My Alpha Refused My Dying Rejection

No.4

Aline POV

For seven days, the bond between us was a dead wire. No anger, no pain, just a suffocating silence that mirrored the decay spreading through my veins.

I sat on the edge of my narrow bed, my fingers tracing the black, spiderweb-like veins that now crept up my forearms. The necrosis was faster now, feeding on the rejection I had spoken but he had refused to accept.

Here, Kaia whispered, slipping through the crack in the door like a shadow. She placed a small, heavy sack on the floor—dried meat, a canteen of water, and a thick wad of stashed cash she'd managed to scrape together from the training grounds.

Did anyone see you? I asked, my voice raspy.

No. They're all too busy preparing for the Ascension Gala tonight. Kaia crouched beside me, her eyes filled with a fierce, protective sorrow. "Kaden hasn't asked about you once, Aline. His mother... Rosalind told him you're on a hunger strike. She told him you're weeping in here, waiting for him to come apologize."

A dry, humorless laugh escaped my lips. "Let him believe that. His arrogance is my only shield."

While Kaden reveled in his delusion that I was a manipulative Omega playing games for attention, I had been meticulously planning my disappearance. I looked down at the small wicker basket at my feet. Fluffy, the stray kitten I'd rescued months ago, was curled up inside, sleeping soundly. She was the only living thing in this pack that didn't look at me with disdain.

I'm leaving tonight, Kaia, I said, the decision settling in my chest like a stone. "During the Gala. When everyone is distracted."

Kaia nodded, then reached into her tunic and pulled out a bundle of fabric. "Then you should leave with your head held high. Don't let them remember you as the broken girl in the grey rags."

She shook out the fabric. It was a dress. Not the dull, servant-like garb I was forced to wear, but a gown of deep, blood-red silk. It was the color of life, of fire—everything I was supposed to lack.

Two hours later, I stood before the cracked mirror. The woman staring back was a stranger. I had pinched my cheeks and used a heavy layer of rouge Kaia had smuggled in to hide the deathly pallor of my skin. The crimson silk hugged my emaciated frame, masking the bruises and the blackening veins, giving me an illusion of vitality. I had used the last of my strength to pin my hair up, exposing the bare, unmarked skin of my neck—a silent testament to the claim Kaden had never made.

I wasn't going to the Gala to celebrate him. I was going to say goodbye to the life that had almost killed me.

I picked up Fluffy's basket and hid it under the loose floorboard near the window, ready for my escape later. Then, I opened the door.

The Grand Hall was a sensory overload. The scent of roasted meats, expensive perfume, and the musk of hundreds of wolves hit me the moment I stepped onto the periphery of the ballroom.

The chatter died instantly.

It started near the entrance and spread like a wave until the entire hall fell into a stunned silence. Hundreds of eyes turned to me. I saw Jared Cross, Kaden's Beta, drop his wine glass. It shattered, the sound echoing like a gunshot. They expected a ghost; instead, they got a burning ember.

I kept my chin high, ignoring the trembling in my legs. I walked through the parting crowd, feeling their gazes like physical touches.

Luna Aline?

A deep, velvety voice broke the tension. I turned to see a man stepping out of the crowd. He was tall, with sandy blonde hair and eyes the color of warm amber. He didn't look at me with the usual Black Moon sneer. He looked... intrigued.

Alpha Sullivan. I recognized him from the guest list I had been forced to memorize years ago. Deric Sullivan of the Moonstone Creek Pack.

I was told you were indisposed, Deric said, bowing his head slightly—a gesture of respect that nearly made my knees buckle. "But it seems the rumors of your frailty were greatly exaggerated."

Rumors often are, I replied, my voice steady despite the pain clawing at my chest.

The orchestra began a slow waltz. Deric extended a hand. "May I? It would be a crime to let such a dress go to waste."

I hesitated. Dancing was for mates, for lovers. But I was leaving. Tonight, I was a free woman.

You may, I whispered.

I placed my hand in his. His skin was warm, his grip firm but gentle. As he swept me onto the dance floor, for the first time in three years, I didn't feel like a prisoner. I felt seen.

We spun near the center of the room, the red silk of my dress flaring out like a blooming rose. I even managed a small, genuine smile as Deric made a witty comment about the stuffy atmosphere.

Then, the air in the room changed.

It wasn't a sound. It was a pressure drop, sudden and violent, as if all the oxygen had been sucked out of the hall. The hair on my arms stood up. My wolf, weak and dying, suddenly whimpered in terror.

MINE!

The word didn't come from my ears. It slammed into my mind with the force of a physical blow, vibrating through the tattered remnants of the mate bond. It was a roar of pure, unadulterated possessiveness, dark and suffocating.

I froze, my heart hammering against my ribs. Slowly, terrified, I lifted my gaze to the second-floor balcony.

Kaden was there.

He wasn't looking at the crowd. He was looking at Deric's hand on my waist. His grey eyes were no longer stormy; they were an abyss of black rage. His hands gripped the iron railing so hard the metal groaned and twisted under his fingers.

The silence in the hall was absolute now, heavy with the promise of violence. He didn't need to speak again. The command rolling off him in waves was clear enough to bring every wolf in the room to their knees.

He was coming down.