The Omega Who Rejected Her Alpha

Alethea POV:

The silver knife felt cold against my skin.

I stood beside the massive oak bed, the blade's edge pressed to the pale, thin skin of my wrist. A sharp, stinging pain followed as I drew it across, and a line of dark red blood welled up instantly.

My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic bird trapped in a cage of bone.

One drop. Then another. The blood fell into the ceramic bowl, hissing as it hit the green paste of ground herbs. I quickly stirred the mixture with a wooden spoon, my movements precise despite the tremor in my hand. The paste turned a muddy, dark red.

The metallic scent of my own blood mixed with the sharp, earthy smell of the herbs, filling the stuffy room. It was the smell of my life for the past year. It was the smell of my sacrifice.

Taking a deep, shuddering breath, I carried the bowl to the bed where he lay. Alpha Grayson Benson. My supposed mate. Unconscious. Dying.

His chest was bare, revealing the jagged, blackened wound left by a silver dagger. It pulsed with a dark energy that fought against every healing art I knew. Until now.

I dipped my fingers into the bloody paste. It was still warm. I pressed my hand against his chest, centering it over the wound.

The moment the poultice touched his skin, the magic ignited. The blackened edges of the gash began to shrink, the raw flesh knitting itself together at a speed that defied nature. I could feel my life force draining out of me, flowing through my fingertips and into him, a river of energy feeding his recovery.

A wave of dizziness washed over me, so strong my vision swam with black spots. My knees buckled. I threw out a hand, my palm slapping against the hard wood of the bedside table to keep myself from collapsing. The room tilted violently.

Just as I steadied myself, his fingers twitched.

Grayson's eyes snapped open.

They were the color of wild honey, amber and fierce, but now they were clouded with confusion. His gaze darted around the room before landing on my face, hovering over him.

Recognition dawned.

And with it, a look of pure, undiluted loathing. The confusion vanished, replaced by a snarl that twisted his handsome features into something ugly. He had no idea what I had just done for him—no one had ever explained the true nature of my treatments. To him, I was merely the Omega who had been forced upon him, an unwanted presence beside his sickbed.

"You," he rasped, his voice a raw growl.

Before I could react, he swung his arm. The force of the blow was staggering. It caught me square in the shoulder, the impact echoing through my bones. I was thrown backward, my weakened body nothing against an Alpha's strength.

I hit the cold marble floor with a sickening thud. My head cracked against the leg of the heavy wooden wardrobe, and for a moment, the world went white with pain.

A low groan escaped my lips.

Grayson was already sitting up, ripping the IV needle from his arm with a savage tug. Blood trickled from the puncture wound, but he didn't seem to notice or care. He loomed over me, his shadow falling across my crumpled form.

He glared down at me, his eyes burning with a hatred so intense it felt like a physical blow. His chest heaved as he fought to steady his breathing. When he spoke again, his voice was lower, but each word carried the weight of an Alpha's decree.

"I, Grayson Benson, will reject you," he said. "I will never accept a conniving Omega like you as my Luna. I will have the ceremony prepared at once."

As if summoned by his rage, the heavy double doors to the bedroom burst open.

Lillian, his mother, rushed in. Her face, etched with worry, lit up with ecstatic relief when she saw her son sitting up, alive. "Grayson! Oh, thank the Goddess!"

But her joy evaporated the instant she heard his final words. Her head snapped toward me, her eyes narrowing into slits of pure malice. She saw me on the floor, a discarded piece of trash, and her expression hardened into one of cold fury.

"You," she hissed, her voice dripping with venom. "You brought this curse upon my son."

She marched toward me, her silk gown swishing around her ankles. Her hand rose, poised to strike. I saw the flash of her rings under the lamplight.

Instinct took over. I threw up my arm to block the blow. My bleeding wrist, wrapped in a now-soaked bandage, took the brunt of the impact. A fresh wave of pain shot up my arm.

Lillian didn't stop. She began to scream, her words a torrent of abuse. I was a jinx, a bad omen, a parasite who had brought nothing but disaster to their pack.

Grayson turned his head away, his profile cold and unforgiving. "Guards," he commanded, his voice ringing with the absolute authority of an Alpha. "Take her away. Prepare the hall for the rejection."

Two guards appeared in the doorway, their faces grim. They stormed into the room, each grabbing one of my arms. Their fingers dug into my flesh like talons, hauling me to my feet.

My legs were too weak to hold me. They dragged me from the room, my worn boots scraping against the polished marble, leaving the man I had just saved from death's door behind me.