Rejected by My Alpha

Waylon returned to the den just past midnight, his towering frame silhouetted in the doorway. The scent of pine and musk clung to him, a subtle reminder of his Alpha status. His sharp, amber eyes flickered with surprise as they landed on Thalia, sprawled across the couch in the dimly lit living room.

“Luna,” he began, his deep voice carrying the weight of authority, “I thought I told you not to wait up.”

Thalia hadn’t been waiting for him. She had simply dozed off while reflecting on the fragments of their bond—moments that once felt sacred but now seemed distant, like memories from another lifetime.

Waylon crossed the room with the grace of a predator, his muscular frame casting a shadow over her. He held out a small gift bag, its wrapping crisp and elegant. “A present for you,” he said, his tone softer than usual, though it still carried the undercurrent of command.

Thalia hesitated before taking the bag, her fingers brushing against his. She opened it carefully, revealing a delicate figurine—a wolf pup carved from polished wood, its details intricate but oddly impersonal. It wasn’t the kind of gift Waylon would choose on his own.

The memory of that voice—soft, playful, and undeniably feminine—flashed in her mind. Emmie’s voice. Thalia’s chest tightened, but she schooled her expression into neutrality.

Waylon watched her intently, his amber gaze searching for a reaction. When none came, his brow furrowed, the faintest hint of frustration crossing his features. “Don’t you have anything to say to me?” he asked, his Alpha tone creeping into his voice, a subtle reminder of his rank and dominance.

Thalia met his gaze, her own eyes steady despite the storm brewing within her. “Can you keep it quiet when you freshen up later? I need to rest. Don’t wake me.”

His frown deepened, the lines on his forehead more pronounced. For a moment, he looked as though he might argue, but then he simply nodded, his expression unreadable. Thalia wondered what he had expected her to say. Should she have asked about the post he’d made on the pack’s social board? Or the way Emmie had been seen at his side during the recent patrol? But none of it mattered anymore.

Not even the Alpha mattered anymore.

The next morning, Waylon left for the pack’s headquarters, his presence lingering in the den like a ghost. By noon, Thalia’s phone buzzed with an incoming call. She picked it up, her voice calm but distant. “Yes, Alpha?”

“Luna,” Waylon’s voice rumbled through the line, carrying the faintest hint of impatience. “Aren’t you bringing me lunch?”

Thalia paused, her fingers tightening around the phone. The question felt like a test, a reminder of her role as Luna. But the bond between them, once unshakable, now felt as fragile as glass. “I’ll send someone,” she replied, her tone neutral but firm. She hung up before he could respond, the weight of his expectations settling heavily on her shoulders.