When My Rejected Omega Self Became the Lycan Prince’s Mate

The Blood Eclipse Packhouse was in chaos. I could feel it even from miles away, a distant tremor in the pack bonds I'd once shared with Hollis. Now, those bonds were twisted, corrupted things—useful only for sensing the panic that had gripped my former home.

In the secret vault beneath the Alpha's quarters, Hollis paced like a caged animal. I didn't need to see him to know his movements—the frantic energy, the way his hands would shake as he reached for the journals.

"They can't prove anything," he muttered, his voice echoing against stone walls. "Those strategies are mine now."

Jaycee stood beside him, her perfect nails tapping against the glass case that held my original work. "You need to stop obsessing over these," she hissed. "They're a liability."

Hollis's head snapped up, his eyes wild. "A liability? These are my legacy!"

"Your legacy is about to be exposed as a fraud," Jaycee countered, her voice cold with calculation. "Prince Cruz isn't just any Alpha. He's a Lycan Prince. If he starts a formal investigation..."

She didn't need to finish. The implications hung heavy in the air between them.

Hollis reached for the journals again, his fingers tracing the encrypted symbols I'd developed over years of study. "The Council would never take the word of a wolfless Omega over mine."

"Wouldn't they?" Jaycee's smile was sharp as a blade. "Not if she's the mate of the most powerful Lycan in North America."

Hollis froze. The color drained from his face as he finally understood the magnitude of what had happened at the gala.

"We need to act first," Jaycee continued, pulling out her phone. "Destroy her credibility before Cruz can launch a formal investigation."

---

The attack came at dawn.

I felt it first—a ripple through the mind-link that connected all werewolves. Then my phone exploded with notifications.

"Attention all packs," Hollis's voice boomed through the collective consciousness. "I regret to inform you that Madeleine Jensen, former member of Blood Eclipse Pack, has suffered a severe mental breakdown."

I sat bolt upright in bed, Cruz's protective aura still lingering around me like a shield.

"She has delusional beliefs that she created the strategies that earned us our reputation," Hollis continued, his tone dripping with false concern. "The poor girl's wolfless condition has worsened her mental state."

Jaycee's voice joined him, sweet as poisoned honey. "We've tried to help her, but she's become increasingly unstable. Please report any sightings of this rogue to us immediately."

My phone buzzed again—a video posted to every pack's social media page. It showed me from years ago, during one of my worst episodes after Hollis's rejection. I was huddled in a corner, rocking back and forth, my eyes unfocused.

"See how she hallucinates?" Jaycee's narration ran over the footage. "She actually believes she's some kind of strategic genius."

Comments flooded in beneath the post:

"Poor thing, no wonder she's wolfless—her brain is messed up"

"What a pathetic liar"

"Always knew she was crazy"

Each word was a knife, twisting deeper than Hollis's rejection ever had. I dropped the phone as if it had burned me.

"They're trying to discredit you," Cruz said from the doorway, his voice tight with controlled fury. "Before I can present evidence to the Council."

I nodded numbly. "It's working."

---

"Hollis is merciful," Jaycee announced to the camera crew as they approached my supposed living quarters on the neutral borders. "Even after Madeleine's vicious accusations, he wants to show the world his true character."

Hollis nodded solemnly beside her, every inch the concerned Alpha. "We've located her cabin. We're going to offer her help—whether she accepts it or not."

The camera followed them through the woods, capturing every moment of their performance. Pack members watched live across multiple platforms, commenting on their Alpha's "kindness."

"Here it is," Hollis said, gesturing to a ramshackle structure barely visible through the trees. "Madeleine's refuge."

The camera zoomed in on the dilapidated cabin—its broken windows, sagging roof, and general air of abandonment.

"Let's see if she's home," Jaycee suggested, her voice syrupy with false sweetness.

They approached cautiously, Hollis knocking on the door with theatrical gentleness. "Madeleine? We've come to help you."

Silence.

"Perhaps she's out gathering herbs," Jaycee suggested. "Let's look inside."

Hollis pushed open the door, and the camera followed—revealing an empty shell.

The cabin had been completely stripped. No furniture, no belongings, not even a scrap of paper remained. Just bare walls and dust.

"Strange," Hollis muttered, his rehearsed lines faltering. "She must have moved."

But something in his eyes told the audience—and the watching packs—that this wasn't part of the script.

The camera panned to Jaycee, whose perfect mask had slipped just enough to reveal her confusion.

"Where," she whispered, forgetting she was still broadcasting, "did all her stuff go?"