, wasn't she?"

Icy air, visible as white mist, began to pump into the cage. It wasn't just air conditioning. It was industrial coolant.

"Austen!" I screamed, the cold instantly biting into my skin. "The baby! You're killing your son!"

He just raised his champagne glass to me. "To the Nolan Pack," he toasted.

"To the Nolan Pack!" the crowd echoed, though I saw a few elders exchange uneasy glances as they drank.

Isolde POV:

The cold was a physical assault. It didn't just numb; it bit, like thousands of tiny, invisible teeth gnawing at my exposed skin.

"Bring them in," Austen commanded.

A side panel of the glass cage slid open. Two Pack Warriors-men I had grown up with, men who had sworn to protect the Blackwell line-stepped inside. They wore thick thermal gear.

"Please," I gasped, my teeth chattering so hard I could barely speak. "Marcus, verify. It's me. It's Izzy."

Marcus, the head warrior, didn't meet my eyes. "Orders of the Alpha, Luna. I'm sorry."

He grabbed my arm. His grip was iron.

"Strip her," Austen's voice came over the intercom system inside the cage.

"No!" I tried to fight, but the cold had made my movements sluggish. My human strength was nothing compared to a warrior, and my wolf was suppressed by the strange, heavy atmosphere of the cage.

With a brutal rip, the back of my evening gown was torn away. The silk gave way with a sound like a scream. I was left in my undergarments, my swollen belly exposed to the freezing mist.

The shame was worse than the cold. In werewolf culture, forced exposure was a sign of total submission, a punishment reserved for traitors.

"Now," Austen said, his voice devoid of mercy. "The water."

The second warrior stepped forward with a large metal bucket. I could smell it before I saw it. The water smelled metallic, sharp, and dangerous.

Silver.

"Don't!" I shrieked, covering my belly with my arms. "Silver will kill the baby! Austen, stop this!"

A ripple of murmurs went through the crowd. "Silver on a pregnant female?" an older woman whispered near the front. "That's forbidden."

Austen heard it. His jaw tightened. "She is a threat!" he barked at the crowd, then nodded to the warrior. "Do it."

The warrior didn't hesitate. He splashed the contents of the bucket over me.

It wasn't just water. It was ice water mixed with silver dust.

The moment it touched my skin, I screamed. It wasn't the burn of fire; it was the burn of corruption. Silver is anathema to wolves. It halts our healing, it burns our flesh, and it poisons our blood.

Smoke rose from my shoulders where the silver water landed. Blisters formed instantly.

I fell to my knees, curling into a ball on the freezing floor. "Austen... why?" I sobbed, my voice cracking. "I loved you. I gave you everything."

Through the glass, I saw Austen's face twitch. For a second, just a microsecond, his arrogance faltered. He looked at my belly, at the child he had claimed to want.

"Austen," Debra whispered, but her voice was amplified by the microphone she had snatched. "Look at her. She's attacking!"

"What?" Austen blinked.

Debra suddenly cried out in pain. She grabbed a silver letter opener from a nearby table-how convenient-and slashed her own palm. Blood welled up.

"She used her mind!" Debra shrieked, holding up her bleeding hand. "She's a witch! She tried to kill me through the glass! Oh, Austen, save me!"

It was so absurd, so obviously staged. But Austen needed an excuse. He needed to justify his cruelty to the doubting crowd.

"She attacked my mate!" Austen roared, his hesitation vanishing into a cloud of manufactured rage. "She attacked Debra!"

The crowd gasped. Attacking a pack member without provocation was a crime. The doubt in the room evaporated, replaced by the mob's thirst for justice.

"No!" I cried, but the silver was seeping into my pores, making me dizzy. "She's lying!"

"Silence the traitor!" someone in the crowd shouted. It was one of Austen's new business partners.

"Freeze the evil out of her!" another voice yelled.

The mob mentality took over. They wanted blood. They wanted a show.

Austen looked at me with pure hatred now. "Turn the cooling to maximum," he ordered. "And give her another bucket. Make sure she learns her place."

The warriors raised another bucket. This one was larger.

I looked at my stomach, blistered and red from the cold and silver. I'm sorry, little one, I thought, tears freezing on my cheeks. I'm so sorry.