The Alpha's Regret Return Of The Betrayed Luna (Addison) novel Chapter 65

Chapter 65: Chapter 65 The Howl

It had been seven and a half months along—far enough that it had already grown strong.

It had been a fighter.

If it had been born, this pup might have become a warrior. No—it would have. Its blood wasn’t of an alpha line, but it carried strength nonetheless, a legacy written in its bones. A child like that could have been Claire’s redemption. Her chance at something better.

If only she had let it live.

But as the pack doctor stared down at the lifeless pup in Claire’s womb, something felt... off.

He couldn’t explain it—couldn’t quite put his finger on what was wrong—but his instincts, honed by years of experience, were sounding an alarm. The child, though freshly dead, still seemed to radiate something unnatural. A faint, lingering presence clung to it. Power. Aura. Something not yet willing to fade.

It unsettled him.

Still, he pushed the feeling aside. Now wasn’t the time for speculation.

He carefully lifted the small, still form from Claire’s belly. Her wolf had already begun to heal her from within, the torn flesh slowly knitting back together on its own. The doctor didn’t even need to stitch her up—he only had to gently reposition her organs and ensure nothing was out of place. The body was doing the rest.

Within half an hour, Claire’s abdomen was nearly whole again. The speed and precision of the healing were astonishing, even for a shifter. Her wolf had clearly poured every ounce of its strength into saving her life.

And though the room was silent, no one present knew how to feel about that.

The pack doctor had already wrapped the lifeless pup in a clean towel, intending to give it to Claire. At first, she refused to even glance at it, her face turned away, lips trembling.

"I said I don’t want to see it!" she snapped, her voice sharp with anger—but it cracked at the end, and a low, sorrowful whine escaped her throat. It wasn’t her own voice anymore. It was her wolf.

Her eyes began to glow a faint gold.

The wolf was stirring, clawing for control.

Though Claire’s words said no, her wolf said otherwise. Acting on instinct, the doctor gently laid the pup beside her.

Claire tensed. Her body trembled. Then, slowly, her hand—guided by something deeper than her own will—reached out. Her fingers shook as they brushed the towel-wrapped form. Her wolf had surfaced, just enough to act. Just enough to grieve.

A broken whimper slipped from her lips, and for the first time since the ordeal began, true tears spilled down her cheeks. Not the calculated kind Claire had shown before—these were her wolf’s tears. Pure, unguarded grief.

Then came the howl.

Low, long, aching.

Her wolf cried out from within her, mourning the pup that never got to breathe, never got to be held, never got to be loved. The sound echoed through the pack house, raw and heartbreaking.

And one by one, the other wolves heard it—and answered.

Her lips quivered as another broken whine escaped her throat, soft and pitiful. The sorrow in the room was heartbreaking—so deep and honest that even the old pack doctor and the healer couldn’t hold back their tears. Unlike Claire, they could feel the wolf’s genuine grief, a grief that came from the soul. They didn’t just see her mourning—they heard her heart breaking.

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