The Alpha's Collared Pet: Rejected and Reborn

Seraphina POV:

The flight was a blur of turbulence and fever dreams.

We landed in Toronto. The air was sharp, smelling of ice and ancient earth.

A convoy waited.

A man stepped out of the lead SUV. Older, silver in his dark hair, radiating power.

Marco Rossi. Alpha of the Blood Moon. My father.

I stepped off the plane. Legs shaking, Wolfsbane wearing off.

Marco stopped five feet away. He inhaled.

Biology doesn't lie.

"Seraphina," he whispered. Voice like gravel.

He reached out.

Then the wind shifted.

He froze. Nostrils flared. Eyes turned feral red.

He smelled the silver.

He looked at my neck. The collar had slipped, revealing the raw, oozing ring.

"WHO DID THIS?"

The roar shook the jet's windows. Pure violence.

"Moretti," he snarled. "I will kill him. I will burn his city to ash!"

"Alpha," a calm voice cut in.

A younger man in a tweed coat stepped up. Glasses. Smelled of sage and antiseptic.

William Sterling. The Beta.

"She is hurt, Marco. Revenge later."

William looked at me. Not with pity, but with clinical concern.

"You're burning up. Silver poisoning fighting the first Shift. We need the safe house."

"I'm fine," I croaked.

"You are safe now, little wolf," Marco said, rage damping into fierce protectiveness. He wrapped his heavy coat around me. Tobacco and leather. Father.

I leaned into him.

Adrenaline crashed. The world tilted.

Black spots danced.

I felt strong arms catch me before I hit the concrete.

Dante POV:

The party was a disaster.

My wolf was pacing in my chest, scratching at the ribs.

I hadn't seen Seraphina for hours.

"Where is she?" I asked a servant.

"Haven't seen her since she... fell, Alpha."

Cold knot in the gut. I pushed past Isabella.

I took the stairs two at a time.

Her room.

"Seraphina!"

Silence.

I flipped the switch.

Empty.

Not just unoccupied. Scrubbed. Shelves bare. Closet empty.

The air smelled of bleach. She had erased herself.

"No," I whispered.

On the desk, a single sheet of sketch paper.

Charcoal drawing. A black wolf-me-and a white wolf on a cliff.

Bottom corner: Long live the King.

And on top of the paper... the collar.

Stained with blood and pus. Strips of skin stuck to the filigree.

The scent hit me. Not vanilla. Suffering. Burnt flesh. Infection.

I dropped the collar like it was radioactive.

She hadn't just run. She had clawed her way out.

Window open. Rain soaking the floor.

"ALARM!" I roared. The Command shattered the window glass.

"Lock down the estate! Find her!"

My wolf let out a sound of absolute desolation.

She wasn't hiding in the woods.

The bond was silent. She was gone.