The Alpha King's Lethal Obsession

"Tell him, oh dear Moon goddess, Philip would be over the moon when he hears of this good news."

Marguerite, the oldest staff in the palace, whispered into my ears. I stood behind the heavy purple curtain, watching my mate and love speak to the distinguished guests in the grand hall.

I smiled and rubbed my belly. It had been three seconds since I knelt down in the shadows, my smile stretching from ear to ear. Inside me, a tiny spark of life was blooming. Two weeks ago, the pack doctor confirmed it. I was carrying Philip’s child. The future alpha of the Bloodmoon Pack was growing inside my plump body.

I knew what the pack whispered about me. They called me the "heavy Luna." They said I was too soft, too round, and too plain to stand beside a golden warrior like Alpha Philip. But today, none of that mattered. This baby was the ultimate proof of our bond.

"Go to him, Elena," Marguerite urged gently, giving my shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "He deserves to know."

I nodded, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. I smoothed down my simple linen dress, took a deep breath, and stepped out from behind the purple curtain. The bright chandeliers of the ballroom dazzled my eyes. The chatter of high-ranking wolves filled the air.

Philip stood at the center of the room. He looked magnificent. His shoulders were broad, his dark hair perfectly styled, and his jawline sharp. He laughed at something a visiting beta said, his blue eyes sparkling.

"Philip," I called out softly.

My voice wasn't loud, but a wolf's hearing is sharp. Philip froze. He turned his head, and his eyes met mine. For a fraction of a second, a flicker of irritation crossed his face before it was replaced by a polite, distant smile.

"Elena," Philip said, his voice booming across the immediate circle. "What are you doing out here? I thought you were resting in your quarters."

The guests turned to look at me. I felt the familiar weight of their judging eyes scanning my thick waist and full cheeks. But I held my chin up. I walked straight to him, my hands trembling.

"I have something to tell you," I whispered, my voice thick with emotion. "Something beautiful."

Before the guests, I lowered myself. I dropped to my knees right at his feet. It was the traditional way a pack female delivered joyful news to her Alpha. It was an act of complete devotion.

"Philip," I gasped, tears of happiness stinging my eyes. "The Moon Goddess has blessed us. I am pregnant. I am carrying your child."

The ballroom went dead silent. You could hear a pin drop.

I looked up, waiting for Philip to gasp. I waited for him to lift me up, pull me into his chest, and spin me around. I waited for the warmth of his mind-link to flood me with love.

Instead, his body went stiff as stone. His blue eyes widened, but not with joy. They filled with absolute horror.

"What did you just say?" Philip’s voice dropped to a deadly, freezing whisper.

"I... I am pregnant, Philip," I repeated, my smile faltering. The coldness in his tone pierced my chest. "Our baby. An heir."

A sharp, mocking laugh cut through the silence of the room.

"An heir? Or a b*st*rd?"

My head snapped toward the sound. Stepping out from the crowd was Cynthia, the daughter of the head warrior. She was tall, slender, and wore a crimson silk dress that hugged her perfect curves. She had a cruel, triumphant smirk on her beautiful face.

"Cynthia, what is the meaning of this?" I asked, my voice shaking as I stayed on my knees.

"The meaning, Elena, is that you are a disgusting liar," Cynthia hissed, stepping closer. She looked down at me like I was a cockroach. "Alpha Philip, she is playing you for a fool. She isn't carrying your child. She has been sleeping with your cousin, Brandon!"

A collective gasp echoed through the ballroom.

"That is a lie!" I screamed, my heart leaping into my throat. I looked up at Philip, my hands reaching for his trousers. "Philip, look at me! You know me! I have never let another man touch me! Brandon is just a friend. He helped me with the pack ledgers! Philip, please!"

Philip didn't move. He looked down at me, his eyes burning with a dark, dangerous fury. "Brandon? My own blood?"

"It’s true, Alpha," Cynthia said, pulling a small silver vial from her clutch bag. "I suspected her foul scent weeks ago. I found her and Brandon in the eastern forest. They were together. And I brought the Truth-Weaver’s Elixir. We all know the ancient laws of the Lycan world. If a female lies about her purity, the Moon Goddess will not hide it."

"No... no, please," I sobbed, shaking my head. "Philip, don't listen to her!"

"Silence!" Philip roared. The sheer power of his Alpha aura slammed into me, forcing my face toward the polished marble floor. My stomach cramped in fear. "Cynthia, pour it."

Cynthia knelt beside me. Her eyes danced with wicked malice. Before I could move, she grabbed my left arm. Her nails dug deep into my skin. She uncorked the vial and poured a thick, glowing blue liquid directly onto the soft skin just below my elbow lines.

"If she is innocent, nothing happens," Cynthia whispered loudly to the crowd. "If she is a cheater... the mark will burn."

The liquid hit my skin. For one second, it was cold.

Then, an agonizing, white-hot pain exploded in my arm.

"AHHHHHHH!"

I screamed, a sound of pure agony ripping from my throat. I tried to pull my arm away, but the pain paralyzed me. The skin below my elbow began to sizzle and smoke. Black, foul-smelling veins started to crawl beneath my flesh, twisting and turning until they formed a jagged, weeping black scar.

The Cheater’s Mark.

I stared at my arm in complete, horrified shock. It was impossible. The mark only appeared if a female had cheated. But I hadn't! I was innocent! Cynthia must have cursed the potion. It was a frame-job!

"No... no! This is a trick!" I cried out, heavy tears streaming down my face. I looked up at the man I loved. "Philip, please! I don't know why it's burning! I swear on my life, the baby is yours! Philip!"

Philip looked at the black scar on my arm. His face distorted into an ugly mask of pure hatred and disgust. The love that used to be in his eyes was completely gone.

"You fat, treacherous wh*r*," Philip growled. He raised his heavy boot and kicked me hard in the shoulder, sending my plump body rolling across the ballroom floor.

The guests didn't help me. They spat on the floor as I rolled past them. They whispered insults. *Wh*r*. Traitor. Disgusting pig.*

"Alpha Philip, please! The baby!" I gasped, clutching my stomach as I lay on the cold floor, my arm throbbing with unbearable heat.

"That thing inside you is a b*st*rd," Philip declared, his voice echoing like thunder. "Elena of the Bloodmoon Pack. You are stripped of your title. You are rejected. You are banished from these lands."

He stepped closer, his heavy shadow looming over me. He leaned down, his voice cutting like a jagged blade. "Brandon will be dealt with. But you? You will run. If you or your b*st*rd are seen near my borders by sunrise, my warriors will hunt you down and slaughter you like a dog."

He turned his back on me. Cynthia immediately slid her hand into his arm, looking back at me with a smile of pure victory.

My heart shattered into a million bloody pieces. Marguerite tried to step forward to help me, but a warrior shoved her back. I was entirely alone.

Using the last of my strength, I dragged my broken body off the floor. I stumbled out of the ballroom, through the palace gates, and collapsed into the dirt outside. The sky opened up, pouring cold, punishing rain over my shivering body. I looked back at the glowing palace windows, hearing the crowd inside cheer for my banishment.

I was completely, utterly broken. And I had nowhere to go.

The royal physician’s chambers were too beautiful and way too organized that one would think they were walking into a Magic Academy for elite wolf.

It had the perpetual smell of the usual crushed nightshade and burning sage.

And, of course, this particular chamber was meant only and only for The Lycan King Valerius.

But beneath the herbs, the room was suffocated by a far more dangerous scent—the bitter, metallic tang of a dying Lycan’s aura.

"Hold still, Your Majesty. If you flex your shoulders like that again, I will be forced to use a numbing spell, and we both know how much your Lycan beast despises magic."

Grand Healer Vanya adjusted the high collar of her structured, emerald-green gown. She was a powerful mage, her sharp eyes calculating and cold as she stood behind the examination table.

King Valerius didn't look at her. He merely let out a low, gravelly chuckle that vibrated through th