After My Alpha Rejected Me, the Lycan Prince Claimed Me

The summit lodge sat high in the mountains, surrounded by pines and cold air that smelled like snow. It was massive—three stories of stone and timber, with wings branching off in every direction. The main hall had vaulted ceilings and iron chandeliers. The Alpha suites were on the upper floors, with views of the valley. The service wing was in the back, behind the kitchens, where the heating didn't quite reach.

I arrived on foot. I had left Ironridge before dawn, hitching a ride with a supply truck heading north. The driver didn't ask questions. I didn't offer answers. By the time we reached the lodge, the sun was high and delegations were already streaming through the main entrance.

I watched from the tree line as Colton's convoy pulled up—three black SUVs with Ironridge's wolf crest on the doors. He stepped out first, wearing a tailored suit that made him look every inch the Alpha. Malia followed, her hand tucked into the crook of his arm. She wore a cream-colored dress that hugged her curves, her dark hair swept up in a twist. She smiled at every wolf who greeted them. Colton introduced her as "the future Luna of Ironridge" at least four times in the first ten minutes.

No one mentioned me.

I waited until they disappeared inside, then walked around to the service entrance. A tired-looking Beta with a clipboard checked my name against the staff manifest.

"Erin Phillips," I said.

He scanned the list, then frowned. "You're listed as domestic aide. Omega tier."

"I know."

He handed me a plain gray tunic and pointed down a narrow corridor. "Service wing is that way. You'll share a cot with the other Omegas. Meal assignments start at six."

I took the tunic and walked.

The service wing smelled like soap and old wood. The cots were lined up in rows, separated by thin curtains. Most were already claimed—bags stacked at the foot, blankets folded on top. I found an empty one in the back corner, near a window that looked out at the kitchen's loading dock. I set my bag down and changed into the gray tunic. It was rough against my skin, shapeless and plain. I braided my hair back tight and checked my reflection in the window glass. I looked like every other Omega here. Invisible.

Good.

Malia found me before lunch.

I was in the main corridor, carrying a stack of linens to the upper guest rooms, when I heard her voice behind me.

"Erin."

I stopped and turned. She stood at the top of the staircase, flanked by two she-wolves from her personal circle. Both wore expensive clothes and smug expressions. Malia descended slowly, her heels clicking on the stone steps.

"I need you to bring my luggage to the Alpha suite," she said sweetly. "Third floor. East wing. Don't drop anything."

I looked at her without expression. "Of course."

She smiled. "Good girl."

I carried her luggage. Three suitcases, heavy and awkward, up two flights of stairs while visiting wolves passed me in the corridors. Some glanced at me. Most didn't. I was just another Omega doing Omega work. When I reached the Alpha suite, Malia was waiting at the door. She inspected each suitcase, running her fingers along the zippers like she was checking for damage.

"Set them inside," she said. "By the window."

I did. The suite was enormous—plush furniture, a four-poster bed, a fireplace already crackling with heat. Colton's jacket was draped over a chair. His scent—cedar and iron—filled the room. My wolf stirred faintly, then went silent again. The hollow ache in my neck pulsed once.

Malia stepped close, her voice dropping. "You know, I almost feel sorry for you. Walking around here like you still matter."

I straightened and met her eyes. "Is there anything else you need?"

Her smile faltered. Just a fraction.

"No," she said tightly. "You're dismissed."

I left.

By evening, I had been reassigned to scrubbing the banquet hall floor. Malia's orders, delivered through the head Omega with a thin smile. I knelt on the cold stone with a bucket and brush, working my way across the massive hall while wolves streamed past on their way to dinner. Some stepped around me. Others didn't bother. I kept my head down and scrubbed.

Malia walked past twice. Both times, she slowed just enough to make sure I saw her.

I didn't look up.

That night, alone in the service wing, my wolf woke up.

It wasn't gentle. It was violent. She slammed against my ribs so hard I gasped, doubling over on the narrow cot. My hands clenched into fists. My heart hammered. The hollow scar on my neck burned cold, then hot, then cold again. My wolf snarled—raw and furious and wounded—thrashing inside me like she was trying to claw her way out.

She couldn't shift. The rejection had damaged something deep, something I didn't understand yet. But she was awake. And she was angry.

I pressed a hand to my sternum, breathing hard. Around me, the other Omegas slept, oblivious.

"I know," I whispered. My voice was hoarse. "I know. We're not done."

My wolf stilled. Not submitting. Listening.

Waiting.

I lay back on the cot and stared at the ceiling. My hands were steady. My mind was clear.

Ryker would arrive tomorrow. And when he did, everything would change.