Rejected by the Alpha, Claimed by the King

The screaming started at three AM.

I bolted upright in the chair beside Zuri's bed, my wolf instantly alert as her small body convulsed on the medical cot. Her eyes blazed gold in the darkness—not the warm amber of a normal child's wolf, but the feral, terrified gleam of prey trapped in a corner.

"No, no, no!" she whimpered, her voice shifting between human speech and wolf whines. "Don't hurt Mama's wolf with the silver stick!"

Claws extended from her fingertips, tiny but razor-sharp, as her body began the telltale shimmer of an uncontrolled shift. At four years old, she shouldn't even have a wolf yet, let alone be fighting transformation in her sleep.

Dr. Morgan rushed in, syringe already prepared. "Hayden, hold her still. If she completes the shift while unconscious—"

"I've got her." I pressed my hands gently against Zuri's shoulders, feeling the unnatural heat radiating from her small frame. Through our developing mind-link—a connection that shouldn't exist until she was much older—images flooded my consciousness.

A basement. Chains. A woman with honeysuckle-scented hair screaming as silver burned through her skin.

My wolf snarled, pressing against my ribs with murderous intent. The images weren't just nightmares—they were memories. My daughter had witnessed her mother's torture for years.

"Mama's wolf is getting sleepy," Zuri whispered, her claws retracting as the sedative took effect. "The bad man made her wolf go dark. Papa, why won't Mama's wolf wake up?"

The word 'Papa' hit me like a physical blow. I'd never heard it before, never thought I'd have the right to hear it. My scarred hands trembled as I smoothed her dark hair—hair exactly like mine.

"Sleep now, little wolf," I murmured, the Irish lullaby rising from some buried memory of my own mother. "Papa's here. You're safe."

But even as her breathing evened out, the mind-link remained open, showing me fragments of her trauma. A man in a police uniform holding silver chains. Wolfsbane plants growing in deliberate rows. And always, always, the image of a wolf spirit growing dimmer with each passing day.

I paced the medical wing like a caged animal, my boots wearing a path in the polished floor. Every instinct screamed at me to leave now, to hunt down Eric Burns and tear him apart with my bare hands. But Zuri needed me here. My daughter—Christ, I had a daughter—needed stability, not another monster in her life.

"The Luna wants to see you," Dr. Morgan said softly. "She's been working with Zuri during the day. There are things you need to see."

I found Angie in the pack house's art room, surrounded by papers covered in crayon drawings. Her usually serene expression was strained, her Luna aura flickering with maternal distress.

"She draws constantly when she's awake," Angie explained, spreading the artwork across the table. "Look at the progression."

The first drawing showed a woman with long hair, surrounded by what looked like golden light. The next showed the same woman, but the light was dimmer. By the tenth drawing, the woman was chained to a wall, and the light around her had become a faint gray outline.

"She calls it 'Mama's wolf sleeping,'" Angie whispered. "Hayden, I think she's showing us her mother's wolf spirit dying from silver poisoning."

My vision went red. The drawings fluttered to the floor as my hands clenched into fists, claws threatening to extend. My wolf threw back his head and howled—a sound of pure rage that made every window in the room rattle.

"WHERE IS SHE?" The words tore from my throat with an authority I didn't recognize, my voice carrying the unmistakable command of an Alpha bloodline. Angie actually stepped back, her Luna instincts recognizing something in my tone that shouldn't exist in a Gamma.

I forced myself to breathe, to lock down the rage threatening to consume me. "I'm sorry, Luna. I didn't mean—"

"No apology needed." Angie's voice was gentle but shaken. "That wasn't your Gamma wolf speaking. That was something else entirely."

She was right. For a moment, something deeper had surfaced—the Alpha heritage I'd buried after my pack's massacre. The bloodline that made my incomplete mate bond so devastating, that made my wolf so feral without its other half.

I gathered the drawings with trembling hands, studying each one. In the corner of the latest drawing, Zuri had written something in shaky letters: "Detroit. Basement. Mama says Papa will come."

My mate was dying. My daughter was traumatized beyond measure. And somewhere in Detroit, the man responsible was sleeping peacefully in his bed.

Not for much longer.

"I need surveillance equipment," I told Angie, my voice deadly calm. "And I need it tonight."

The Luna nodded slowly. "What are you planning?"

I looked down at my daughter's artwork—at the progressive dimming of her mother's wolf spirit. "I'm going to find them. And then I'm going to make Eric Burns pay for every single day he's hurt my family."

My wolf settled into hunting mode, cold and focused. The feral rage was still there, but now it had purpose. Direction.

Johanna had waited six years for me to find her. I wouldn't make her wait another day.