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Rejected at the Mating Rite, Claimed by the Alpha Heir Novel Cover

Rejected at the Mating Rite, Claimed by the Alpha Heir

Humiliated at her own mating ceremony by her partner's friend, Vesper, Lyra Nightfang is pushed to her limit. Instead of defending her, Garrick Thornridge protects the instigator and allows his pack to tear Lyra's dress amidst cruel laughter. Garrick believes Lyra is trapped in his isolated homeland with no escape. However, he underestimates her true power and connections. Refusing to endure this disrespect, Lyra calls off the union and summons her own pack's private jet to rescue her.
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Chapter 3

Vesper caught on right away and patted Garrick's shoulder. "Come on, you're being way too formal. Lyra might not treat me like a sister, but I've always considered her one of my own."

"A ceremonial gown is just a piece of white fabric. I'm not that fussy. It's not like I'm going to ruin it by wearing it once."

She tilted her head and smiled at me. "You're not that petty, are you, Lyra?"

Whatever hesitation Garrick had vanished on the spot. He let go of Vesper's shoulder and jerked his chin at one of the bridesmaids. "Go get the dress."

I stared him down. "Garrick, don't you dare."

He didn't look at me. His voice was quiet but absolute. "Vesper put more work into this ceremony than anyone. What's the big deal about wearing one of your gowns? She'll give it back."

When the bridesmaid came running back with the gown, I lunged for it.

Before my fingers even touched the hem, two males shoved me aside. I stumbled into the corner of a table, the impact numbing my lower back.

Vesper took the dress and pulled it on right there in front of everyone. She tugged at the skirt, did a slow spin, and smiled with her eyes curved into happy little crescents. The scent of jasmine and copper rolled off her, thick and deliberate, as if she were marking the gown with her own claim.

The pose. The look. Anyone walking in would have thought today's Mating Ceremony was hers and Garrick's.

Someone started whistling.

Garrick didn't step away. He even dropped his gaze to the gown on her body, and the corner of his mouth lifted just slightly.

I stood there watching the two of them side by side, and all at once I wanted to laugh.

The dress was mine. The ceremony was mine. The intended mate was mine.

And right now, I was the outsider.

I stared at Garrick, my voice already raw. "Do you even remember whose Mating Ceremony this is?"

Vesper's smile disappeared. She lowered her head, fiddling with the hem of the gown, her voice barely above a whisper. "Lyra, I'm just not great at getting along with other she-wolves. Do you really hate me that much? If I did something wrong, just tell me, okay? Don't be like this."

Her eyes were already going red as she spoke.

Garrick spun around and glared at me, loud enough to address the whole hollow. "Are you done? Vesper's been helping out of the goodness of her heart, and you've been making a scene from the start! What the hell do you want?"

I pointed at the ceremonial gown on Vesper's body, my finger shaking. "She destroyed my ceremony!"

"Destroyed your ceremony?" Garrick let out a cold laugh and stepped toward me.

"Let me tell you something. This is how we do things here. The rougher the dominance trial, the stronger the bond. You're an outsider, so is that it? Deep down you look down on all of us? Look down on me?"

He was on a roll now. He turned to the gathered wolves with his arms spread wide, voice climbing even higher. "Everybody, take a good look. This is the mate I brought into the pack! She can't even handle a little mating tradition, and she says she loves me?"

Wolves started jeering, low growls and barking laughs rippling through the crowd.

Vesper tugged lightly at his sleeve and murmured something. Garrick patted her hand, his voice dropping to something impossibly gentle. "It's okay. I'll handle it."

Then he turned back to me. His eyes went cold, and his lips curled with a satisfaction he didn't bother to hide.

"Since you won't give me any face, don't blame me for dropping the courtesy."

He tipped his head toward the males standing nearby.

I had barely taken half a step back when a low, heavy roar rolled in from overhead.

Every head in the crowd turned skyward at once.

A silver-white pack jet was descending through the clouds, the Nightfang crest on its fuselage blazing in the sunlight.

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