Alpha Heir's Secret Baby: A Second Chance Rejected Mate Shifter Romance, page 1
Alpha Heir's Secret Baby
A Second Chance Rejected Mate Shifter Romance
Flora R. Leigh
Copyright © 2024 by Flora R. Leigh
All rights reserved.
No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.
Contents
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
EPILOGUE
CHAPTER 1
ELENA
Air whooshed into my lungs, ragged and desperate.
I am going to die this time! No one is going to save me.
My hands scrambled at my throat, clawing for a breath that wouldn't come. The grip lingered. The pressure of those hands is a chilling memory.
"Please," I choked out, voice thick with panic, even though I knew it was pointless. I knew who it was. I knew he was going to kill me.
"Don't kill me, please," the words rasped from my dry throat. A final, futile struggle against his tightening grip. The darkness at the edges of the vision crept closer.
His voice, laced with venom, echoed in my mind. "Shut your mouth. You're worthless to me, you WITCH!... I'll send you to hell, just like your mother." The look in his eyes, devoid of any humanity, sent shivers down my spine, even in the waking world.
Claws. That's what he was reaching for. He'd become the monster he always threatened to be, transforming into the monstrous wolf that haunted my miseries. A single, chilling laugh seemed to hang in the air before he raised his hands and slashed my throat, snatching the air out of my lungs.
"No!" I screamed, jolting from the nightmare that had haunted me in my dreams.
I ripped myself awake, gasping for breath. My heart hammered against my ribs. Hands flew to my uninjured neck, desperate for reassurance.
"Just a dream," I whispered, each word a struggle. "Just a dream."
The monster can't hurt me anymore. He's gone, six feet under. Killed by the very man who now lay beside me.
Slowly, I turned my head. Arthur. He slept peacefully, unaware of the storm raging inside me. Here I was, sharing a bed with the man who took my father's life.
It was an arranged cohabitation void of any feelings, at least on his part. It was meant for us to get to know each other before we got married and to share intimacy, but he barely let our fingers graze each other without flinching. We have never been intimate. We are fated mates, but the only thing fated about this 'arrangement' is his resentment toward me.
A quick peek at Arthur confirmed he was still asleep. I let out a shaky breath, the air rasping in my throat. It had been a brutal year, losing my dad and almost being executed by my mate. But this was not the first time I had faced such immense grief. When I was younger, I lost my mother to a prolonged illness. Losing Mom had been a blow, but honestly, it was a relief to see her free of my father's cruelty.
She was a witch, and my father, the Alpha of the Moonlight Pack. Her coven warned her against him. They saw the monster beneath the charm, but love blinded her. My mother thought it was just a reflection of the long-lasting feud between the wolves and witches. The witches and wolves were a stark contrast to one another. The wolves claimed the witches used black magic to control and manipulate, while the witches believed the wolves were cruel beasts with a taste for blood. But it was beyond the rivalry, and my mom didn't see it till it was too late. Now she was gone.
I, a product of witch and Alpha blood, became an outcast, branded a witch by everyone, including my father. He was disappointed that I couldn't shift to my wolf form, but little did he know I had deliberately suppressed my wolf form, vowing never to shift because it was a constant reminder of the power I inherited from him. I had seen how he used that power to do terrible things.
When Arthur challenged for the Alpha position, killing my father in the process, they dragged me to him for execution.
But then, our eyes met. A primal howl erupted from within, a word echoing in our minds: "Mate!"
"Mate!"
Shock painted both our faces, yet there was an undeniable pull, a connection sparking to life. How could I ignore it, especially when the man who'd taken my father was my fated mate? It was a cruel twist of fate, courtesy of the Moon Goddess.
"I don't want you," Arthur snarled, the raw command barely masking a struggle for control. He'd ripped my father's throat out, decapitating him, yet he was tethered to me by this—bond? I trembled, the horror of the scene playing on a loop in my mind.
Elder Darian, one of the pack's wise men, stepped forward, his voice a low rumble. "Alpha Arthur, if I may speak."
Arthur snapped, "You may not."
Darian, undeterred, continued. "She's not the one who killed your parents, Arthur. She was young when it happened."
"It doesn't matter. She has his blood running through her."
"If you do this, Arthur, you will become the same monster you detest," Elder Darian said in a calm tone.
Arthur's reply was a desolate whisper, "I already am." He looked wrecked, like a wounded puppy with multiple scars, scars that etched on his skin and soul.
Right then, in that moment, a strange warmth bloomed in my chest. It wasn't love, not yet.
That was the moment my heart and soul began to yearn for him, for his heart. That was when I began to crave for his soul, to see the deepest part of him, to make our bodies and souls become one. I wanted to know who he was behind the scars. I wanted to touch him in places no one else had and gaze into those deep blue eyes of his.
He didn't kill me. But things remained icy cold. He treated me like a ghost—like I didn't exist in his world.
Sunlight escaped through a gap in the curtains, painting a bright stripe across the dark wood floor. I knew it was time to face the day. With a sigh, I threw off the covers, careful not to disturb Arthur sleeping beside me.
My pink lace nightgown lay discarded on the floor. The spacious bedroom, once a symbol of my father's power, had always felt cold and impersonal. A thick rug, woven with the pack's insignia in muted shades of grey and silver, did little to soften the harsh angles of the dark wood furniture. Even the large fireplace, usually a source of warmth and comfort, seemed cold and cheerless.
The distant sounds of howling cut through the early morning silence. I was the pack's beta and gammas training in the courtyard, elite warriors honed for battle, their crude cry to the stifling quiet of the room. They were always ready for battle.
I, the last Alpha's daughter, couldn't even compete with their raw strength. During fights, I'd sought refuge in the damp, earthen tunnels beneath the pack house, a prisoner of my own weakness.
Steeling myself for the day ahead, I tiptoed out of the bedroom. The hallway leading to the kitchen was the only light filtering in through narrow windows high up on the walls.
Ancestral portraits of stern-faced Alphas lined the walls, their cold gazes seeming to follow my every step. The air hung heavy with the scent of old wood, damp stone, and a metallic tang that sent shivers down my spine—a lingering reminder of the violence that had claimed my father's life.
The noise of growls and barks from the training yard grew louder.
I avoided the courtyard, its entrance marked by a massive oak door, knowing the glares that would surely follow. They all hated me. I mean, why shouldn't they, the daughter of the tyrant, the inheritor of his cruelty?
Their Luna-to-be by circumstance, not by choice.
The kitchen door creaked open, revealing Cathy's warm smile. Cathy is the housekeeper of the pack house and in charge of the kitchen and the general upkeep of the house. "Morning, Luna," she greeted, her voice laced with a familiarity that was a balm to my soul.
"Good morning," I replied, forcing a smile. Cathy was one of the few faces in this house that didn't make me feel like an unwelcome ghost.
"Early riser, I see." Her gaze flickered to the window. "Must be a big day."
My heart hammered against my ribs. "Is it?"
Cathy nodded, with a warm smile plastered on her face. "The warriors are heading out to deal with that rogue pack that tried to snatch part of our territory yesterday—a retaliation mission."
A knot of dread tightened in my stomach. "Arthur will be going, then?" I managed, the words catching in my throat.
"Wouldn't miss it for the world," Cathy said, her voice laced with a respect that bordered on awe. "He doesn't shy away from a fight."
My heart hammered against my ribs this time. I busied myself pulling out a frying pan, the familiar feeling of cooking a small comfort in the s
"Need a hand, Luna?" Cathy offered, but I shook my head, the weight of the title a bitter pill to swallow. Luna. I wasn't Luna yet, not officially.
The mating ceremony day loomed, but I had nothing to be excited about, not with the way he treated me like an outcast. But I hoped things would change after our mating ceremony. Maybe with the moon goddess as our witness, things would change. Maybe under the moonlight, Arthur would finally see me, not just as the daughter of a tyrant, but as his fated mate.
"No, I'm good," I said, a ghost of a smile playing on my lips. "Just help me set the table for the Alpha, would you?"
Cathy nodded and disappeared out the back door. I cracked eggs and whisked them with practiced ease, the sizzle and pop in the pan. This was my mother's omelet recipe. She had perfected it, and anytime I felt lost and wanted to feel closer to her, I would make an omelet and bacon. I played with my creation, arranging the food to resemble a smiling face—a reminder of happier times when I still had my mom's comforting smile.
Cathy returned when she was done setting the table. "Should I send someone to summon the Alpha for breakfast?"
"Yes, Please," I replied, and she nodded before disappearing again. I made use of the next few minutes to clean up the area I had made my dish in and put everything back in order. I picked up the golden tray and made my way outside the kitchen. It felt heavy in my trembling hand as I carried it into the dining room.
Arthur was already seated, his back ramrod straight. His blue eyes, the color of a summer sky, flicked up as I entered. Jet black hair, meticulously styled, framed his face. A tremor ran through me as our eyes met, my breath hitched, knees weak, my heart a hummingbird trapped in my chest.
He was undeniably handsome, a warrior sculpted by years of training. I began to tremble while trying to grip the tray firmly. His blue eyes met mine, and I could see longing in them. He desired me. Or was that a figment of my imagination?
His gaze darted down, landing on the soft swell of my breasts, barely concealed by the thin lace of my nightgown. A blush crept up my neck as he realized he had been caught staring. He cleared his throat, the sound rough and strained, and looked away.
He wore black trousers and a dark cloak draped over his broad shoulders. My eyes fell on his traveling bag resting beside his chair. He was indeed going for battle.
I set the tray down before him, the clatter of silver on porcelain breaking the charged silence. His hand reached out, unexpectedly warm against mine. Our eyes met again. His expression darkened and was unreadable.
"Are you dumb, or are you just plain foolish? Didn't I warn you not to cook for me again?" he growled at me.
The clatter of the golden tray hitting the table jolted me back to reality. Arthur's face contorted in fury. "What is the meaning of this?" he snarled; his voice laced with a venom that sent shivers down my spine.
"I just thought—" I stammered, my voice barely a whisper.
"Thought what? That your pathetic attempt at playing house would somehow endear you to me?" His words were like ice shards, piercing through the bubble of hope that had dared to inflate in my chest. "I don't need you, Elena. If I had my way, you wouldn't be here at all."
The hatred in his eyes was undeniable, yet there was something else there, too, a glimmer of something he desperately tried to suppress. Longing? The spark extinguished as quickly as it ignited. His grip on my hand tightened, a strange heat radiating from his touch.
"You're going into battle," I managed, my voice gaining a hint of defiance. "Last time, you were almost killed. I thought maybe—maybe a reminder of home would be good."
A harsh laugh erupted from him. He pulled me close, his hard chest pressing against mine. A jolt of electricity shot through me, a confusing mix of fear and desire.
"Delusional," he mumbled, his voice a low growl. "Do you think I need reminding to return to my own pack?"
"Not just the pack," I whispered, my voice barely audible. " I need you to come back to me."
For a moment, the anger was momentarily eclipsed by something else. His touch lingered on my waist, his breath hitching in his throat. He leaned closer, his gaze softened, and his breath began to pace faster. He pulled me closer, my breast pressing against his chest. I tilted my head back till my gaze met his as he towered over me, and I shut my eyes in expectation of his touch.
Then, with a violent shove, he sent me sprawling backward. My back collided with the dining table, the force knocking the wind out of me. I blinked my eyes open, tears welling up as he glared at me with undisguised disgust.
"I don't care about you," he snarled, his voice laced with a bitter truth. "The only reason I'm going through with this—this marriage charade—is because the elders forced my hand. Otherwise, your head would be rolling on the floor next to your father's."
He punctuated his threat by grabbing the breakfast tray and hurling it to the ground, the sound of shattering porcelain echoing through the room. With a final glare, he stormed out,
I slumped to the floor and began to sob when I heard footsteps approaching me. The footsteps drew closer, and a gentle hand reached out, pulling me to my feet. It wasn't Arthur. My eyes trailed up to meet his—Elder Darian, his face etched with concern.
"Leave it, child," Elder Darian said softly. "The staff will clean it up."
His voice was laced with a weary kindness. Before I could stop myself, I was a sobbing mess, burying my face in Elder Darian's shoulder.
"He hates me," I choked out, the words thick with despair. "I'm useless. I have nothing to offer him or this pack. They'll never accept me."
Elder Darian held me close. "Don't speak such nonsense, Elena," he murmured. "You have a strength within you, a gift that can heal not just wounds but hearts as well."
His words struck a chord deep within me. In my grief, I'd let myself wallow in self-pity, forgetting the unique power I possessed. There was magic inside of me, a power that could be used to heal the body or reversed to cause chaos to the body. It was a power ostracized by my father because it was passed down to me by my mother and was a constant reminder of her strength. But now, it could be a beacon of hope.
CHAPTER 2
ARTHUR
The clash of steel echoed through the night, and I stared out the window in utter terror. Infants and toddlers were crying close to the lifeless bodies of their parents. Fear grips me at the gory sight of the massacre happening right before my eyes.
I was young, barely twelve, but the primal fear that clawed at my throat was a language I understood all too well. My mother, a warrior known for her courage, couldn't mask the sheer terror that clouded her eyes.
"Arthur," she rasped, pulling me away from the window, her grip strong despite the tremor in her voice. "Listen to me closely. Arthur,"
"But what's happening? Where is Dad?" I stammered, fear twisting my features.
"There's no time to explain," she mumbled, her voice tight with unshed tears. "Your father is out there, fighting. You, you need to go underground. There's a secret entrance hidden behind the fireplace in the east room. Find it, and stay there. Do not, under any circumstances, come out until it's safe."
They'd always told me I'd be the Alpha and trained me for leadership since I could walk. But at that moment, I was a terrified child, facing the prospect of losing his mother.
"Promise me you'll be back," I pleaded, my voice cracking and trembling as I gripped her hands.
A tremor of pain crossed her face. "I'll try," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "But if—if I don't—" she hesitated, then continued, her voice resolute, "remember, I love you, Arthur, more than words can ever express."
Tears welled in my eyes, threatening to spill over.
"Never forget who you are, Arthur. Never forget where you come from. I love you so much. You are my world."
The sound of a heavy object slamming against the door ripped through the tense silence. My mother's eyes widened in horror. "Run, Arthur," she rasped, shoving me back. "Run and don't look back!"
A guttural roar echoed behind me as the door splintered, revealing a figure I was familiar with, a figure I knew all too well. It was Damon, my father's trusted Beta, his face contorted in a feral snarl. He drew his sword, its tip gleaming even in the dim light.
