Rejected and Claimed by the Rogue

The Omega quarters were damp, smelling of mold and despair. My stomach twisted with a hunger that had become a constant companion over the last three days. I huddled in the corner of the small cell, wrapping my thin, gray rags tighter around my shivering frame. Pierce had made his point. I was nothing to him now but a stain he wanted to scrub away.

But as the moon climbed high, casting silver bars of light across the dirt floor, a shadow detached itself from the darkness of the corridor.

My heart leaped into my throat. I scrambled back, expecting Pierce or one of his guards coming to deliver another beating. But then the scent hit me—rain, cedar, and deep, earthy musk.

"Apollo?" I breathed, scrambling to my knees at the bars.

He was there, crouching in the shadows like a phantom. He looked rougher than before, dirt smudged on his cheekbones, but his golden eyes burned with an intensity that warmed the cold air between us.

"I told you I wouldn't leave you," he whispered, his voice a low rumble that vibrated in my chest.

He reached through the iron bars. In his hand was a bundle wrapped in a large leaf—strips of fresh, roasted venison and a small flask of water. I took it with trembling hands, tearing into the meat like a starving animal. He watched me, his jaw tight, a flicker of pain crossing his face as he saw my desperation.

"I thought Pierce chased you off," I said between bites, wiping grease from my chin. "If he finds you here..."

"He won't," Apollo said, his tone hard with confidence. He reached through the bars again, his calloused fingers brushing a stray lock of hair from my face. The touch sent a jolt of electricity down my spine, reawakening the bond my wolf was screaming for. "Listen to me, Sloan. I can’t get you out tonight—not without alerting the whole pack. But justice is coming. I promise you."

I gripped the cold iron bars, leaning into his touch. "What kind of justice? Pierce is the Alpha. His word is law."

Apollo’s eyes darkened. "Not for long. But I need something from you. You know this house better than anyone. You’ve seen who comes and goes."

I nodded slowly. "I used to run the infirmary. I saw everything."

"Does Pierce have private dealings? Meetings he keeps off the official pack records?" Apollo asked, his gaze searching mine. "I need proof, Sloan. Concrete evidence of who he’s really working with."

My mind flashed back to nights I spent late in the library, researching herbs. I remembered the heavy thud of boots on the floorboards above—in Pierce's private study. I remembered the scent of rogues lingering in the hallway the next morning, and the way Pierce would lock his door whenever I walked by.

"The study," I whispered. "On the third floor. There’s a loose floorboard under the bear skin rug. I saw him hide a black ledger there once when he thought I wasn't looking."

Apollo’s expression sharpened. "Can you get to it?"

"Tomorrow is the Coronation," I said, the word tasting like ash in my mouth. "The whole pack will be chaotic. Everyone will be focused on Isabela."

"Use the chaos," Apollo urged, squeezing my hand one last time before pulling back into the shadows. "Get that ledger. It’s the key to our freedom."

The next morning, the Pack House was a hive of frantic activity. Servants rushed past with garlands of flowers, and the smell of roasting pigs for the feast filled the air. As an Omega, I was invisible. I was given a bucket and a rag and told to scrub the baseboards of the grand hallway.

I worked my way slowly toward the staircase, keeping my head down. Pierce was shouting orders in the ballroom, his voice booming about the seating arrangements for the visiting Alphas. Isabela was nowhere to be seen, likely preening in the master suite.

This was my chance.

I left my bucket near the kitchen entrance and slipped into the servants' stairwell. My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. If I was caught up here, in the Alpha’s private wing, the punishment wouldn't just be starvation. It would be public execution.

The third-floor corridor was silent. The thick carpet swallowed the sound of my bare feet as I crept toward the double mahogany doors of Pierce's study. I pressed my ear to the wood. Silence.

I turned the handle. Locked.

Panic flared, but I forced it down. I was a Healer; I had steady hands. I pulled a thin metal pin from my ragged dress—a remnant of my old life—and slid it into the lock. I twisted, feeling for the tumblers. *Click.*

The door creaked open. I slipped inside and closed it softly behind me.

The study smelled of Pierce—tobacco, expensive leather, and the underlying rot of his cruelty. I didn't let myself linger on the fear. I moved straight to the massive bear skin rug in the center of the room.

I threw the heavy fur aside. The floorboards looked seamless, but I knew where to look. I ran my fingers along the dark wood grain until I felt the slight groove I had noticed months ago. I dug my fingernails in and pried upward.

The board popped loose with a groan that sounded like a gunshot in the quiet room. I froze, holding my breath.

Nothing happened. No alarms. No footsteps.

I reached into the dark hollow beneath the floor. My fingers brushed against cool leather. I pulled it out—a thick, black ledger, bound with no title.

I opened it to a random page. My eyes widened as I scanned the neat handwriting. It wasn't just accounting. It was a list of shipments. *Silver. Wolfsbane. Assault Rifles.* And next to each shipment were names of known rogue leaders and coordinates for drop-offs in the neutral zones.

Pierce wasn't just tolerating rogues; he was arming them. He was funding the very terrorists that threatened the Lycan Kingdom.

"I got you," I whispered, clutching the book to my chest.

Suddenly, the doorknob rattled.

"I'm telling you, I heard something," a guard's voice muffled through the wood.

Terror, cold and sharp, pierced through me. I shoved the floorboard back into place and kicked the rug over it. There was nowhere to hide. I shoved the ledger down the front of my dress, the leather cold against my skin, and pressed my back against the heavy velvet drapes of the window, praying to the Moon Goddess that shadows would be enough to save me.