Rejected by My Alpha Mate

The morning light streamed through the windows of the Alpha's office as I pushed open the heavy oak door. Vance sat behind the massive desk, his fingers tapping impatiently against the polished surface. Beta Marcus and two other high-ranking pack members were seated nearby, reviewing documents. The perfect audience for what I was about to do.

"Luna Celine," Vance acknowledged with a smirk that didn't reach his eyes. "What an unexpected pleasure."

I didn't bother with pleasantries. Instead, I strode forward and slammed the evidence onto his desk—the vial of Rogue pheromones, Silas's signed testimony, and the notebook with Vance's distinctive handwriting.

"Explain this," I demanded, my voice carrying the full weight of my Luna authority.

Vance's eyes widened momentarily before narrowing into slits. "What is this supposed to be?"

"Evidence," I replied coldly. "The perfume from the general store that matches the scent on my father's cloak. The vial of concentrated Rogue pheromones hidden in the hollow tree near our border. And your notebook detailing how you planned to frame my father."

Beta Marcus rose slowly from his chair, picking up the notebook. His eyes scanned the pages, his expression growing darker with each line he read.

"This is treason," he stated flatly.

Vance shot to his feet. "This is absurd! She's fabricating evidence because her traitorous father was caught conspiring with Rogues!"

"The shopkeeper identified your limp," I countered. "And Silas confirmed you purchased the perfume."

Vance's face contorted with rage. He lunged across the desk, claws extending toward my throat. "You'll regret this, you worthless—"

Before he could reach me, Beta Marcus intercepted, pinning Vance against the wall with a strength that surprised everyone in the room.

"Touch her again," Marcus growled, "and it won't be silver cells you'll be visiting."

---

"Father, hold on," I whispered as Beta Marcus and I rushed through the dungeon corridors. The silver burns had spread across my father's chest and arms, angry red welts that blistered his once-proud skin.

The guards stepped aside without question when they saw the Beta's grim expression. We found my father unconscious on the cot, his breathing shallow and labored.

"Get the healer," Marcus ordered one of the guards. "Now!"

I gently lifted my father's head, trying to avoid the worst of the burns. "Can you hear me? We're getting you out."

His eyelids fluttered but didn't open. The silver toxicity had progressed faster than I'd feared.

As we carried him toward the infirmary, a familiar scent reached me—pine and rainwater mixed with something floral and cloying. Everly's perfume.

Ryland appeared at the entrance, his hair disheveled and his clothes wrinkled. The scent of Everly clung to him like a second skin.

"What's happening?" he asked, his eyes widening at the sight of my father's broken body.

"He's dying," I replied, unable to keep the bitterness from my voice. "The silver is killing him."

Ryland's gaze dropped to the burns covering my father's chest. "I didn't think it was this bad."

---

The infirmary was quiet except for the steady beep of monitors and my father's shallow breathing. I sat beside his bed, holding his hand while the healer worked silently in the background.

Ryland paced at the foot of the bed, running his hands through his hair. "Celine, you have to understand—"

"Understand what?" I interrupted, my voice dangerously soft. "That you let my father rot in silver cells while you played nursemaid to Everly?"

"That's not fair," he protested. "Everly needed me. She's fragile."

"And I'm not?" I stood, turning to face him fully. "My father is dying because you couldn't be bothered to review evidence that would have freed him days ago."

"I had other priorities," Ryland insisted. "Everly's condition—"

"Is fake," I cut in. "I have proof of that too."

His eyes widened slightly before narrowing. "You're being ridiculous. Everly is genuinely ill."

"She takes herbs to induce panic attacks," I said flatly. "The healer confirmed it."

Ryland's jaw tightened. "She needs special care. You're strong, Celine. You can handle things on your own."

The words hit me like a physical blow. Three years of neglect, of being taken for granted, of watching him fawn over another woman while I maintained his pack—all of it crystallized in that moment.

"I had the authority to release him to house arrest days ago," Ryland admitted, his voice dropping. "But Everly had a panic attack when I mentioned it, and I... I forgot."

Something snapped inside me then—a final thread of loyalty and love severing clean. My wolf surged forward, her rage and pain flooding through me until my vision blurred gold around the edges.

"You forgot my father was dying?" My voice was barely recognizable, deeper and more powerful than before.

Ryland took a step back, his eyes widening as he stared into mine—now glowing with a feral light that promised retribution.

"Celine," he whispered, "your eyes..."