Chapter 332: _ Her Horchata
Five Months Later
It had been five months since María José found out she was pregnant. She’s six months along now; glowing, radiant, revered, and none the wiser.
The funny part? She still thought the baby was Axel’s. She’d light up whenever someone referred to it as his child. She smiled when people congratulated her on "continuing the Beta and Alpha’s line," and talked about how "it was about time the pack had a new Alpha born of love." Every time someone said those words, I had to bite the inside of my cheek just to stop from laughing.
Love. What a quaint concept. This wasn’t love. This was destiny wrapped in deceit and bloodline. And the child growing in her womb? That was legacy. My legacy. Not Axel’s.
And now, it was time to give it a little... upgrade.
The Devil had given me a potion. A viscous, syrupy thing in a vial that glowed faintly red like molten lava. He’d handed it to me with a smirk that stretched too wide and eyes that didn’t blink.
"A gift for the little one," he’d said in his smoky rasp. "Let’s give the child an edge. A thread of the abyss. Nothing dangerous... unless you consider power dangerous."
I did consider power dangerous. That was why I wanted the child to have it. My child needed to be dangerous.
So I mixed it into her drink; Horchata, because María José had recently developed an obsession with it. Rice milk, cinnamon, and a touch of vanilla. It was sweet, subtle, and perfect for masking the bitter aftertaste of demonic essence.
I swirled the concoction in the glass, watching the liquid settle, opaque and innocent. Then I walked through the packhouse like I owned it. Because honestly? I kind of did.
Nobody questioned me anymore. Mateo’s ghost had been fully laid to rest in their eyes. I’d smiled enough, helped enough, played the "best friend" card with such brilliance that even Axel tolerated my presence. That’s how good I’d gotten at this.
And with María’s pregnancy putting the court proceedings on hold, all attention shifted from politics to celebration. The baby. The Luna-in-waiting. The "future."
All of which belonged to me.
I passed the staircase, climbed to the Luna’s private quarters with her Horchata on a tray like some glorified butler. Carmen and Lila were outside the door, whispering in fast, conspiratorial tones as they polished silver frames and folded towels. They didn’t notice me at first.
"I’m telling you," Lila said, elbowing Carmen with a smirk. "That baby’s going to be a boy. You just know it. And when he’s born, oh—Beta Axel will be Alpha within the year."
"He better be. The pack’s ready for a change. You feel it in the air, don’t you? Things are cleaner now. There’s less fear." Carmen said, wiping a smudge from a picture of María smiling under a cherry blossom tree.
"Because she called them out," Lila replied proudly. "No matter what they say in that unfinished hearing, Señora María already won. She’s not just going to be a good Luna... she is the Luna. No one else could’ve done what she did."
Carmen nodded. "She’s what the pack needs."
The tray in my hand wobbled slightly from the tension in my grip. Oh yes, she’d be Luna all right. But not Axel’s Luna. Mine.
She’s carrying my child, I wanted to say aloud, just to see their faces. She belongs to me in ways you can’t even imagine.
Instead, I cleared my throat and smiled.
Carmen jumped, clutching her chest like she’d seen a ghost. "Mateo! Dios mío, you scared me."
I tilted my head with that same harmless grin I’d practiced a hundred times. "Apologies, ladies. I brought María her Horchata."
"Oh! You’re sweet," Lila said, beaming like I was some puppy who brought slippers. "She’s in the shower."
"I can wait inside, if that’s alright?"
They exchanged glances. Carmen shrugged. "Of course. She won’t be long."
"Thank you." I nodded, passing through the door and into her sanctuary.
The room smelled like lavender oil and the expensive soap she favored; Flor de Azahar. The lights were dimmed to a soft golden hue, and the bed was layered in ivory throws and silken pillows. Half the room looked like a baby catalog had exploded: tiny booties, ultrasound prints, fluffy gender-neutral blankets, and that stupid ceramic fox lamp Axel bought from some artisan in Sector 3. The man had no taste.
I placed the glass on her nightstand. It gleamed innocently under the lamp’s glow.
The sound of running water drifted through the adjoining bathroom like a soft hiss like rainfall. Her silhouette moved behind the frosted glass.
I sat on the edge of the bed, resting my elbows on my knees, watching the door with rapt attention. I imagined her stepping out in a towel, face flushed from the heat with her swollen belly leading the way. Vulnerable. Trusting. Tired.
God, she was beautiful when she was tired.
She’d changed since becoming pregnant. Softer around the eyes. Slower in her movements. The baby had stolen her edges and replaced them with this divine roundness, this effortless glow that made every creature in this house want to protect her.
But I didn’t want to just protect her. I wanted to keep her. You’re already mine, I thought, fingers curling into the fabric of my jeans. You just haven’t realized it yet.
And you know what made it better?
She wanted to trust me. She said I made her feel safe—that I understood her in a way others didn’t. She didn’t need to say "better than Axel." I could hear it in her tone.
She had been pulling away from Axel slowly. The fight they had last week still lingered in the air. Something about boundaries and space and decisions being made without her. I’d listened, offered affirming nods, then told her that maybe—just maybe her instincts were warning her for a reason.
The shower stopped. Steam billowed out through the slight crack in the bathroom door. I stood and smoothed my shirt, adjusting my expression in the mirror above the fireplace.
Soft. Friendly. Helpful. Mateo.
The door creaked and there she was.