The Alpha's Rejected Mate

The seam under Kayla’s left arm was coming loose. Not enough for anyone else to notice. Just one silver thread pulling away from the dark blue fabric every time she breathed too deeply. She pressed her elbow tighter against her side. “Stop touching it,” Kylie whispered beside her, smiling toward the crowd instead of at Kayla. “You’re going to wrinkle the whole thing.” Kayla smoothed her palm over the skirt anyway. Three weeks. Three weeks bent over candlelight after kitchen shifts, pricking her fingers raw because she couldn’t afford a tailor, because omegas didn’t get ceremonial gowns handed to them like Beta daughters did. She’d stitched tiny moonflowers into the hem with thread so pale it only caught under firelight. Derek liked details. He noticed things nobody else noticed. At least, he used to. The bonfires snapped. Sparks. Up. She watched one die. Another. The stone circle was shoulders, too many shoulders, and someone laughing too loud near her ear. The ceremony. They were waiting. She was waiting. The meat smell, no. Don't think about meat. Kayla swallowed hard. Bad idea. The meat roasting over the fires turned her stomach again. Too rich. Too greasy. The scent crawled into the back of her throat. Don’t throw up. Not tonight. She slipped two fingers into the hidden pocket sewn into her skirt and rubbed the smooth edge of the tiny carved moon charm tucked inside. Derek had given it to her three winters ago after she’d burned her hand hauling iron pots from the kitchen fire. You keep losing things, he’d said, dropping the charm into her palm. Sew this somewhere safe. She had. The charm clicked softly against her nail. Kylie leaned closer. “You look pale.” “I stabbed myself six times making this dress.” “You stabbed yourself making soup yesterday.” “That was different.” A laugh escaped Kylie, quick and warm and familiar. It scraped against Kayla’s ribs in a strange way tonight. The drums began. Not loud. Just enough to pull every conversation apart piece by piece until silence spread through the crowd. At the center of the ceremonial grounds, the Elders stepped forward in silver robes. Kayla straightened automatically. Her stomach rolled again. Eight weeks. The number kept circling in her head like something unfinished. Too small to show unless she stood sideways and looked too long, but she knew where to drape the fabric now, where to pull the sash tighter, where not to touch. Nobody knew. Not Derek. Not Sheila. Not even Kylie. Especially not Kylie. “You’re shaking,” Kylie murmured. “I’m cold.” “It’s a bonfire festival.” Kayla nodded anyway. “Still cold.” Kylie looked at her then. Really looked. For one awful second, Kayla thought she knew. About the baby. About the mating bond that had snapped tight inside Kayla’s chest a month ago when Derek brushed past her in the training yard and paused, just paused, like he’d felt it too. He had looked at her strangely after that. Not warm. Not cruel either. Thinking. Calculating. Waiting. She’d told herself he was waiting for tonight. The Alpha always claimed his mate publicly during the Moon Goddess Festival. Tradition mattered to Derek. Appearances mattered even more. A horn sounded near the northern entrance. The crowd shifted instantly. “Alpha Derek,” someone breathed. Kayla’s fingers tightened around the moon charm so hard the carved edge bit her skin. Don’t smile yet. Hope made people cruel around omegas. Hope was embarrassing if it failed. She lowered her gaze as Derek entered, surrounded by pack guards. Her knees went loose, like last month in the yard with dirty water on her boots and the air tasting like copper after he'd brushed past her and kept walking. She'd stood there wondering why the air tasted like copper. She hadn't told anyone. Omegas didn't get to name what they felt. He looked exactly like Ravenclaw’s future should look. Tall, broad-shouldered, black ceremonial jacket fitted close across his chest, silver embroidery catching the firelight. Calm. Certain. Untouchable. The crowd parted for him. Kayla’s pulse stumbled once when his gaze moved over the gathered wolves. Not searching. Counting. Her mouth went dry. He knows where I’m standing. Of course, he knew. Derek knew everything that happened inside Ravenclaw territory. Which wolves skipped patrol. Which families were behind on taxes. Which apprentices cheated during combat trials. He knew. The drums slowed. An Elder lifted both hands. “Tonight, under the blessing of the Moon Goddess, Alpha Derek Thorne will choose the woman who stands beside him as Luna of Ravenclaw Pack.” Someone near the back sighed dreamily. Kayla resisted the urge to wipe her sweaty palms on her dress. The seam under her arm pulled again. Not now. Derek stepped forward. One step. Then another. Toward her. The crowd blurred strangely around the edges. Kayla became aware of ridiculous things. The smell of pine resin in the torches. A child near the back chewing noisily. One of the Elders missing a button on his sleeve. Her nausea vanished. Not relief exactly. Clarity. Like her body had gone very still to make room for this moment. Kylie shifted beside her. Kayla almost reached for her hand before remembering they weren’t children anymore sneaking berries from the western woods. Derek stopped. Not in front of her. In front of them. Kylie shifted. Kayla didn't. She was good at not moving. Omegas learned that. His eyes came up. Found hers. She saw him see her. Saw him keep seeing her. Then he looked at Kylie. Just a turn of his head. She felt it in her teeth. The choice was so small. The silence around the circle stretched tight. Kylie blinked once. “Derek—” “I, Derek Thorne, Alpha of Ravenclaw Pack, claim Kylie Mercer as my chosen mate and future Luna.” The words landed cleanly. Practiced. Gasps rippled through the crowd. Kayla stared at the silver clasp near Derek’s collar because looking anywhere else felt impossible. He polished his ceremonial pins himself. Nobody knew that. The left clasp always sat slightly crooked because he rushed the second fastening. Still crooked. Her brain kept snagging on useless details. Kylie made a small sound. Not surprise. More like someone stepping into cold water they expected to be warm. Derek took her hand. The crowd erupted. Cheers crashed through the ceremonial grounds. Wolves shouting. Clapping. Howling toward the moon. Kayla stood perfectly still. The bonfire heat licked across her skin now, too hot, suffocatingly hot. Somebody bumped her shoulder and muttered an apology. Another wolf laughed too loudly nearby. Kylie looked over once. That was the worst part. Not guilt exactly. Not triumph either. Just— Knowing. Like she’d been walking toward something for a long time and only now realized where the path ended. “Kayla,” she started softly. Kayla smiled. Kylie flinched, like she used to when their mother threw plates. That was how she knew. “There,” she said absently, staring at Kylie’s braid. “Your ribbon’s coming loose.” Kylie’s fingers flew to her hair automatically. The crowd kept cheering. Derek still hadn’t looked back at her. Something sharp jabbed beneath Kayla’s ribs. Not grief. Hunger. An ugly, twisting hunger that made saliva flood her mouth so quickly she almost gagged. Oh no. No no no— She turned abruptly, pushing through the edge of the crowd before anyone could stop her. The smell of roasted meat hit again. Kayla barely made it behind the supply tents before she dropped to her knees in the dirt. Nothing came up at first. Just dry heaving hard enough to hurt her throat. Her hands shook against the ground. Behind her, the festival roared on. Laughter. Music. Celebration. Future Luna. Future Luna. A shadow fell across the dirt beside her. “Too much wine?” Sheila asked. Kayla wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “I didn’t drink anything.” “Hm.” Sheila crouched beside her, holding out a cloth napkin. Kayla took it slowly. Her sister’s expression gave away nothing. Not pity. Not concern. Just that same unreadable stillness she wore when she lost card games. From the festival grounds came another burst of cheering. Kayla folded the napkin carefully. Once. Twice. “The fire’s too close to the tents this year,” Sheila said. Kayla nodded. “The western posts are leaning.” Neither of them mentioned Derek. Neither of them mentioned Kylie. Sheila picked at a loose thread on Kayla’s sleeve. “You missed a stitch.” “I know.” “You hate uneven hems.” “I know.” Silence settled between them. Kayla stared down at her fingers. Tiny pale scars dotted the pads from weeks of sewing. Needle marks. Some still healing. Three weeks. Three stupid weeks. “I liked the blue thread better than silver,” Sheila said quietly. Kayla frowned slightly. “The silver catches the light more.” “Hm.” Another pause. Then Sheila rose smoothly to her feet. “You should eat something.” The thought nearly made Kayla gag again. “I can’t.” “You’ll need your strength.” “For what?” Sheila’s gaze flicked toward the festival. Toward Derek. Toward Kylie. Then back to Kayla. “For later.” Before Kayla could ask what that meant, another voice called Sheila’s name from the crowd. Her sister stepped away without hurry. Kayla stayed crouched behind the tents for several long seconds after she left. Maybe longer. The drums started again. Ceremonial this time. Mating rites. Her stomach cramped sharply. She pressed her palm against it on instinct. Too low to feel anything. Too early. Still— Alive. A laugh burst out of her. Small. Strange. Wrong. Because of course this would happen tonight of all nights. Of course her body would choose now to remind her there was something else growing inside her while the entire pack celebrated another woman becoming Luna. Footsteps crunched nearby. Kayla looked up. Derek stood at the edge of the tent shadows. Not close enough to touch. Not far enough to pretend accident. The cheering behind him blurred into dull noise. For a moment neither of them spoke. His gaze moved over her face, then lower, catching briefly on the crumpled skirt pooled around her knees. The dress. The one he never even looked at properly. Kayla waited for him to say something useful. An explanation. Regret. Anything. Instead he said quietly, "You should go home." He said it the way he'd said pass the salt at last year's gathering. Like she was a task. Kayla stared at him. He shifted. His jaw tightened. She'd kissed that jaw once. Winter. The storage barn. He'd tasted like smoke and she'd thought, no. Don't. "This was always going to be complicated," he said. She waited for the rest. There wasn't any. Three weeks sewing moonflowers into a dress by candlelight. One month carrying his child alone. Standing in front of the entire pack while he walked past her like she was part of the furniture. Complicated. “I fixed your cloak last winter,” she said. Derek blinked once. “The tear near the shoulder,” Kayla continued. “You said nobody notices details like that.” Something flickered across his face then. Gone too quickly to name. Behind him, the crowd started chanting Kylie’s name. Future Luna. Future Luna. Derek looked back toward the ceremony instinctively. That instinct told her everything. Kayla rose slowly from the dirt, smoothing trembling fingers over the front of her dress. Over the careful draping. Over the hidden pocket sewn into the lining. “You should be out there,” she said. “Kayla—” “No, it’s fine.” Her voice came out oddly calm. “You picked the stronger match.” His mouth opened slightly. Closed again. Because what could he say to that? That he felt the bond too? That ambition mattered more? That an omega carrying his child would weaken him politically? The silence stretched. Then Derek inclined his head once, formal as a stranger, and turned back toward the firelit circle where Kylie waited beneath the moon. She watched him go. The crowd opened. Closed behind him. Kylie's hand found his. Kayla's hand found her pocket. The moon charm. Cold. Small. Sew this somewhere safe. She'd sewn it into the dress. The dress she'd sewn for tonight. Her other hand found her stomach. Not her heart. Her stomach. The cheers kept going. She counted them. One. Two. Three. She got to seventeen before she realized she was counting. Someone bumped her, apologized, moved on. She stayed where she was. The fire was warm. She was cold. The child was warm. That was the math.