Page 27 of Pregnant, Rejected and Exiled By the Lycan King (Forbidden Alpha Kings #45)

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Damon

“They’re stalling again,” Ren muttered, pushing the thick folder of documentation toward me.

I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Which clause this time?”

“Water access. They’re demanding shared rights with the human district, even though the well system was funded entirely by pack infrastructure.”

We were seated in the heart of my office, a stack of zoning applications and territorial agreements between us.

The proposed complex on the northeast ridge was supposed to house alpha families, provide emergency care to pack members, and host a permanent tactical training center.

But progress had slowed to a crawl thanks to bureaucratic wrangling.

“Let me guess,” I said, flipping through the paperwork. “The human mayor thinks it’s a goodwill gesture.”

I rubbed a thumb against the corner of the map, tracing the disputed boundary line.

We’d had to halt surveying twice already due to unclear jurisdiction and outdated border definitions.

Even with pack scouts verifying the land, human claims kept surfacing with century-old deeds and vague boundary descriptions.

The red tape was endless and strategically designed to frustrate us.

“More like leverage,” Ren muttered. “They want a border inspection clause too. As if we’re letting human enforcers sniff around our holdings.”

He leaned back slightly, tapping a pen against the table in a steady rhythm that betrayed his impatience. I could see the calculation behind his eyes, scenarios playing out where we conceded too much or not enough. Every move here wasn’t just political. It was territorial.

I let the folder drop. “They’re baiting for concessions. We concede patrol rights and next they’ll want representation on our internal security board.”

“We could counter with medical assistance,” Ren suggested. “Offer to station one of our healers at their clinic. It’d boost their care standards, and we retain autonomy.”

It wasn’t a bad idea. We had surplus omega medics requesting field experience, and offering aid gave us the moral high ground. If we played it right, we’d win both political favor and practical advantage without yielding authority.

I nodded slowly. “It might work. They’re understaffed. A well-placed omega medic could buy us more goodwill than another council meeting.”

Ren’s brow lifted in appreciation. “You think Dr. Mira would volunteer?”

“She’s been pushing for off-territory rotations. I’ll ask her.”

My attention shifted as I jotted a quick reminder in the margin of the planning document. The conversation had finally started to feel productive, like we might gain ground after weeks of stalemates.

Before he could reply, a knock at the door interrupted us. One of the perimeter guards stepped in, posture straight and tone clipped.

“Lycan King, sir. We have a situation.”

I looked up, brows knitting. “What kind of situation?”

The guard hesitated, eyes flicking to Ren before continuing. “Security Chief Carlton says there’s a rogue alpha requesting audience. Claims it’s urgent.”

Ren leaned back in his chair, folding his arms. “Rogues don’t usually knock first.”

I rose from my chair, the unease coiling in my gut sharpening with every word. The room suddenly felt smaller, the shift in atmosphere palpable. Routine negotiations and policy debates could wait.

“No,” I agreed, already standing. “They don’t. If one’s asking to see me, it means either he’s desperate, or he’s holding something valuable. Where is Carlton?”

“Bringing him up now, sir.”

The guard stepped aside just as Carlton entered, his expression taut with controlled suspicion. Behind him followed a rough-looking man whose beard and scent made it clear he hadn’t seen civilization, or a bar of soap, in weeks.

The rogue’s eyes darted across the room, already calculating exits and threat levels. He carried himself like someone used to running, used to hunger and fear. The stink of desperation came off him in waves.

Carlton gave me a nod. “Sorry to interrupt. He says it’s about an omega. Claims he saw one matching your watchlist.”

Ren straightened immediately, his earlier amusement vanishing. My mind went blank for a heartbeat before slamming into overdrive. I gave the rogue my full attention.

***

The rogue alpha standing in my office looked like he’d been living rough.

Clothes that hadn’t seen a washing machine in weeks hung off his frame, beard grown wild and matted, carrying the particular smell of someone existing on society’s edges.

He called himself Ramiel, though rogues rarely used real names.

Carlton had found him through the network of informants we’d activated across three states, promising cash for information about a specific omega.

“I saw her a few nights ago,” Ramiel said, eyes darting between the assembled authority figures like he expected violence at any moment.

His shoulders hunched forward, the submissive posture of a rogue in an Lycan King’s presence.

“Pregnant omega, running alone through the woods outside Millbrook. She matches the description you gave. Her wolf was chestnut and had green eyes. There was also a scar running down its neck.”

My hands clenched involuntarily at the mention of the scar I’d put there. But the word before that stopped my heart entirely. Pregnant. The rogue had said pregnant.

“You’re certain it was her?” My voice came out steady through sheer force of will.

“Wolves carrying pups have a specific scent. Hard to miss.” Ramiel shifted his weight, perhaps sensing the sudden tension filling the room. “A pack of three gave chase but she reached the river. Jumped right in, middle of winter. Desperate move.”

I was barely taking in the details he was saying. The only word that echoed in my skull like a gunshot in an empty cathedral was pregnant. Everything else, Ramiel’s voice, Carlton’s presence, the very presence of the room, faded to white noise. She was pregnant. With my...

My vision tunneled until all I could see was my own hands gripping the desk edge, knuckles bone-white against dark wood.

The omega I’d condemned, the woman I’d carved and banished, had been carrying my offspring.

While I’d stood in judgment, while I’d chosen politics over my mate, while I’d sent her into exile, she’d been growing our child inside her body.

The magnitude of it crashed over me in waves. Each breath felt like drowning. I’d sentenced a pregnant omega to death. Not just death, slow, agonizing death by exposure, starvation, predation. And not just her. My heir. My bloodline. The future of everything I’d built.

Carlton stepped forward, his voice coming from what felt like miles away, continuing the interrogation while I shattered completely.

“Tell us exactly what happened,” Carlton commanded.

Ramiel scratched at his neck, leaving red marks on unwashed skin.

“Was running patrol with my pack. I like to know who crosses his territory. We caught her scent near the eastern boundary, followed it to a clearing. Pretty thing, even heavy with pups. Moved wrong though, like the weight threw her off.”

Each word painted images I couldn’t escape.

Rhea, alone in winter woods. Rhea, pregnant with offspring I’d never known existed.

Rhea, running from rogues while her body struggled with the demands of carrying a child.

The medical implications crashed through my shock.

Alpha pregnancies required massive resources.

Without paternal support, without pack help, the mortality rate was. ..

“A pack gave chase but she reached the river. Current was running fast from snowmelt upstream. She went in anyway.” Ramiel shrugged like it was nothing.

Like describing my pregnant mate throwing herself into freezing water to escape was casual conversation.

“One of them was pissed. Pregnant omegas sell high on the black market.”

The growl that emerged from my throat made everyone in the room step back. Even Carlton, who’d seen me at my worst, took an involuntary retreat. The sound was pure possession, pure fury, pure alpha claiming what was mine against any threat.

She’d been carrying my offspring while I condemned her, while I carved her throat. She’d been pregnant during the trial, growing our child while I chose politics over my mate.

Sweet merciful moon, what had I done?

I had essentially handed her a death warrant. For her and our child. She could already be dead. Both of them could be dead because of my choices. The thought dropped me forward, head in my hands, struggling to breathe past the crushing weight of realization.

“Sir? The vehicles are ready.” Carlton’s voice came from very far away.

I looked up to find the office had transformed into controlled chaos while I’d been frozen.

Security personnel moved with practiced efficiency, Ren coordinating on multiple phones simultaneously.

Someone had pulled up maps on the wall screen, a tiny dot marking Millbrook’s location.

Population 8,000 according to the data overlay.

The kind of place people went to disappear.

“My pack doesn’t mess with claimed omegas,” Ramiel protested. “The scar meant she belonged to someone powerful. We just wanted the finder’s fee.”

Belonged. Past tense. Even this rogue recognized what I’d tried to deny for months. The bond might be severed but the connection remained. In her scent, in her blood, in the child she carried.

We moved like a military operation because that’s what Carlton had designed during weeks of preparation.

Three SUVs waited in the underground garage, engines running.

Medical equipment filled the third vehicle.

Enough firepower to handle rogue packs or local resistance occupied the second.

The lead vehicle was mine, Carlton driving with Ren coordinating from the back seat.

“A day’s drive to Millbrook.” Carlton said as he guided the SUV onto the highway with smooth precision.

“Then we drive through the night.” I stared at the GPS display, watching miles count down too slowly.

The mate bond, dormant for months, suddenly pulsed with phantom awareness. Not the full connection we’d once shared, but something. Like catching a familiar perfume in a crowd. She was alive. Close.

Carrying my child while I’d wasted months believing lies.