Sold to a Mate-Beater Alpha, the Billionaire Wolf King Begs Me for Three Heirs

Hollis POV:

I locked the peeling wooden door of the bathroom and stared at the cheap pregnancy test shaking between my fingers. Under the flickering yellow bulb, two bright red lines burned into my retinas.

My knees buckled. I slid down the cold, grimy tiles until I hit the floor, my hands instinctively flying to cover my flat stomach.

My stomach lurched as memories from two months ago flooded back-a pitch-black storage room at the Hilton, the suffocating scent of pine from a rogue Alpha caught in the violent fever of The Heat, and the searing pain of being claimed against my will.

A loud crash rattled the door frame, followed by the groan of splintering wood.

"Hollis! You useless wolfless stray, get your ass out here right now!"

My adoptive mother Brenda's shrill roar slammed against my eardrums. For twenty years, she had treated me like livestock, draining my veins every month to feed her sickly biological son while reminding me I was just a defective stray she picked up off the streets.

Panic choked my throat. I scrambled to my feet, wrapped the plastic stick in wads of toilet paper, and shoved it deep into a rotted hole beneath the sink.

Before I could draw a breath, the door flew open. The rusted lock clattered to the floor. Brenda stood in the doorway, her sunken, sallow eyes blazing with greed and fury.

"Hiding in here to slack off again? Dwayne just coughed up blood! Did you push him?"

She didn't let me speak. Her bony hand tangled in my pale blonde hair and wrenched me out of the bathroom.

Tears sprang to my eyes as my scalp burned. I kept both arms wrapped around my belly, stumbling until I crashed onto the rough concrete floor of the living room, scraping my knees raw.

"I didn't push him! I haven't even gone near his room!" I bit my pale lip, my voice trembling as I looked toward my adoptive father, Vernon, who was slouched on the sofa.

Vernon didn't even lift his eyelids. He blew out a ring of cheap cigarette smoke.

"Cut the crap. Dwayne needs White Wolf blood. Take her to the clinic and drain it."

His words hit me like a bucket of ice water poured over my head, freezing the blood in my veins. In werewolf society, pure White Wolf blood carries a miraculous healing power bestowed by the Moon Goddess, though Brenda had forced me to drink bitter herbs since childhood to suppress my scent and keep me weak like a wolfless Omega.

I scrambled backward, my fingernails screeching against the concrete.

"No! You already drained me twice this month! If you take more, I'll die!"

What about the baby inside me? My body couldn't survive another extraction!

"We picked your worthless life out of the gutter! Keeping my son alive with your blood is an honor!"

Brenda slapped me across the face. My head snapped to the side, my cheek swelling with heat. She grabbed a coarse hemp rope and tied my wrists behind my back, dragging me out the front door like a calf headed for slaughter.

Filthy water pooled along the slum street. A few low-ranking strays glanced over with dead eyes, none of them willing to step in for a girl with no pack backing.

Freezing wind whipped through my thin shirt. Every step sent a dull ache through my lower abdomen, and a suffocating wave of despair closed over my head.

Fifteen minutes later, Brenda shoved me through the rusted iron door of an underground back-alley clinic reeking of bleach and old blood.

A back-alley doctor in a stained white coat walked over holding a thick syringe that glinted under the bare bulb.

With a burst of strength born from sheer terror for my unborn child, I lowered my head and rammed it into the doctor's stomach, bolting toward the half-open door.

Brenda moved faster. She kicked the back of my knee.

I hit the floor hard on my kneecaps before she wrestled me into astained leather chair.

"Hold her down!" Brenda barked.

Together, they strapped my arms to the armrests with leather belts that bit into my flesh. I watched in horror as the thick needle plunged into my vein, sending an icy throb up my arm.

Dark red blood flowed rapidly through the clear tube. As the bag filled-200cc, then 300cc-my vision blurred and a loud ringing filled my ears like a broken engine.

"Stop... please..." I whispered, slumping against the backrest without the strength to lift a finger.

Brenda flicked the swelling blood bag.

"Dying already? Quit faking. Fill it to 400cc before you pull the needle."

An invisible hand squeezed my heart until I couldn't breathe, followed by a sharp downward tug deep in my belly. My baby was crying out for help. I bit the tip of my tongue until I tasted rust, forcing myself to stay awake as tears soaked the dirty leather.

The doctor finally yanked the needle out without even pressing a cotton ball to the wound. Brenda snatched the warm bag of blood and hurried out.

"Buy some bread and get back here. Don't die on the street."

The doctor shoved me off the chair and kicked me out onto the pavement.

Gasping for air, my clothes drenched in cold sweat, I pushed myself up from the freezing ground. The street spun wildly as I clutched my cramping stomach and staggered toward the cheap bakery on the corner, praying my baby would hold on.

Suddenly, a heavily armored black SUV tore through the thick fog, its blinding high beams swallowing me whole.