Rejected by My Mate, Saved by the Lycan King

Cold. So cold.

I wasn't dead. Not yet.

My eyelids felt like lead as I forced them open, snowflakes landing on my lashes. The world was a blur of white and gray, my body half-buried in a snowdrift. I tried to move, but my limbs refused to cooperate, weighed down by whatever drug Bailey had injected me with.

"Edward," I whispered, his name a broken sound in my throat.

The rejection pain hit me anew—a hollow, gaping wound where our bond had once been. I curled inward, a whimper escaping my lips as I coughed up blood. The taste of copper mixed with the icy air, reminding me I was still alive. Still suffering.

Something moved in the corner of my vision. A shadow against the white landscape.

"Fresh meat," a raspy voice growled.

I forced my head up, panic cutting through the fog of sedatives. Yellow eyes gleamed in the dim light—feral Rogues, drawn by the scent of blood and weakness. Three of them circled me, their matted fur and gaunt faces evidence of their desperation.

"Please," I begged, trying to crawl backward despite my useless limbs.

"Pretty little thing," another Rogue snarled, revealing yellowed teeth. "Alpha's leftovers?"

They knew. They could smell Edward on me, sense the rejection in my blood.

"Kill her quick," the third one muttered. "Or the cold will do it for us."

Instinct surged through me—the will to survive. My body temperature plummeted further as adrenaline coursed through my veins.

"Get away from me," I gasped, my voice stronger than I expected.

Something shifted inside me—a spark of heat in my chest where the bond had been severed. My bones began to ache, then crack.

"What's happening?" I cried out as pain unlike anything I'd ever experienced tore through me.

My skin rippled, fur pushing through in patches. My fingers elongated, nails becoming claws. The half-shift was agony—my body trying to transform but lacking the strength to complete the process.

"Impossible," one Rogue hissed. "She's shifting now?"

"She's too weak," another replied, circling closer. "Dying."

A massive black shape burst through the trees, moving with predatory grace. Before I could process what was happening, the Rogue nearest to me was torn in half, blood spraying across the pristine snow.

The remaining Rogues scattered, but not quickly enough. The black beast pursued them with terrifying efficiency, each powerful movement ending another threat.

I couldn't focus on what was happening. My body continued its painful partial transformation, caught between human and wolf forms. I heard footsteps approaching—heavy, deliberate.

"Mine," a deep voice growled.

Warm hands touched my face, and electricity shot through my skin. My eyes fluttered open to see the most beautiful and terrifying face I'd ever seen—sharp features, silver eyes that glowed in the darkness, and an expression of fierce possession.

"You're safe now," he said, his voice gentler than his appearance suggested.

He wrapped something warm around me—a fur cloak that smelled of pine and winter storms. The scent triggered something primal inside me.

"Mate," I whispered, the word escaping before I could stop it.

His eyes flashed brighter. "Yes," he confirmed, lifting me into his arms with surprising tenderness. "I am Roy Perry."

The Lycan King. The rumors of his brutality didn't match the careful way he held me now, as if I might break.

"Rest," he commanded, his voice vibrating with authority. "You're coming home with me."

Home. The word echoed in my mind as consciousness slipped away again. The last thing I remembered was being cradled against a broad chest, the steady beat of a powerful heart beneath my ear.

---

I awoke to warmth and unfamiliar surroundings. Silk sheets caressed my skin, so different from the rough blankets I'd grown accustomed to in the Silver Mist Pack. Candles illuminated a vast chamber, their light reflecting off polished stone walls.

"Where..." My voice cracked, my throat raw.

"You're in the Obsidian Palace," a deep voice answered from nearby. "My home. Your home now."

I turned my head to find Roy Perry watching me from a chair beside the bed. In human form, he was even more imposing—tall and powerfully built, with an aura of absolute authority that made the air around him seem heavier.

"Your Majesty," I whispered, trying to sit up.

He moved with supernatural speed, gently pressing me back against the pillows. "No titles between us," he said, his fingers lingering on my wrist. "You're my mate."

The word sent a shiver down my spine—not entirely unpleasant, despite everything I'd endured.

"But I'm..." I swallowed hard. "I'm nothing. An Omega. Rejected."

Something dangerous flashed in his eyes. "Whoever told you that will pay," he promised, his voice deadly quiet.

Before I could respond, the door burst open. A man with stern features entered, followed by servants carrying medical supplies.

"The Healer is here," he announced with a bow. "I'm Marcus Stone, Beta to the King."

Roy nodded once, then turned back to me. "No one will touch you but me," he declared, his Alpha aura flaring protectively.

The servants trembled visibly under the weight of his power. As he leaned closer to adjust the blankets around me, I caught a glimpse of something in his eyes I hadn't expected—vulnerability, carefully hidden beneath centuries of control.

"What happens now?" I asked, afraid of the answer.

His fingers brushed my cheek with unexpected gentleness. "Now," he said softly, "we heal what was broken."