Page 81 of Knocked Up By My Fated Alpha
My hand flew to my belly. My baby kicked immediately, like it was answering to the soft presence of my hand over my belly. Like it was saying, I’m here. I’m still with you.
I pressed my palm harder, grounding myself. The ache in my bones reminded me that I hadn’t imagined any of this. I was locked in the dungeons beneath the Ivory Moon Pack house. Ivy had made sure of that.
I sat up slowly, the stone floor unforgiving beneath me. My joints were stiff and sore from a night without any good sleep. The air was rank with mildew and the nausea-inducing scent of rot, but beneath it was something worse—expectation.
Today was the duel.
Today, I was supposed to die.
And then, like fate itself was mocking me, footsteps echoed down the corridor.
The door creaked open, and two guards entered, their faces blank, their leathers creaking with each movement. The scent of steel and musk filled the air. Behind them, a streak of morning light bled through the grated window.
One reached toward me.
“Don’t touch me,” I said hoarsely, pushing myself upright with shaking arms. “I’ll walk.”
They hesitated, then stepped back. I followed them into the corridor. Each step jarred through my pelvis, pain radiating from my lower back to my knees. I gritted my teeth and soldiered right through it. I wouldn’t let them see weakness.
Something stirred deep in my chest.
I did not want to be blindly optimistic, but it felt almost like my wolf. It had been strange, and honestly probably imagined, but I had been feeling a familiar pulse of strength lately.
Still distant. Still muted. But…present.
It wasn’t the full surge I remembered from childhood, but there was a whisper now, a soft breath beneath my skin.
The hallway was dimly lit, torches flickering along the walls. Every scent felt sharper…ash, pine, old blood. My pulse drummed louder with every footstep as we neared the open square. I could already hear the voices above us, hundreds of pack members gathering for the spectacle.
My hand hovered over my belly again. Another kick. Stronger. I whispered to the child inside me, even as I had no idea how I was going to keep the promise I was making, “We’re not dying today.”
The square erupted into noise as I stepped into the light. The sky above was streaked with gold and steel gray. The early sun glinted off weapons and armor. Stone bleachers wrapped around the courtyard, packed with wolves in every form…cheering, jeering, watching, hungry for blood. My blood.
Some sneered. Some laughed.
“She’s going to fold in minutes.”
“Wolfless and pregnant? What a joke.”
Their words stabbed like needles, but I kept walking. I’d heard worse. I’d lived through worse.
At the far end of the square stood Ivy, looking like something out of a war painting. Her blood-red hair was braided tight, her leathers fitted perfectly, polished boots planted wide. Her beta wolf energy radiated in waves, confident and vicious. She waved at the crowd like a celebrity arriving at a coronation.
This wasn’t a duel to her. This was an execution…my execution. Theater.
The elders sat high on their stone platform. Elder Dawson and Aunt Tiffany sat at the center, all of them cloaked in gray and silence, offering no protest to this mockery of justice. My gazelocked on Ivy’s, and at the sight of me, pregnant and weary, she grinned.
Then I remembered every moment of my exile. I remembered leaving the pack. I remembered doing everything I could to stay out of sight. I remembered hiding. Never again.
The officiator’s voice rang out across the courtyard. “Raven Nightbane, Ivy Nightbane…by ancient law and the rights of the bloodline, this duel shall commence. No intervention. No aid. Death or submission determines the outcome.”
Ivy’s claws slid out with a hiss like she had been waiting years to hear those words. And then she lunged. Her body was a blur of movement, faster than I remembered. Her claws slashed toward my face. I ducked, barely missing the blow. The wind from her swipe grazed my cheek like ice.
She laughed. “That’s all you’ve got?”
She came again. I moved left. Pain lanced through my lower back. The weight of my belly shifted hard to one side, throwing off my balance. I stumbled. Her fist slammed into my ribs. I dropped to a knee.
“Poor runt,” she purred, circling me. “Look at you. Heavy, broken, wolfless. You should’ve stayed gone.”
