Alpha's Rejected mate

Three weeks.

That’s how long it took for Marcel to completely erase the night in his study.

If I thought that night was a turning point, I was a fool. It wasn’t a beginning; it was a final, desperate goodbye that only I had been aware of. Since then, Marcel hadn't just been cold he had been a stranger. He didn't look at me when I poured his coffee. He didn't acknowledge me when I cleaned his boots. He treated me with the same clinical indifference he showed the floorboards under his feet.

I, on the other hand, was falling apart.

"Vanessa! The silver isn't going to polish itself!" Martha’s voice barked from the kitchen doorway.

I slumped over the sink, my stomach rolling in a violent wave. The smell of the lamb roasting for tonight’s feast was making my head spin. "I’m on it, Martha. Just… give me a second."

"You’ve been 'taking a second' for ten days," Martha grumbled, though her eyes softened for a fraction of a second. "You look gray, girl. Go sit down before you faint and break the Alpha’s china."

I didn't sit. I couldn't. If I stopped moving, I’d start thinking. And if I started thinking, I’d remember the way Marcel’s hands felt on my skin the only memory keeping me from sinking into the dark.

I grabbed a tray of appetizers and headed toward the drawing room.

The "inner circle" was gathered. Marcel, Mia, Raval, and the Elders. Barnard was droning on about territory lines, but my eyes were glued to Marcel. He was sitting in his armchair, one leg crossed over the other, looking regal and utterly terrifying.

Mia was perched on the arm of his chair, her fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck.

"Oh, look," Mia chirped as I entered. "The little mouse is back. Honestly, Marcel, she looks worse every day. Are you sure she isn't contagious?"

Marcel didn't even lift his gaze from the maps on the table. "She’s fine, Mia. Just overworked."

His voice was like a slab of granite. No emotion. No warmth. Not even the anger from three weeks ago.

"Well, she smells… off," Mia insisted, wrinkling her nose. "Like sour milk and cheap soap. It’s ruinous to my appetite."

I bit my lip, moving to the side table to set down the tray. My hand slipped. A small piece of bruschetta tumbled onto the rug.

"Clumsy bitch," Ray muttered from the corner, his arms crossed over his chest. He was Marcel's lead enforcer, and he hated omegas almost as much as Mia did.

"I’m sorry," I whispered, kneeling to pick it up.

As I bent over, the world tilted. My stomach did a somersault, and a cold sweat broke out across my forehead. The scent of the garlic on the tray hit me like a physical punch.

I bolted.

I didn't ask for permission. I didn't care about the silver. I sprinted for the hallway bathroom, barely making it before I lost what little breakfast I’d managed to swallow.

I sat on the tile floor, gasping, my heart hammering against my ribs.

It’s just the wolfsbane, I told myself. It’s just the stress.

But deep down, in the part of me that was still connected to the moon, I knew. The bond hadn't just sparked that night; it had taken root.

"Vanessa?"

A shadow fell across the doorway. I looked up, my eyes watering, to see Nathan. He was leaning against the frame, his amber eyes clouded with concern. He wasn't like Marcel. He didn't hide behind a mask.

"Go away, Nathan," I groaned, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.

"You've been sick every morning for a week," he said, stepping inside and locking the door behind him. "And don't tell me it's the flu. I'm a Blackwood, Vanessa. I can smell the change in your hormones from down the hall."

I froze. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You're carrying," he whispered, his voice thick with a mix of shock and something that sounded like grief. "Is it his?"

"Who else would it be?" I snapped, the fear finally turning into anger. "He's my mate, Nathan. Even if he hates me, he's the only one I've ever"

"He doesn't know," Nathan realized, his face paling. "If he knew, he wouldn't be doing what he's about to do."

"What is he about to do?"

Nathan didn't answer. He just looked at me with pity, and that was far worse than Marcel’s coldness.

The bell for the Full Moon Assembly rang an hour later.

This was the time when the pack gathered to hear the Alpha’s decrees. Usually, it was about hunting quotas or new recruits. But tonight, the air felt different. Heavy. Electric.

I stood in the back, hidden behind a pillar, my hand instinctively resting on my still-flat stomach. I felt a strange sense of calm. I'll tell him tonight, I thought. Once the assembly is over, I'll go to his study. I'll tell him about the babies. He won't reject me if he knows he has an heir.

Marcel stood on the dais, the moonlight through the skylight turning his dark hair to silver. He looked like a god.

"Pack members," Marcel began, his voice echoing with Alpha authority. "The strength of the Obsidian Pack lies in its bloodlines. To ensure our future, I have made a decision regarding my station."

Mia stepped up beside him, a triumphant glint in her eyes.

"To lead, I must have a Luna who matches my strength," Marcel continued. He finally looked toward the back of the room. His eyes found mine. For a second, the coldness flickered, replaced by a raw, jagged edge of pain.

Then, it was gone.

"I, Marcel Blackwood, Alpha of the Obsidian Pack, recognize the moon's choice for my mate," he said, his voice dropping to a low growl.

The pack gasped. My heart leapt. He's going to do it. He's going to claim me.

"And I find her wanting," Marcel finished.

The silence that followed was deafening.

"Vanessa," he barked. "Step forward."

I walked through the crowd, my legs feeling like they belonged to someone else. I stopped at the foot of the dais, looking up at him. I tried to mind-link him, to scream 'I'm pregnant!' into his head, but the wolfsbane he'd forced me to drink act like a wall. I couldn't reach him.

"Vanessa," he said, looking down at me as if I were a bug under his boot. "You are an omega. An orphan of rogue blood. You are a weakness I cannot afford."

"Marcel, please," I whispered, the tears blurring my vision.

"I, Marcel Blackwood," he began the formal chant, his voice rising in power, "reject you, Vanessa, as my mate and the future Luna of this pack. I sever the cord. I break the bond. I cast you out of my bloodline."

The pain hit me like a physical blow to the chest. It was a searing, white-hot agony that made me collapse to my knees. My wolf let out a guttural, soul-shattering howl inside my head as the connection snapped.

It felt like dying. It felt worse than dying.

"Do you accept my rejection?" he demanded.

I looked up at him through the haze of pain. He was standing there, watching me suffer, and he didn't even flinch. He didn't care.

"I… I accept," I choked out.

The bond went dark. The silence in my head was terrifying.

"The ceremony is over," Marcel announced to the pack, his voice cold and final. "The celebration for my engagement to Mia begins now."

He turned his back on me.

I lay on the floor, my fingers clawing at the stone, the rejection pain mixing with a new, sharp cramp in my abdomen.

The babies.

I struggled to my feet, my head spinning. I needed to get out. I needed to run before I lost them, too.

As I turned to flee, a man stepped into the light at the edge of the hall. He was older, with a jagged scar running down his cheek and eyes that looked like cold brass.

"Well, well," the man said, his voice a raspy drawl. "I leave for five years and Marcel turns into a heartless bastard. Just like his father."

The room went still again.

"Cousin Dylan," Marcel said, his voice laced with a new kind of tension.

Dylan, Marcel’s cousin and the most notorious mercenary in the northern territories—didn't look at Marcel. He looked straight at me. He walked forward, his presence smelling of gunpowder and old blood.

He stopped in front of me, reaching out to tilt my chin up.

"You're the little mate he just threw away?" Dylan asked, a slow, dangerous smile spreading across his face. He leaned in, his nose brushing my temple. His eyes went wide.

He smelled it.

Dylan’s gaze flicked to Marcel, then back to my stomach. "Oh, Marcel… you really are a fool. You just threw away more than a mate."

"Get your hands off her, Dylan," Marcel growled, his wolf surfacing.

Dylan laughed, a dark, jagged sound. "Or what? You've rejected her. She's free game now, isn't she?"

Dylan leaned into my ear, his voice a deadly whisper. "Don't worry, little bird. If the Alpha doesn't want his prize, I'm more than happy to take the leftovers. And the secrets they carry."

I looked at Marcel, hoping for a spark of protection.

He just looked at me with cold, dead eyes. "Take her if you want, Dylan. She’s nothing to me."