Page 73 of Knocked Up By My Fated Alpha
“I must’ve been away a long time, then,” she muttered, jaw clenched.
“Yes,” Damien said flatly.
She didn’t respond. Instead, she pivoted, her voice shifting gears like nothing had happened, launching into a new subject, her tone light. What followed was a mess of awkward, fragmented conversation.
But even as the words passed between us, a few things became excruciatingly clear. First, Rielle remembered nothing.
The longer they spoke, the more I saw Damien’s brow furrow in concern. He called for the pack doctor, who came quickly and confirmed what he had begun to suspect. Rielle suffered from a form of amnesia. Her memories were scattered. Her crimes were completelyerased from her mind. She had no recollection of the murders she committed in her feral state.
That must have come as a relief to her, maybe even to Damien. But the second truth was more brutal. Of all the things Rielle had forgotten, she hadn’t forgotten him. She remembered being his mate. She remembered being Luna. She remembered being his love.
She remembered the part of her life where she belonged to him. And only that. And may the Goddess help me, I knew I had no rights. We agreed to keep things professional. I was even the one who said there would be no emotions involved when Damien and I started this whole arrangement.
But as I stood there, watching the way she looked at him like he was hers, a quiet ache coiled in my chest. She was the one fate had chosen for him, and knowing that felt like something folding in on itself deep inside me.
It hurt more than I expected it to. The feeling only deepened when Damien told her that I was carrying his child. Rielle didn’t say much. Just a quiet, measured “Oh…” But it wasn’t the word that struck me. It was the look.
The way her gaze shifted when it landed on me was subtle, sharp, and unmistakable. It changed in that instant. And perhaps only another woman would have caught it, a flicker of something cold and ancient in her eyes. She didn’t know me. But she didn’t have to.
I was carrying a child. Her fated mate’s child. And that alone was enough to summon a silent, reflexive hatred. But even that didn’t pierce as deeply as what came after.
It was the way they moved together: fluidly, instinctively, like two pieces that had always belonged in the same pattern and the way she walked beside him, always just close enough to brush his arm.
And Damien…he didn’t have to try. With her, it was effortless. It was like when he stood beside me, it always felt like we were fighting gravity. Like we were trying to steady ourselves in a storm. But when he stood with her, the air was still and the skies were clear.
I was still on the balcony, lost in thought, when Damien steppedout of the building. He had said earlier that he needed to leave for “urgent pack business.”
He paused just outside the door, then looked up. His eyes found mine. A rare smile tugged at his lips, soft and unguarded, and for a moment, it melted something inside me. But then Rielle appeared, stepping out of the building just behind him. She followed the direction of his gaze and saw me.
She moved quickly, closing the distance between them, every step dripping with practiced grace, all sugar and silk.
“Good luck, my love,” she said sweetly, pressing herself against him.
My chest tightened. The burn came fast and hot. Then, without hesitation, she tilted her head up and kissed him. It was bold, calculated, and possessive. Her hands splayed across his chest like she was staking a claim.
My breath caught. I gripped the balcony railing hard, knuckles bleaching white as the wood groaned beneath my fingers. Something surged inside me, a strength that felt foreign, pulsing through me like the ghost of my lost wolf.
Damien didn’t kiss her back. He stiffened, then pulled away sharply, setting her aside with both hands like her touch had scorched him. But the damage was done. The fire in my chest had already spread.
I turned, fleeing the balcony, my boots echoing on the hardwood, each step a drumbeat of rage and hurt. The pack’s whispers chased me, slithering under my skin: Rielle’s his true mate. Raven’s nothing.
I climbed the stairs, one hand cradling my belly, the baby’s faint kick a tether to reality. My pregnancy suddenly felt heavier, both in a way that anchored me and exacerbated my spiraling emotions. My body ached with fatigue, my mind a storm of doubt. The blood duel with Ivy was drawing closer, and I was still wolfless. Worse, I hadn’t been training with Damien as he’d been spending more time with Rielle.
When he trained me, I felt steady and capable. But without him, a quiet helplessness had begun to creep in, no matter how hard I tried to push it back.
It felt like every emotional dam inside me had finally cracked open,spilling out in waves I couldn’t contain. My steps quickened. Maybe it was the pregnancy hormones sharpening everything to the point of being unbearable, but I was fraying at the edges.
All I could think about was getting to my room to call Misha. I needed to talk to her. The urge to hear her voice, to let the words tumble out, was almost overwhelming. But not as overwhelming as the pull toward my room. Toward my sanctuary. My nest.
It was the one place that felt like safety. There, Damien’s scent of citrus and cedar clung to the air like something sacred. It always calmed me, the way it wrapped around my nerves and slowed the frantic beat of my heart. The space had become an extension of him.
My nesting phase had only intensified that need. I’d filled the room with his shirts, his jackets, anything that carried his scent. It was as if my body knew that only the presence of him, even in the air, could settle the chaos inside me.
Now, my steps turned into a near-march. My skin buzzed with the ache of withdrawal, like I needed just one breath of him to keep myself from unraveling completely. I reached my door and pushed it open immediately, but the air was wrong. It was sterile, stripped bare, reeking of lavender and soap. My heart lurched, a primal panic clawing at my chest.
It wasn’t like this two hours ago when I left here to go to the balcony. My nest, the pile of Damien’s clothes tucked in the corner, was gone. The bed was stripped, linens replaced with crisp, scentless sheets. The wardrobe stood empty, not a trace of citrus left. My knees buckled, and I sank to the floor, hands trembling as they reached for nothing, my breath ragged.
My breathing came in gasps, and I quickly rose again, moving fast. I tore through the room, yanking open drawers, ripping through the closet, finding only barren wood and the faint sting of cleaning chemicals. My nest, my sanctuary, had been gutted. My hands shook, my pulse thundered, and that strange strength surged again, hot and untamed, my fingers tingling with the ghost of claws. Who had done this? Who had dared?
