Filed to story: Alpha’s Regret After His Pregnant Luna’s Death (Evelyn & Declan)
Why are you letting them do this to you?
My heart thudded painfully against my ribs, filled with a dread I couldn’t shake.
I felt truly afraid for him.
Laughter swirled through the bar in the video, low sharp and mocking. Each jeer cut like claws dragging across metal.
Peter kept drinking.
One glass.
Another.
And another.
I watched his throat move as he swallowed, watched the liquor burn its way down and spread through him like wildfire. His hand flew to his stomach, his body curling with pain.
My wolf pressed against my skin, ears pinned flat.
He can’t handle alcohol. Stop. Someone stop him.
“Didn’t Mr. Clinton always say he was allergic to alcohol? Looks fine to me,” a voice jeered from the crowd.
“Bet that excuse was just because he thought he was too good for us!”
Another chimed in, louder, nastier,”Not so high and mighty now, huh? Looks like Mr. Sam finally brought him to his knees.”
The camera shifted. The supposed Sam’s greedy face filled the frame, his eyes sparkling with triumph. I recognized him now, he was also a lawyer. He lifted his phone and zoomed in on Peter-on his trembling hand, his half-shut eyes, his body collapsing in slow motion.
He was recording Peter’s humiliation.
For entertainment, for leverage, for pure cruelty.
My vision tunneled. A growl rose from deep in my chest before I even realized it.
I grabbed my keys.
Next thing I knew, I was out the door.
—
The bar’s hallway reeked of stale smoke and desperation. My wolf hated it-hackles lifted, instinct screaming danger. I followed the pinned location straight to a private VIP room.
Inside, a syrupy, taunting voice floated through the air.
“Come on, Mr. Clinton, are you drunk? One more drink won’t hurt.”
That was it.
I shoved the door open without hesitation.
The sudden burst of cold hallway light cut through the neon haze, and the whole room fell silent.
Peter was slumped on a couch, his tall frame folded in on itself. His skin was ghostly pale beneath the shifting lights. His hand was clamped over his stomach like he was trying to hold himself together. A soft groan escaped him, low, pained and helpless.
My wolf whimpered, then bared her teeth.
I stepped close to him, my jaw tight.
How dare they touch him? How dare they push him this far?
The lighting was dim enough that no one saw my face, just my silhouette.
I dropped to my knees beside him.”Peter… hang in there,” I whispered, sliding my arm behind his shoulders and lifting him gently.
That’s when I saw it.
A thick stack of cash spread across the table in front of him.
So this was the price of his suffering.
This was what they made him drink for. His fellow lawyers were making him drink for money.
My breath left me in a sharp exhale. I’d been in prison, I wasn’t scared of money. And I’d long stopped caring about pride if it meant survival.
Without even thinking, I reached out, grabbed the entire stack of money, and shoved it into my bag.
Gasps rippled through the room.
Yes. I took it.
He drank for it, so I would take it.
As I tried to lift him, reality hit me.
Peter might look lean, but unconscious, he was impossibly heavy. Six feet of dead weight was no joke, even with my wolf strength humming under my skin.
A few younger lawyers, ones who still had beating hearts, quietly stepped forward and helped me carry him out.
I kept my head down, letting my hair fall forward, my mask hiding most of my face.
But I could feel their curious gazes.
“Who is that woman? Does Peter have a girlfriend?” a woman’s voice hissed behind me. It was the same woman who had been taunting Peter in the video.
Evelyn’s POV
I didn’t look back.
I held Peter tighter and walked faster.
Outside the bar, cold night air washed over me, but it didn’t clear the knot in my chest. Peter’s weight on my shoulder dragged at me, his body heavy and limp, each step harder than the last.
“Driver-could you help me, please?” I whispered, my voice shaking. My legs felt strained; even with my wolf strength simmering under my skin, dead weight was dead weight.
The driver hurried over, his eyes widening as he took in the scene. Together, we managed to get Peter into the backseat. As soon as he was settled, the pressure lifted from my arms, and I finally sucked in a real breath.
“Hey, is that your boyfriend?” the driver asked lightly.”Had a fight or something? Guy came here drinking this late?”
I forced a thin smile.”No, he’s-“
But the words died when I looked at Peter.
A deep line had formed between his brows. Pain. Sharp and undeniable.
The neon lights passing through the windows washed over his face. It was pale, drained and wrong. His lips were the worst part. They were bloodless, ghostly white. My wolf let out a terrified whine inside me.
No. No, no, no. Something’s very wrong.
“Driver!” My voice rose without my permission.”Take us to the nearest hospital! Please-hurry!”
All humor vanished from his face. He caught a glimpse of Peter in the rearview mirror and immediately straightened.
“Hold on! We’re going right now!”
The tires screeched as he swerved sharply, heading straight for a nearby private hospital.
—
When we stopped, I looked up-and froze.
[This hospital is under Crawford Group ownership.]
My pulse stuttered. Declan’s shadow was everywhere. But there was no time, no time for fear, hesitation, or memories that tasted like ash.
I ran inside.
Within minutes, Peter was rushed into emergency surgery.
I stood in front of the heavy operating room doors, my heart pounding so hard I could feel it in my throat. My wolf paced restlessly inside me, claws scraping, anxious, mourning.
Lana was still alone at home.
My little girl.
My pup.
I couldn’t leave Peter.
But she needed me too.
