From Betrayed Luna to Wolf Queen (Lillian) novel Chapter 1

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Lillian's POV:

The sterile smell of disinfectant in the hospital room was making me nauseous. I lay there, feeling weak and hollow against the stiff pillows. My name is Lillian Moore, mate to Julian Graves, Alpha of the Graves Pack.

I picked up my phone and dialed his number. He answered, and I spoke first, my voice flat. "Julian, you need to be here for the procedure. Come to the hospital. Now."

There was a beat of silence on the other end. Then came his voice, low and impatient. "Since when were you pregnant? Why wasn't I told? Lillian, even if this is some ploy for attention, it's gone too far."

"For attention." The words lit a fire in my chest. "Are you coming or not?"

"I don't have time for games today!" He tried to soften his tone, but the annoyance was unmistakable.

A cold numbness spread through me. I didn't reply, just moved the phone away from my ear. As my thumb hovered over the end button, a woman's bright, clear voice cut through from his side. "Congratulations! The C-section went perfectly—you have a beautiful pair of twins!"

My world dropped out from under me, plunging into a silent, frozen void.

He was in the same hospital. But not for me. He was there with his sister-in-law, Iris Hayes, for the birth of her twins.

And my own pup—the fragile life inside me that needed one final, stabilizing wave of its sire's Alpha energy before the bond was severed—was about to be gone. For werewolves, ending a pregnancy isn't just a medical procedure. There was a primal, psychic connection between the fetus and the mother. To sever it forcibly without the sire's essence to buffer the rupture... meant the mother bore the full, brutal backlash alone. For an Omega, that kind of shock could break her from the inside out.

I slammed my thumb down, ending the call.

The Beta doctor, a woman with dark-rimmed glasses, entered, her pen scratching against a clipboard. "Is your mate on his way? The operating room is ready."

"Does he have to be here?" I asked, my voice tight with controlled rage.

She paused, her pen hovering. Her eyes met mine, and a flicker of pity passed through them. "It's for your safety. Protocol is clear."

I held her gaze, my own turning to ice. "He's busy. Helping his sister-in-law deliver. I'll do it alone."

The pity in her eyes deepened. After a long moment, she sighed quietly and pushed the consent form toward me. "I'll note the... exceptional circumstances. But the risks will be yours alone to carry."

She handed me a psychic-numbing lozenge, a poor substitute for an Alpha's calming force. "Let it dissolve under your tongue. We begin in thirty minutes."

I placed it in my mouth. It tasted bitter and chalky. I let the flavor coat my tongue, a feeble shield against what was coming.

*****

By evening, I was driving myself back to the villa I shared with Julian. The aftershocks of the procedure—a deep, psychic bruising layered over physical exhaustion—left me feeling scraped raw and shaky.

Helen Collins, the older Beta who managed the villa, gasped when she saw my pallor. "Lillian! Good heavens, what happened?"

I forced a slight smile. "Just hungry, Helen. That's all."

That morning, Julian had dragged me to Graves Estate for a pack lunch. I'd barely taken two bites when Iris—widow of Julian's brother Ethan, who'd died in a plane crash six months ago—started screaming about contractions, claiming there was blood. As always, when the precious widow called, Julian, the dutiful Alpha standing in for his dead twin, came running.

My mind flashed back to that moment. Iris had stumbled into me with such deliberate, violent force that I'd gone down hard and couldn't get up. But every eye, every bit of concern, was locked on the sobbing widow. Julian had scooped her into his arms, his face etched with a worry I seldom saw directed at me.

As he strode past, I'd reached out, my fingers clutching the hem of his pants. "Julian... my stomach... It hurts so much."

He'd only glanced down, his eyes flashing with impatience. "Not now, Lillian." And then he was gone, carrying Iris away without a backward look.

Helen guided my shaky form to a chair at the dining table. "There's fresh oatmeal on the stove. Let me get you a bowl."

The warm, plain food offered a sliver of comfort. I had just managed two spoonfuls when the sound of easy laughter and conversation approached. Julian and his mother, Eleanor, the former Luna of the Graves Pack, walked in.

Seeing me, Eleanor—glowing from the pack's happy news—didn't even bother with her usual condescending look. She didn't even glance at me once. "I'll just run upstairs to grab something," she said to Julian, her voice breezy.

"Alright."

The moment Eleanor's footsteps faded upstairs, the relaxed ease vanished from Julian's expression. He strode over and sank into the chair opposite me. He stretched out his long legs, pulled a lighter from his pocket, and with a sharp click, lit a cigarette. Smoke curled between us, a hazy barrier.