Pregnant with the Amnesiac Alpha’s Heir

The forest didn't care that she had failed.

It welcomed her the same way it always had with cold earth beneath her feet and branches whispering overhead like old spirits. .

The cold night air clung to Lyra's skin like a second. 

Her bare feet stumbled over twisted roots and moss-covered stone as she fled deeper into the forest, away from the stone circle, away from the eyes of her pack.

She was still in her ceremonial dress. The moonflowers tucked into her hair were beginning to wilt. Her body felt heavy like she wasn't draped in silk but burdened by something much harder to shake off. Shame clung to her skin, wrapped tighter than any fabric could, her tears running quietly, soaking into her skin like rain on stone.

The humiliation, the silence, the disbelief in her father's eyes… it replayed again and again in her mind. Like a wound that wouldn't stop bleeding.

Eighteen years she had waited for her wolf.

Eighteen years of imagining the moment she would feel her other half awaken within her that fierce, wild echo of soul and flesh.

But when the moon rose, nothing came.

She was the Alpha's daughter. She was supposed to be special.

Instead, she was wolfless.

The word tasted bitter in her mouth.

The tears came hot and fast, scalding her cheeks. Her hands covered her face as sobs tore from her throat, raw and choking. It wasn't fair. She had done everything right. She had followed the rituals, believed the stories, prayed to the Moon Goddess every full moon since she was old enough to speak.

And still—no wolf.

Just silence.

Just humiliation.

She felt hollow. Useless.

*"Why me?"* she whispered through gritted teeth. *"Why did you abandon me?"*

The forest didn't answer.

But something else did.

A soft whimper.

Lyra froze. She wiped her eyes and looked around. At first, she thought it was her imagination. But then she heard it again—a quiet, pitiful sound, almost like a cry.

The whimper came again. From behind a fallen log not far from where she sat.

Curious Lyra rose and followed the sound. Her heart pounded not from fear but from anticipation. 

There, tangled in the underbrush, was a tiny creature. A young fox kit, no bigger than a loaf of bread. Its reddish fur was smeared with blood, and one leg jutted out at an unnatural angle.

It lifted its head at her approach but didn't run. It couldn't. Its body trembled with pain and exhaustion.

Lyra dropped to her knees.

"Oh, poor thing…" Lyra's heart clenched.

The kit whimpered again but didn't move away.

Her fingers brushed gently over its side. The wound was deep, ragged—likely from a hawk or larger predator. She didn't have her healing bags with her, no cream and ointment and no time.

But she had to try.

She laid both hands over the injured leg and closed her eyes.

She didn't expect anything. Not really. Maybe it was instinct or desperation. Maybe it was foolish hope.

Her palms grew warm. Not from friction or the chill of blood but from something inside her. A soft light gathered in her chest and flowed down through her arms, her hands, into the fox.

A golden glow gentle, pulsing like moonlight being poured through her skin.

The fox let out a shuddering breath and went still.

She opened her eyes and her breath got caught.

Her hands were glowing.

The light wrapped around the kit like a gentle veil. She watched in awe as the blood disappeared, the wound closed, the twisted leg straightened.

The glow faded from her hands, and she sat back, stunned. The kit blinked up at her, then stood on shaky legs. It looked at her really looked at her and let out one soft yip before darting off into the woods.

Lyra stared at her hands, still tingling faintly.

"What… was that?"

No one had ever told her this could happen. Healing without herbs? Without contact with a wolf's power?

She hadn't shifted.

She had no wolf.

And yet—something inside her had awakened.

She looked up at the moon, heart pounding, confused and awestruck.

For the first time since the failed ceremony, she didn't feel empty.

She felt… seen.

Back at the Alpha House, her mother met her at the door and could see the panic fade from her eyes the moment she saw her.

"I'm okay," Lyra said softly. "Just needed air."

Her mother pulled her into a silent embrace.

Lyra didn't speak of what had happened not yet.

Her mother held her close, running her fingers through her tangled hair, whispering reassurances she wasn't sure Lyra heard.

Later, alone in her room, she lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. Moonlight poured through her window, falling across her face.

That night, she slept deeply. Exhaustion dragged her down like stone through water.

In her dream, she stood in the middle of a vast lake. The water was still and dark, reflecting a sky full of stars. A woman stood across from her, glowing like the moon itself, her hair a river of light, her skin luminous and silvered.

She was beautiful beyond words. Otherworldly. 

Lyra stepped forward, barefoot on the water's surface, drawn to the woman like gravity.

"Who are you?" she whispered.

The woman reached out. Her eyes were the color of starlight.

*"You are mine," she said. Her voice was soft and fierce at once. "You may not have the wolf in your blood, but you carry my gift in your soul."

Lyra gasped as the woman's hand touched her chest. A warmth spread outward, like the sun blooming behind her ribs.

"You were chosen," the woman said. "Do not forget that."

The dream faded into darkness.

Lyra woke with tears on her cheeks but this time, they weren't from sorrow, they were from awe.

And for the first time in her life, she no longer felt like she had been left behind.

She had been claimed just not in the way anyone expected.