Alpha's Rejected mate

The wolfsbane was a slow poison. It didn't just mute my wolf; it turned my blood into lead and my bones into glass. Every step I took across the ballroom floor felt like walking on hot coals, but I couldn't stop. The Alpha’s command was still vibrating in my skull, a tether I couldn't break.

"Keep moving, Vanessa. If you faint, I’m not helping you," Martha hissed as she shoved a tray of crystal flutes into my hands.

"I'm fine," I lied, my voice sounding like it was coming from underwater.

The Grand Hall was even more crowded than the night before. The scent-blocker was working; the guests didn't look at me with curiosity or suspicion. To them, I was just a nameless shadow, a ghost in a black dress.

But Marcel… Marcel knew.

He was standing by the fireplace, surrounded by Barnard and Ray. Barnard, the pack’s oldest advisor, was gesturing wildly with a cigar, likely talking about border security. Ray, the lead trainer, stood like a statue, his eyes scanning the room.

And Marcel? He looked like he hadn't slept a wink, though his face remained a mask of cold perfection.

"You’re late with the drinks," Ray barked as I approached the group.

"I’m sorry, sir," I whispered, keeping my head down.

I reached for Marcel’s glass to refill it. My hand shook, the silver tray rattling. As I poured, the scent-blocker flickered for a second—the pain of the wolfsbane causing my control to slip. A tiny puff of my natural scent, vanilla and rain, escaped.

Marcel’s head snapped toward me. His nostrils flared.

"I told you to stay in the kitchen," he said, his voice a low, lethal vibration.

"Martha sent me," I said, finally meeting his eyes. They were merciless. "The guests are thirsty, Alpha."

"I don't care about the guests. Get out of my sight."

"Marcel, don't be so hard on the girl," Barnard chuckled, blowing a cloud of smoke. "She’s just doing her job. Besides, we have a guest of honor arriving any minute. We need all hands on deck."

"She’s incompetent," Marcel snapped, his eyes never leaving mine. He stepped closer, his shadow swallowing me whole. "And she smells like sickness. It’s disgusting."

The word disgusting twisted the knife in my heart. I wanted to scream that it was his poison making me smell this way.

"Is that any way to talk to a lady, brother?"

The voice came from the main entrance, loud and dripping with a playful arrogance that didn't belong in this tense room.

The crowd parted.

I froze. Coming down the stairs was a man who looked almost exactly like Marcel, but where Marcel was shadows and ice, this man was sunlight and fire. He wore an expensive leather jacket and a grin that promised trouble.

"Nathan," Ray breathed, his hand twitching toward his side.

Nathan Blackwood. Marcel’s twin. The "Wild Alpha" who had been traveling the world for two years, refusing to be tied down by pack politics.

Nathan ignored the gasps and whispers, walking straight up to the High Table. He didn't look at Marcel first. He looked at me.

"Well, well," Nathan said, stopping right in front of me. He leaned in, sniffing the air, his amber eyes dancing with mischief. "The Obsidian Pack has certainly upgraded its staff since I left. Who are you, little bird?"

"She’s nobody," Marcel growled, stepping between us. The air between the brothers crackled with instant, violent dominance. "What are you doing here, Nathan? You weren't invited."

"It’s an engagement party, Marce! I couldn't miss my big brother selling his soul to the Beta’s brat," Nathan laughed, clapping a hand on Marcel’s shoulder. Marcel looked like he wanted to rip the arm off.

Nathan’s gaze flicked back to me, lingering on the way I was trembling. "You look pale, sweetheart. Why is my brother treating you like a criminal?"

"She’s just a servant, Nathan. Leave it," Marcel hissed.

"A servant with eyes like a storm," Nathan murmured, reaching out. Before Marcel could stop him, Nathan’s fingers brushed my cheek.

The contact was warm normal but it wasn't the spark. It wasn't the mate bond. It was just a man touching a woman. But Marcel’s reaction was anything but normal.

Marcel lunged forward, grabbing Nathan’s wrist and twisting it away from me. A low, guttural snarl ripped from Marcel’s throat, a sound so primal it made the guests scream.

"Don't. Touch. Her," Marcel breathed, his eyes turning pitch black.

The room went silent. Even Nathan’s smirk faltered.

"Whoa," Nathan laughed nervously, pulling his hand back. "Easy, Alpha. I didn't know the help was off-limits. Is there something you’re not telling me?"

Marcel realized he’d overreacted. He smoothed his shirt, his face returning to that terrifyingly calm mask. "She’s clumsy. I don't want her breaking more crystal."

He turned to me, and for a split second, I saw a flicker of something in his eyes. It wasn't love. It was a hunger so dark it made my blood run cold.

"Vanessa," he said, his voice a ghost of a whisper. "Go to my study. Now. We need to discuss your… termination."

"Marcel, you can't" I started.

"Go," he commanded. The Alpha Voice hit me like a physical blow.

I turned and ran. I didn't stop until I reached the heavy oak doors of his private study. I pushed inside, gasping for air, the wolfsbane making my lungs feel like they were collapsing.

I leaned against his desk, trying to steady my heart. It smelled like him in here. Dark wood, old books, and that intoxicating scent of rain.

Ten minutes passed. Then twenty.

The door slammed open.

Marcel didn't walk in; he stormed in. He kicked the door shut and locked it in one fluid motion. He looked possessed.

"You like the attention?" he snarled, crossing the room in three strides. He grabbed my waist and lifted me, slamming me back against the heavy mahogany desk.

"What attention?" I cried, my hands landing on his chest. His heart was thudding like a war drum.

"Nathan. You were practically throwing yourself at him," Marcel growled, his face inches from mine. "Is that the plan, Vanessa? If the Alpha rejects you, you’ll just move on to his twin? You want a crown that badly?"

"You’re insane! He just touched my face!"

"He touched what is mine," Marcel roared.

"You said I was nothing to you!" I yelled back, the tears finally breaking through. "You said I was trash! You gave me poison to hide me! So why do you care?"

Marcel froze. His grip on my waist tightened until it hurt. His gaze dropped to my lips, and I saw the war raging inside him. The Alpha who wanted power, and the Wolf who wanted his mate.

"I hate you," he whispered, his voice breaking. "I hate that you have this hold on me."

"Then let me go," I sobbed.

"I can't."

He crashed his lips onto mine.

It wasn't a soft kiss. It wasn't a romantic reconciliation. It was a collision of teeth and tongue, a desperate, angry claim. It was the bond screaming for release, fueled by the wolfsbane and the jealousy and years of repressed longing.

I should have fought him. I should have pushed him away. But the moment his tongue touched mine, the pain of the poison vanished. I was soaring. I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him closer, needing the friction, needing the heat.

He groaned into my mouth, his hands roaming over my body with a frantic, possessive hunger. He hiked up my dress, his fingers searing my skin.

"Marcel," I whimpered against his lips.

"Don't speak," he growled, burying his face in my neck, his teeth grazing the spot where he should mark me. "Just… don't speak."

In that moment, under the dim light of the study, the world outside ceased to exist. There was no Mia, no pack, no rejection. There was only the fire.

But as he pushed me down onto the desk, his eyes suddenly cleared for a heartbeat. He looked at me truly looked at me and the coldness returned like a winter frost.

"This changes nothing," he whispered, even as he unbuckled his belt.

"I know," I breathed, pulling him back down.

I didn't know that this one night would be the beginning of my greatest joy and my deepest agony. I didn't know that as we lost ourselves in each other, a pair of eyes was watching through the crack in the door.

And those eyes weren't Nathan's.