Rejected by My Alpha Mate

Morning light filtered through the high windows of the pack house as I made my way to the dungeons. My father had spent the night in silver-lined cells—a thought that made my wolf pace restlessly inside me. Each step down the stone staircase felt heavier than the last.

Two guards blocked the entrance, their postures rigid with newfound authority. I recognized them as Vance's men—wolves who had risen quickly under his protection.

"Luna Celine," the taller one greeted me with a slight bow that didn't reach his eyes. "Gamma Vance left strict orders—no visitors without his approval."

"I don't need his approval," I replied, letting my Luna aura flare. "I need to see my father."

"Alpha Ryland's orders were clear—"

"Alpha Ryland is my mate," I cut in, my voice dropping to a dangerous octave. "And I am still your Luna. Now stand aside."

The guards exchanged glances, clearly torn between following Vance's instructions and obeying the Luna command that still flowed through my veins. Finally, they stepped aside, though their expressions made it clear this temporary submission was noted.

The dungeon air hit me like a physical blow—damp, cold, and heavy with the acrid smell of silver burning flesh. My father sat on a simple wooden bench, his back straight despite the pain I could see etched across his face.

"Father," I whispered, rushing to his side.

"Celine." His voice was steady, though I could see the silver burns already blooming across his wrists where the cuffs had been. "You shouldn't be here."

"I had to see you." I knelt before him, gently examining the angry red welts. "This is inhumane."

"It's protocol," he said simply, though his eyes flashed with brief anger. "But something isn't right about this accusation."

"I know." I squeezed his hand carefully. "I'll find out what happened."

"Don't fight Ryland," he warned, his voice dropping lower. "He's still your Alpha."

"He's not using his authority to help you," I countered, bitterness creeping into my tone.

My father studied my face, his eyes softening. "Then you must find the truth yourself, daughter. You are my only hope."

The weight of his words settled over me like a mantle. In that moment, I realized how alone we both were—how much depended on me.

---

"The security logs are currently being processed," Vance informed me, not bothering to look up from his desk. "There's an administrative backlog."

I leaned against his office doorframe, arms crossed. "How convenient. And the evidence room?"

"Restricted access until the investigation is complete." He finally met my gaze, a smile playing at his lips. "Pack protocol, Luna."

"This is absurd," I snapped. "I need to see the evidence against my father."

"Take it up with Alpha Ryland," Vance suggested, his tone making it clear he knew exactly where Ryland would be.

I closed my eyes, reaching for the mind-link that connected me to my mate.

*Ryland, I need access to the security footage and evidence room. Vance is stalling.*

I waited for his response, but instead of his voice in my head, I encountered a wall—a deliberate blockage.

*Do not disturb* was all that came through before the connection went silent.

My eyes flew open, rage and hurt surging through me. He had blocked me out—something that should be impossible between mates unless deliberately forced.

"Still waiting for Alpha Ryland's response?" Vance asked, his amusement barely concealed.

"He's busy," I replied coldly, turning to leave.

---

The pack house was silent at 2 AM as I slipped through the shadows toward the archives. My father had trained me well—I knew every corridor, every hiding place in this building.

The evidence room was locked, but I had prepared for that. The small silver key I'd taken from the Beta's office earlier would do the trick.

Inside, the room smelled of dust and old paper. I moved quickly to the evidence bag containing my father's cloak.

Under the fluorescent lights, I examined it closely. The fabric was familiar—my father's favorite traveling cloak. But something was off.

I buried my face in the material, inhaling deeply. Beneath the heavy layer of Rogue pheromones—clearly planted—was another scent. Faint but distinct.

My eyes widened as I recognized it: a specific mix of lavender and synthetic musk. A cheap perfume sold only at the pack's general store.

No Rogue would wear such a thing.

I closed my eyes, letting my superior tracking abilities isolate the scent further. There—beneath the perfume was something else. Something familiar.

A scent I knew belonged to someone in this pack.

Someone who wanted my father gone.

And suddenly, I knew exactly where to look next.