Rejected Mate's Revenge

Five days. Five goddamn days of searching every cave, every abandoned cabin, every rogue den within a hundred miles of this cursed mountain, and still nothing. My men were exhausted, their faces drawn with the strain of following their Alpha King on what was beginning to feel like a fool's errand. But I couldn't stop. Wouldn't stop. Not when Gwen's life hung in the balance.

I stood on the Dunns' porch again, my hands clenched into fists as I stared at the couple huddled together on their wooden chairs. They looked smaller than before, more fragile, but their defiance remained unbroken. It only fueled the rage burning in my chest.

"Last chance," I growled, my voice rough from days of shouting orders and interrogating rogues. "Tell me where she is, and I'll make this quick."

Alistair's weathered hand tightened around his mate's, their shared strength visible in the way they leaned into each other. "We've told you the truth, Alpha King. Our daughter is dead."

The formal title sounded like a curse on his lips. The lack of respect, the quiet condemnation in his tone, made something snap inside me. My wolf surged forward, and I let my Alpha power explode outward with more force than I'd ever used before.

The windows of the cabin shattered instantly, glass raining down like deadly snow. The wooden porch groaned under the supernatural pressure, and I heard something crack—furniture inside the cabin, maybe the support beams themselves. The very air seemed to vibrate with my rage.

Elara screamed as the power hit her, her body convulsing as she was driven to the ground. Blood began to trickle from her ears, bright red against her pale skin. Alistair tried to shield her, crawling across the splintered porch to pull her into his arms, but my power crushed him down too.

"WHERE IS SHE?" The words tore from my throat like a battle cry, and I felt the mountain itself seem to tremble in response.

Elara's eyes rolled back, her breathing becoming shallow and erratic. Still, neither of them spoke. Their mate bond was keeping them strong, allowing them to draw from each other's will even as my Alpha authority tried to break them completely.

I increased the pressure, my wolf howling for dominance, for submission, for the answers I needed. The remaining windows exploded outward. A tree near the cabin split down the middle with a sound like thunder. But the old couple held on, their love for each other and their dead daughter stronger than my supernatural compulsion.

Hours passed. The sun began to set, painting the sky the color of blood. My men watched from a distance, their faces pale with shock at the raw display of Alpha power. Leo had tried to approach me twice, but I'd snarled him back each time.

Elara had long since lost consciousness, her frail body unable to withstand the continued assault. Alistair cradled her against his chest, his own face gray with pain and exhaustion, but his eyes still burned with defiant love.

"She's dying," he whispered, his voice barely audible above the supernatural pressure that filled the air like a living thing. "My mate... she's dying because of you. Just like our daughter did."

Something in his tone made me pause. Not the words—I'd heard their claims about Roselyn's death a dozen times. But the way he said it, the absolute certainty, the grief so deep it seemed to have carved itself into his very bones.

"You're lying," I snarled, but even as I said it, doubt began to creep in. "She's hiding. She has to be hiding."

Alistair's laugh was bitter, broken. "You want to know where she is? You want to see your mate so badly?" He struggled to his feet, his legs shaking under the weight of my Alpha power, several ribs clearly broken from the sustained assault. "Fine."

Step by agonizing step, he dragged himself to the shattered cabin window. His breathing was ragged, blood speckling his lips with each exhale. With a trembling hand that shook from more than just pain, he pointed toward a small clearing about fifty yards from the cabin.

"There," he whispered, his voice carrying a finality that made my wolf suddenly go very, very still. "There is your mate, Alpha King. There is the woman you threw away for a crown and a political alliance."

I followed his gaze to the clearing he indicated. At first, I saw nothing unusual—just mountain grass and wildflowers swaying in the evening breeze. But then I noticed the pattern. Moonflowers. Dozens of them, growing in a perfect rectangle, their white petals glowing like stars in the fading light.

A grave. He was pointing to a grave.

"Leo," I called, my voice strangely hollow. "Bring shovels."