Rejected by My Fated Mate

The letter arrived at dawn, slipped under my door like a secret.

I recognized the handwriting immediately. Holden's messy scrawl, the way he looped his H's. My hands trembled as I unfolded the paper.

*Emryn, I know I have no right to ask anything of you. But I found your mother's locket in my office. I should have returned it weeks ago. Meet me at the border clearing tomorrow at noon. I'll bring it myself. It's the least I can do. —H*

My mother's locket. The silver one with the tiny wolf engraved on the front, the one she'd worn every day until the illness took her. I'd left it behind in my rush to escape Shadowclaw, too broken to remember anything but the need to leave.

I pressed the letter to my chest. Just a locket. Just a piece of metal and memory.

But it was hers.

"Absolutely not." Nicholas's voice was flat when I showed him the letter at breakfast. "It's too convenient. Too clean."

"It's my mother's locket."

"It's bait." He set down his coffee, those dark eyes pinning me in place. "Emryn, think. Why now? Why would he suddenly develop a conscience?"

Because maybe he finally realized what he'd done. Because maybe some part of him still had a shred of decency.

But I didn't say that. I just folded the letter and tucked it into my pocket.

"I'm taking two guards," I said quietly. "I'll be back before dinner."

Nicholas's jaw tightened. "Emryn—"

"It's my mother's locket." My voice cracked. "It's all I have left of her."

The silence stretched between us. Finally, he nodded, but the tension in his shoulders told me he didn't like it.

"Two guards. You stay in the car. You get the locket and leave immediately."

"I will."

I should have listened to the warning in his eyes.

The border clearing was exactly as I remembered—a stretch of neutral ground where pack territories met, marked by ancient stones half-buried in moss. The two Obsidian guards flanked the car, their eyes scanning the treeline.

"Miss Reyes," the larger one said. "We should turn back. Something feels wrong."

He was right. The forest was too quiet. No birds. No wind. Just silence pressing down like a held breath.

Then the rogues came.

They exploded from the trees—five, six, too many to count. The guards shifted immediately, their wolves massive and snarling, but the rogues had numbers and surprise.

I watched through the windshield as teeth found throats. As blood painted the grass.

As both guards fell.

My door was ripped open. Hands grabbed my arms, dragging me from the car. I hit the ground hard, tasting copper and dirt.

*Shift,* I screamed at my wolf. *Please, shift!*

But she was still too weak, still too broken. I felt her try, felt her push against the walls of my consciousness, but nothing happened.

A rogue loomed over me, his breath reeking of rot. "Pretty little Luna. All alone."

I kicked at his knee. He laughed and backhanded me across the face.

The world spun. Blood filled my mouth.

Then I heard her voice.

"She's attacking me! Holden, help!"

Sloan stumbled from the treeline, her dress torn strategically, her face painted with fake terror. And behind her—

Holden.

He looked wrong. His eyes were glassy, unfocused, his movements sluggish. Drugged, some distant part of my brain registered. But he was here. He was looking at me on the ground, surrounded by rogues, bleeding.

And he was looking at me like I was the threat.

"Emryn." His voice was slurred. "What are you doing?"

I stared at him. At the man I'd given three years of my life to. The man I'd bankrupted my pack's resources for. The man I'd believed I loved.

"Holden," I whispered. "Please."

"She lured us here!" Sloan sobbed, clinging to his arm. "She wanted to hurt me. She's always been jealous—"

"That's not—" A rogue's boot connected with my ribs, cutting off my words.

Holden watched. Just watched.

"You're bitter," he said finally, and his voice was almost pitying. "I understand. But you can't attack my mate, Emryn. That's not acceptable."

Something inside me went very, very quiet.

Not my wolf. She was already silent.

This was something else. Something that had been holding on by a thread, hoping, believing, waiting for him to see me.

The thread snapped.

I looked at Holden—really looked at him—and felt nothing. No love. No anger. No pain.

Just a cold, clear understanding.

I'd never loved him. I'd loved the fantasy of being chosen. Of being enough.

But I was enough. I always had been.

Just not for him.

"You're right," I said, my voice steady despite the blood on my lips. "I was bitter. But not anymore."

I smiled, and it must have looked wrong because Sloan's triumph faltered.

"Because you're not worth it, Holden. You never were."

The rogue raised his fist again.

And then the forest exploded with the sound of an Alpha's roar.