Lysandra’s POV

“Ah… oh God… Tristan…”

My back arched as his fingers plunged deeper inside me, my thighs trembling as waves of pleasure rippled through my core. His mouth claimed my breast, tongue flicking relentlessly against my hardened nipple while his thumb circled my clit with maddening precision.

“Fuck, don’t stop,” I gasped, grinding shamelessly against his hand.

Sweat slicked our bodies as Tristan rose above me, his muscular chest gleaming in the dim light. The predatory hunger in his eyes made me clench around his fingers. He was enjoying the power he had over me, watching me writhe beneath him.

“You want to come?” he growled.

“Yes,” I whimpered, not recognizing the desperate need in my own voice. “Please, Tristan.”

His fingers found the perfect rhythm, curling to hit that sweet spot inside me while his thumb pressed harder against my clit. My inner walls tightened as the first intense pulses of orgasm began to build.

Just as the pleasure crested, ready to crash through me like a tidal wave, Tristan abruptly withdrew his hand. Cold air replaced his warmth as he pushed himself off me.

“Pathetic,” he said, looking down at my quivering, unsatisfied body with utter disgust.

I jolted awake, heart pounding, a thin sheen of sweat covering my skin. The sheets beside me were cold and undisturbed. Of course Tristan hadn’t come home last night. Again.

I stared at the ceiling. Two years of marriage to the future Alpha of the Silverblood Pack, and all I had to show for it was an empty bed. Tristan had only marked me because he was forced to—he never wanted me, never claimed me as his own. He spent most nights at his downtown penthouse, doing God knows what with God knows who.

Correction: with Selene Darkwood.

Finally, I glanced at the clock.

“Fuck!” I bolted upright. Late for my appointment. I scrambled out of bed, pushing back the lingering ache between my thighs that the dream had left behind.

As I hurried through my morning routine, I caught myself touching my flat stomach. A child might change things between us. One child to heal our broken marriage—or at least give me something real to hold onto.

A dark voice in my head whispered that I was lying to myself, but I pushed it away. Sometimes hope was all you had left.

I followed the nurse down the sterile hallway into Dr. Rylan Jones’s office. The older doctor was one of the few people in the pack who treated me with genuine kindness.

“Good to see you, Lysandra,” he said, gesturing for me to sit. “How have you been feeling lately? Any changes?”

I shrugged. “Tired. Maybe a bit nauseous in the mornings.”

His eyebrows shot up, but he kept his tone professional. “Let’s run some tests.”

Twenty minutes and several vials of blood later, I sat waiting nervously. When Dr. Rylan returned, his face broke into a wide smile.

“Congratulations!” he said, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

My heart skipped. “Really? I’m…” My hand flew to my stomach. “There’s a baby?”

“Babies, actually,” he corrected, unable to hide his smile. “You’re carrying twins.”

“Twins?” I repeated, my voice barely above a whisper as a mix of joy and terror washed over me.

Dr. Rylan’s expression sobered. “I need to be straight with you, Lysandra. As a wolfless werewolf, your pregnancy carries significant risks. The miscarriage rate is three times higher than for normal she-wolves.”

I nodded, swallowing hard. “I’ll be careful. Maybe the Moon Goddess will finally bless me.”