Rejected by the Alpha, Claimed by the King

Our mothers, both proud Deltas of the Red Pack, were inseparable, so Sam Burke and I had known each other since we were pups. From as early as I can remember, I was always trailing behind him, calling him "big brother" nonstop. Sam, despite his reserved nature and quiet demeanor around others, always had a soft smile for me. Even as the Beta of the Blue Pack, he never carried that commanding alpha tone with me—his voice was always gentle.

At some point, the tender feelings of a young she-wolf began to take root and grow within me, like wild vines spiraling out of control. But this love never found its voice. During high school, my family had to relocate to another territory due to pack reassignments, taking me far away. When we met again, it was at a pack gathering where Sam stood tall, his muscular frame towering over the crowd as he delivered a speech as the honor student. All those feelings I had buried deep inside rushed back, stronger than ever.

Finally unable to hold back any longer, I confessed my love to him. Sam, his sharp jawline softened by the faintest hint of surprise, looked at me for a moment before ruffling my hair and simply saying, "Okay."

After we got together, we never celebrated the Moon Festivals or any other pack traditions. He always insisted that such things were trivial and that we should focus on our duties as warriors. I cried and argued, but all I got in return was his calm suggestion to end things. From then on, I didn’t dare ask for anything more.

I often told myself that Sam, as the Beta, was just practical, focused on his responsibilities to the Blue Pack, and oblivious to such matters. Besides, there were no other she-wolves around him, so I figured I should be okay with that.

Now I understand that it wasn’t ignorance on his part—it was me who didn’t measure up. Clutching my phone, I sat in my room in the Red Pack’s communal den, completely drained. For three days straight, I hadn’t received a single mind link or message from Sam.

What was I hoping for? I couldn’t help but wonder.

The sound of a WhatsApp notification jolted me from my thoughts. I fumbled to unlock my phone, fearing I was already too late. I was so anxious that I failed the fingerprint scan several times. When the screen finally lit up, it showed only a photo.

I stared at the image of two tightly clasped hands. The sparkling ring didn’t quite hide the red mole on Sam’s ring finger. My wolf let out a low whimper in the back of my mind, a sound I barely registered as I bit my lower lip so hard that I tasted blood.

A cold despair settled deeper in my heart. I slowly typed "Let’s end this," hit send, and then blocked Sam. In the werewolf world, where mate bonds were sacred and breakups carried the weight of a severed soul tie, this felt final.

Once it was done, I realized I was trembling uncontrollably. It’s okay, I told myself. This is where it ends. The bond between us, fragile as it was, had been broken. And though the pain of it felt like fire in my chest, I knew I had to move forward. For myself. For my pack.