My Alpha Publicly Rejected Me for Another Woman

The food came three times a day through a slot in the door. I didn't touch it.

Not because I wasn't hungry. I was starving. But every tray smelled wrong—underneath the bread, underneath the soup, that same bitter edge I'd tasted in Christina's tea. They weren't even trying to hide it anymore.

I pushed the latest tray away with my foot and leaned back against the cold stone wall. The fever had settled into a low, constant burn that made my skin feel too tight. My hands still shook if I held them out too long. But the second heartbeat—that steady, furious pulse beneath my ribs—was louder now. Stronger.

It felt like waiting.

Footsteps echoed in the corridor outside. I didn't move. They came and went all day—guards, messengers, wolves I couldn't see but could hear whispering just beyond the door. Most of them said nothing I wanted to hear.

But these footsteps stopped.

A soft scrape. Metal on stone. The food slot slid open.

"Ella."

I knew that voice. Kennedy Ward. Delta warrior. We'd trained together once, years ago, before Preston claimed me and my world narrowed to pack house duties and ceremony preparations. She'd always been blunt. Direct. The kind of wolf who said exactly what she meant and didn't apologize for it.

I crawled forward on my hands and knees—my legs were too shaky to stand—and pressed close to the slot. I could see part of her face through the narrow opening. Her jaw was set. Her eyes were hard.

"I don't believe them," she said quietly. Her voice was low, urgent. "Not one word."

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. My throat was too dry.

"The patrol schedule they found in your room," Kennedy continued. "The timeline doesn't match. I checked. The night they said you stole it, you were in the ceremony hall doing final preparations. I saw you there myself. And I found a witness who saw Zoey near the Gamma's office that same night. She had keys."

My heart kicked hard against my ribs. Both heartbeats—mine and the other one—pulsed in sync.

"Why are you telling me this?" I whispered.

Kennedy's eyes met mine through the slot. "Because when the tribunal comes, I won't vote against you. I don't care what Preston orders. I don't care what the rest of them do." She paused. "You should know someone's on your side."

The slot closed before I could answer.

I stayed there on the floor, staring at the place her face had been, and memorized her voice. The only kindness I'd received in three days. The only voice that stayed.

---

The announcement came that afternoon.

I heard it through the walls—Preston's voice, amplified by the pack mind-link I could barely access anymore. Formal. Authoritative. Every word chosen to sound like justice.

*"The tribunal will convene at dawn. All ranked wolves are required to attend. Visiting Alphas are invited to witness Silverfang's commitment to internal security and pack law."*

A pause. Then:

*"This matter will be resolved with transparency and fairness."*

I almost laughed. The sound came out broken.

Transparency. Fairness. From the Alpha who'd rejected me in front of three hundred wolves and marked another woman before I'd even left the hall.

I pressed my forehead against the stone floor and breathed.

The second heartbeat pulsed. Steady. Waiting.

*Hold on,* I thought. *Just hold on a little longer.*

---

I didn't expect him to still be here.

Wilder Pierce. The Lycan Prince. The Council's emissary.

I'd felt his attention during the ceremony—sharp, focused, unreadable—but I'd assumed he would leave the moment the rejection was witnessed. Lycan emissaries didn't linger. They observed, they recorded, they reported back to the Council. That was the protocol.

But through the thin stone walls, I heard voices in the corridor late that night. Preston's. And another—deeper, quieter, with an edge of authority that didn't need to be loud.

"I appreciate your diligence, Alpha Alexander, but the Council has a vested interest in the Accord's implications. I'll remain until the tribunal concludes."

Preston's reply was smooth. Too smooth. "Of course, Prince Wilder. We're honored by your continued presence."

"I have a few questions before the proceedings begin," Wilder said. "Procedural clarifications. If you have time tonight."

A pause. Then Preston's voice, tighter now: "Certainly."

I heard them move down the corridor, their footsteps fading.

I sat up slowly, my back against the wall, and stared at the locked door.

Why was he still here?

The Accord was invoked. Witnessed. Irreversible. There was nothing left to clarify. Unless—

Unless he didn't believe Preston's version.

Unless he'd caught something in the ceremony hall that didn't add up.

I closed my eyes and listened to the double heartbeat in my chest.

*Jasmine and frost,* I thought suddenly. That's what my scent would be, if my wolf ever surfaced. I'd read it once in an old pack registry, back when I still thought I'd awaken like everyone else. A bloodline signature. Rare. Specific.

Had he smelled it?

I didn't know. But the thought settled in my chest like a spark.

---

Somewhere in the pack house, behind a closed door, Wilder Pierce sat across from Preston and asked his questions.

I couldn't hear the words. But I felt the weight of them.

How long had I been wolfless? Had a healer ever examined my suppression? What formal grounds existed for the rogue-sympathizer charge?

I imagined Preston's answers. Smooth. Rehearsed. Just plausible enough.

But I also imagined the look in Wilder's eyes. The same look he'd given me across the ceremony hall when I invoked the Accord.

Sharp. Focused. Unreadable.

And underneath it—something his wolf was whispering that he couldn't yet name.

I pulled my knees to my chest and waited for dawn.