Rejected by the Alpha, Claimed by his Brother

Chapter 304: _ Life In The Packhouse

A week ago, she found out she was pregnant and has been raving about it. This jeopardizes Axel’s quest for the Alpha’s position and puts Álvaro at an advantage.

I knew that and it saddens me. I had been putting more pressure on getting pregnant myself. Though it was selfish, I had been silently praying to the goddess that Camilla’s child turned out to be a girl.

In the afternoons, Luna Ana gave us both lessons. Cooking. Hosting. Old-fashioned Luna training, she called it.

But really, it was her way of shaping us—testing which of us would endure.

Camilla whined and scoffed and left halfway through most days, always claiming a "headache" or "urgent spa appointment." I stayed. I asked questions. I cut my fingers more times than I could count, but I kept learning.

"Muy bien, María," the Luna said today, wiping her hands and examining my pastry dough. "This is almost as soft as your heart."

I smiled quietly, grateful for her warmth. But across the table, Camilla rolled her eyes so hard I thought they might fall out.

"Please," she muttered, "next thing you’ll be naming a holiday after her."

Luna Ana didn’t even blink. "Perhaps. She’s earned it."

Camilla made a sound in her throat like she’d just swallowed poison.

"You know," she snapped, tossing her apron on the table, "I didn’t come here to watch you coddle her."

"And yet you came late, leave early, and still think I’m coddling anyone?" The Luna’s voice didn’t rise, but it froze the room. "Camilla, being born with a title doesn’t mean you deserve to wear it."

I stayed silent. But Xiomara was purring with delight in my head.

"Serves her right." She giggled.

"I can’t do this," Camilla huffed, storming out.

The kitchen door slammed. I exhaled slowly, trying not to smile myself. One thing I had come to learn was never to pity my enemies.

In fact, I laughed at their misfortunes now. This was something my now very close friend, Mateo, had taught me. Bless his kind heart,

"Do not mistake her tantrums for strength. And don’t mistake your pain for weakness. Both are lies." Ana told me gently after Camilla had stormed out.

I nodded. "Thank you, Señora."

She looked at me for a long time before she said, "You remind me of myself when I first arrived here. Lost. Angry. Misunderstood. But you have something stronger than I did."

"What’s that?"

Her smile turned proud. "Conviction."

After that, Luna Ana excused herself with a warm pat on my shoulder and that wise glint in her eyes. I remained in the kitchen alone, staring at the neatly folded pastry dough I’d finally gotten right. My fingers ached, the cuts stung faintly under the healing salve one of the maids had dabbed earlier, and I could still smell the sharp, yeasty scent of rising dough mixed with vanilla and lemon zest clinging to my skin.

Flour dusted my apron, my hair, and probably the tip of my nose. Still, I felt... proud.

I looked down at the neatly cut pastries I’d shaped under Ana’s watchful gaze and smiled. "It’s not a Michelin star, but it’s edible," I muttered, brushing my hands on my apron. noveldrama

The kitchen door creaked open and three of the pack housemaids shuffled in like a synchronized dance team. Esperanza, the one with the nervous giggle, gave me a warm smile. "Señorita María José, should we clear this?"

I shook my head quickly, motioning toward the tray. "Actually, could you box some of these up? I want to take them to Mateo."

"El guardia?" she asked with a slight tilt of her head.

I nodded. "Sí. He’s been working long shifts by the gates again. I doubt he’s eaten anything all day."

The three maids shared a smile, and one of them whispered something that sounded like, "She’s going to be a better Luna than the actual Luna," but I pretended not to hear it.

My ears were sharp. So were my instincts, and they were whispering that I should probably leave before Camilla returned with some ridiculous excuse like, "I need to sit in a silk bath for my baby’s aura."

Ten minutes later, I was balancing a brown takeout bag full of still-warm pastries, wrapped in little layers of parchment like tiny gifts, and walking toward the main hall of the mansion. My heels clicked lightly against the polished hardwood floor, echoing softly through the empty corridor.

The Blackclaw mansion was beautiful, yes—but intimidating too. High ceilings, deep shadows, old portraits with eyes that felt too alive, and that subtle scent of cedarwood and power. Every time I crossed these halls, it felt like the house was sizing me up and wondering if I belonged.

I did.

I clutched the takeout bag tighter and picked up my pace, trying to remember if Mateo had said he’d be in the west wing or...

Wham!

"¡Mierda!"

My shin slammed into the edge of the decorative stone planter by the hall archway. Pain shot up my leg. It was white and immediate, and the bag went flying out of my hands in a tragic arc of buttery doom.

The contents exploded across the spotless floor.

Pastries bounced, some splitting open to reveal lemon curd or almond filling. One rolled dramatically across the floor like it had someplace better to be. My leg throbbed, and I cursed softly as I dropped to my knees, already feeling the skin knit itself back together. Werewolf perks, but still... ouch.

"Great," I muttered, brushing a smear of something sticky off the floor. "Just great. Mateo’s going to love me showing up with half-squashed treats and a limp."

I scrambled to gather them up, wiping a glob of jam off the floor with my sleeve, when a shadow moved over me.

"I didn’t think you baked now."

My heart nearly stopped beating in my chest.

Álvaro.

I didn’t even need to look up to know. His voice slid down my spine in a smooth but charged manner. It was like a silk rope wound too tightly. I glanced up warily, and there he was, standing in the golden morning light like he’d stepped out of a romance cover with his hair tousled, sleeves rolled to his elbows, and one brow cocked.

Of course, he looked good. He always looked good. That was part of the problem.

I sat frozen on the floor, clutching a smashed croissant like a weapon. "I’m fine. You can go."

He ignored me completely and crouched beside me, his large hand reaching for a fallen piece of pastry. "You’ve got flour on your face."

Argh, for the sake of everything good! Could Álvaro just give up on trying to get on my good side already?!