Rejected Mate's Revenge

Three days had passed since I'd walked away from the altar, leaving Pierce standing there in his ceremonial robes with the entire pack watching. Three days of whispers following me through the corridors, of pitying glances and hushed conversations that died when I approached. Three days of my wolf howling in anguish, the incomplete mate bond tearing at my chest like an open wound.

I should have been recovering. Should have been processing the devastation of learning that five years of my life had been built on lies. Instead, Marcus Reid, Pierce's Beta, stood at my door with new orders.

"Border patrol," he said, his weathered face carefully neutral. "Southeast quadrant. Reports of rogue movement."

I stared at him, disbelief cutting through my exhaustion. "You're sending me out? Now?"

"Alpha's orders." Marcus wouldn't meet my eyes. "Team leaves at dawn."

Of course. Pierce wasn't done punishing me for disrupting his perfect little arrangement. I'd embarrassed him in front of the pack, forced him to explain why his fated mate had fled their mating ceremony. Now he wanted me gone, wanted me to disappear into the wilderness where my presence couldn't remind everyone of his deception.

The patrol team assembled in the gray pre-dawn light: Jake Morrison, a seasoned warrior with kind eyes; Sarah Chen, fierce and loyal; twins David and Daniel Reeves, barely out of their teens but eager to prove themselves; and Tom Bradley, whose steady presence had gotten me through countless missions. Good wolves. Wolves who deserved better than to be led by someone whose world had just shattered.

"Intelligence suggests a small group of rogues testing our borders," I briefed them, reading from the report Diana Shaw had personally delivered to Marcus. Her handwriting was neat, precise—just like her lies. "Standard patrol pattern, but stay alert."

We shifted into our wolf forms and headed into the forest, the familiar rhythm of pack movement usually a comfort. But today, every shadow felt wrong, every scent carried an edge of danger that made my wolf's hackles rise. The intelligence felt off—too convenient, too clean. But I pushed the doubts aside. I was probably just paranoid after everything that had happened.

The attack came at midday, when the sun filtered through the canopy in dappled patterns that should have been beautiful. We'd been following what looked like rogue tracks when they hit us from three sides—not the small group Diana's report had mentioned, but a coordinated assault force of at least twenty rogues.

Chaos erupted around me. Jake's howl of pain as claws raked across his ribs. Sarah's snarl as she threw herself at a massive gray wolf twice her size. The twins fighting back-to-back, their movements perfectly synchronized until Daniel went down with a rogue's teeth at his throat.

I fought like a demon, my training taking over even as my heart shattered with each fallen packmate. But we were outnumbered, outmaneuvered, caught in a trap that someone had set with surgical precision. One by one, my team fell. Jake's brown eyes went vacant as a rogue's claws found his jugular. Sarah's fierce spirit fled as she was overwhelmed by three attackers. Tom, steady Tom who'd always had my back, died protecting me from a killing blow.

When the rogues finally retreated, satisfied with their slaughter, I was alone among the bodies of my friends. Blood soaked into the forest floor, the metallic scent mixing with the pine and earth. My wolf whimpered, wounded in body and soul, as I shifted back to human form and surveyed the massacre.

I limped back to pack territory with their tags—the only proof of their sacrifice, the only way to bring them home. Every step was agony, my left shoulder torn open, my ribs screaming with each breath. But the physical pain was nothing compared to the weight of guilt crushing my chest.

Pierce was waiting when I stumbled into the pack house, his face a mask of cold authority. The great hall filled with pack members, drawn by the scent of blood and the absence of five warriors who should have returned with me.

"Report," he commanded, his Alpha tone cutting through my exhaustion.

"We were ambushed," I gasped, dropping the tags onto the polished table with metallic clinks. "Twenty rogues, maybe more. The intelligence was wrong—it wasn't a small group testing borders. It was a coordinated attack."

Pierce's eyes narrowed, and I saw Diana standing behind him, her face a perfect mask of concern. "You're telling me that five experienced warriors died, and only you survived?"

The accusation in his voice hit me like a physical blow. "Pierce, we were outnumbered four to one. They knew exactly where we'd be, exactly how to—"

"How convenient," he cut me off, his voice carrying to every corner of the hall. "The wolf who disrupted our mating ceremony, who embarrassed this pack in front of our allies, returns alone from a mission where five good wolves died."

Gasps echoed through the crowd. I felt the weight of their stares, the seeds of doubt Pierce was planting taking root. "You think I—" My voice cracked. "You think I abandoned them?"

"I think," Pierce said, stepping closer, his presence overwhelming even in my broken state, "that you've proven yourself unworthy of the warrior rank you've held. I think you ran when your packmates needed you most."

The great hall erupted in shocked murmurs. Diana's hand found Pierce's arm, a gesture of support that made my stomach turn. She leaned close to whisper something in his ear, her eyes never leaving my face.

Pierce nodded slowly, his expression hardening. "Lara Robertson, I strip you of your warrior rank for dereliction of duty and cowardice in the face of the enemy."

The words hit me like physical blows. Around me, pack members who'd once respected me now looked at me with disgust and disappointment. The youngest female warrior in pack history, reduced to nothing with a few calculated words.

"Furthermore," Pierce continued, his voice carrying the weight of absolute authority, "you will complete one hundred and seventy-one acts of atonement—one for each year of life lost under your watch. Perhaps then you might redeem yourself for the deaths of five good wolves."

One hundred and seventy-one. The number fell on me like a death sentence, crushing what little spirit I had left.