My Husband Drugged Himself To Avoid Our Wedding Night — Now I’m Pregnant And Running For My Life
Part 1
For seven years, I walked to my husband’s bedroom once a month, hoping we would finally consummate our marriage.
Last night, I found out he’s been drugging himself to sleep just so he wouldn’t have to touch me.
My name is Megan.
I stood before the full-length mirror in my chambers, watching my maid adjust the ivory silk of my nightgown.
The fabric whispered against my skin like a ghost.
It felt appropriate, considering I was a ghost in my own marriage.
My sister, Brenda, swept into the room without knocking.
Possessing all the fierce fire I so often lacked, she thrust a small vial of amber liquid into my hands.
Insisting it was a potent fertility tonic from the secretive southern covens, her gaze burned with a protective intensity.
Despising the vicious whispers of the court, my sister could no longer bear watching the noble ladies treat me like an outcast.
I tucked the vial away with a heavy sigh.
No amount of magic could fix a marriage where my husband, Craig, maintained a careful ten-foot distance from me at all times.
I dismissed my maids and squared my shoulders.
Dignity was the only armor I had left.
The walk down the moonlit corridor felt longer every single month.
I passed the tall windows, my bare feet silent on the thick carpets.
Walking past the empty nursery was always the worst part.
I paused at the heavy oak doors of the king’s chambers.
My wolf stirred beneath my skin, whining softly at his proximity.
I pushed the door open.
The room was dark, save for the dying embers in the fireplace.
The air felt thick, heavy with his wild, pine-and-snow scent.
I approached the four-poster bed.
Craig lay on his back, his chest rising and falling in the slow, even rhythm of deep sleep.
Moonlight filtered through a gap in the heavy curtains.
It painted the hard planes of his face in silver and shadow.
I leaned over him, whispering his name.
He didn’t even twitch.
I took a step back.
My foot struck something hard on the floorboards.
I crouched down and picked up a small glass vial.
It was empty.
I brought it to my nose and recognized the bitter scent of valerian and poppy.
A heavy sleeping draft.
He had deliberately knocked himself unconscious.
The betrayal crashed over me, stealing the breath from my lungs.
I grabbed his shoulder and shook him, my fingers digging into his warm skin.
He barely moved.
Tears spilled down my cheeks, hot and humiliating.
I didn’t care about his love anymore.
I just wanted to hold my own baby.
I wiped my face and crawled onto the edge of the bed.
I had to stay until morning to keep up appearances for the servants.
Suddenly, his unconscious body shifted.
His hand stretched across the empty space between us.
His calloused fingers brushed against my knuckles, curling loosely around mine.
My heart lurched so it physically hurt.
The next evening, the castle ballroom glittered with hundreds of candles.
I sat at the high table, a stiff, painted smile on my face.
Below me, Craig spun a noblewoman through a graceful waltz.
He danced with visiting dignitaries to secure political alliances, but he never asked me.
Tyler, a foreign ambassador, suddenly appeared beside my chair.
He bowed low and offered his hand.
I accepted, eager to escape the stifling pity of the noblewomen sitting nearby.
Tyler led me to the center of the floor.
His hand settled firmly on the small of my back.
He murmured smooth compliments, but I barely heard them.
A heavy prickle of awareness slid down my spine.
I glanced across the sea of silk and jewels.
Craig had stopped dancing.
He stood motionless at the edge of the floor, his silver eyes locked on me.
Tyler leaned closer, his breath brushing my cheek.
He whispered that a young, healthy woman shouldn’t waste her life in a cold bed.
My steps faltered.
Tyler’s thumb traced a slow, deliberate circle on my waist.
He offered me his private rooms, promising he could give me the child my husband refused to provide.
A fierce, terrible temptation ripped through my chest.
Before I could draw breath, a hand clamped down on Tyler’s shoulder.
Tyler went deathly pale, his knees buckling slightly.
Craig stood towering over him, radiating menace.
His jaw was locked so tight the muscle twitched visibly.
His alpha aura suffocated the entire room, killing the music and the conversation.
He ordered Tyler to move, his voice a low, gravelly snarl.
Craig dragged the ambassador out the heavy double doors without looking back.
An hour later, I paced the length of my bedroom, tearing off my heavy earrings.
The door slammed open, hitting the stone wall with a crack.
Craig stalked inside.
He had discarded his jacket, and his shirt was half-unlaced.
He prowled toward me, his chest heaving.
He demanded to know if I was considering the ambassador’s offer.
I stood my ground, my wolf baring her teeth.
I screamed that I was tired of walking past an empty nursery while he ignored my existence.
I beat my fists against his chest, tears blurring my vision.
He caught my wrists, pinning them against the wall beside my head.
The fight instantly drained out of me.
His chest pressed against mine, his scent wrapping around me like a heavy blanket.
He closed his eyes, a shudder ripping through his frame.
His eyes darkened to a color I had never seen before as he leaned in and whispered, ‘Soon, I promise you. Soon you’ll have your child.’
