Rejected by the Alpha, Claimed by the Lycan

The bite didn’t feel like a claim. It felt like a sentencing Mara was breathing vigorously when she could feel the pleasure that comes with the pain from the mark on her neck. She gasped and moaned out loud at the same time, all the while trying to endure the pain inside of her, as Alpha Adrian canines dug deeper into her flesh.. She tried to find a rhythm in the pain, to ride the wave of it, but Adrian offered no anchor. Above her, the Alpha of the Blackthorne pack was a wall of tense muscle and indifference. His weight pinned her to the mattress, heavy and suffocating, his growl vibrating against her collarbone—not in passion, but in frustration. He was getting it over with. "It hurts..." The words slipped out, thin and vaporous. She pushed weakly against his chest, her palms sliding against the slick sheen of sweat that coated them both. The room smelled of musk, iron, and the sharp, coppery tang of fresh blood. Adrian didn’t stop. He didn’t soothe her. If anything, her plea made him harder, colder. He grabbed her wrists, forcing them above her head into the pillow, pinning her defenseless as he ground his canines deeper, finalizing the mark that would bind her life to his until death severed the cord. Mara bit her own lip until it bled, mirroring the wound on her neck. She would not beg again. She had learned early, under the heavy hand of her father, that noise only invited more cruelty. Silence was the only shield she had left. When he finally pulled away, the loss of pressure made her head spin. The connection was severed abruptly, leaving her cold. Adrian rolled off her, the mattress shifting with his departure. He didn't look at the ruin he had made of her neck. He stood, walking naked to the washbasin, the water splashing loudly in the oppressive quiet of the room. Mara lay still, staring at the canopy of the bed. She felt hollowed out. Scraped clean. The mating bond—that legendary, soul-tethering magic—felt less like a golden thread and more like a heavy, rusted chain draped around her lungs. "Clean yourself," Adrian said. His voice was devoid of emotion, a flat command tossed over his shoulder as he pulled on his trousers. By the time Mara managed to sit up, her limbs heavy as lead, the door was already clicking shut. The darkness of the room rushed in to fill the space he left, pulling her down into a dreamless, exhausted oblivion. Morning brought no warmth, only a grey, filtered light that exposed the emptiness of the other side of the bed. The sheets were cold. The pillow was uncreased. He didn't return that day. Or the next. Mara spent the first forty-eight hours in a haze of recovery, the wound on her neck knitting together with an agonizing slowness that spoke of her body’s reluctance to accept the bond. By the third day, the silence in the Alpha’s wing became deafening. "It has been a week," Mara said, her voice sounding foreign to her own ears. She sat by the window, watching the training grounds below, searching for a familiar broad-shouldered figure. "Where has the Alpha gone?" Esther, the maid assigning to the Alpha’s quarters, didn't stop folding the linens. She snapped a sheet straight with a sharp crack. "I couldn’t say, Luna." The title sounded like an insult coming from her mouth. "You mean you don’t know, or you won’t tell me?" Mara asked, turning to look at the girl. Esther paused, smoothing the fabric with aggressive precision. She kept her eyes lowered, but the set of her jaw was rebellious. "The Alpha is a busy man. He has matters of the territory to attend to. Important matters." "More important than his mate?" "Probably," another maid, Sarah, muttered from the doorway. She held a tray of breakfast that had gone cold twenty minutes ago. Mara caught the look that passed between them—a shared smirk, a flicker of superiority. They were Omegas, the lowest in the hierarchy, yet they looked at her, the Alpha Female from the wealthy River Creek pack, with undisguised pity and disdain. They knew something she didn't. "Leave the tray," Mara said softly. "Get out." They didn't bow. They simply turned and left, the heavy oak door thudding shut, sealing her back into her gilded cage. A month passed before the ghost returned to the castle. Mara had learned the layout of the suite by heart—the count of the floorboards, the crack in the ceiling plaster that looked like a river, the way the light died in the afternoon. Her neck had healed into a scarred, raised knot of tissue, a permanent brand of Blackthorne ownership. She heard the commotion from the courtyard first. The shouting of men, the stamping of horses, the scent of pine and dried blood drifting up through the open window. He was back. She intercepted him in the antechamber of their suite. Adrian looked ragged, his jaw unshaven, his armor caked in the grime of the road and the dark ichor of monsters. He looked through her, his eyes focused on the decanter of whiskey on the sideboard. "Where have you been?" Mara asked. She stood her ground, though every instinct screamed at her to step aside. Adrian poured a glass, the amber liquid splashing over the rim. He downed it in one swallow, the burn seemingly the only thing he felt. He turned to the bedroom, bypassing her entirely. Mara moved. She stepped in front of the bedroom door, blocking his path. "What do you think you are doing?" A low growl rumbled in his chest, vibrating through the small space between them. It was a warning sound, the kind a wolf makes before it snaps. "We need to speak," Mara said, her hands trembling at her sides. She balled them into fists to hide the fear. "I mated you. I marked you. I gave you the title," Adrian said, his voice rough with exhaustion. "What more do you want?" "I want to know why I spent the first month of my mating bonded to a ghost. I want to know why you left without a word." Adrian let out a harsh, mirthless laugh. "Everyone knows where I was, Mara. Stop playing the fool. It doesn't suit you." "Everyone knew except me." The admission tasted like ash. "Nobody told me anything. Your staff looks at me like I’m a corpse walking. I am your wife, Adrian. I am your Luna." "You are a transaction," he snapped. The air left the room. Adrian stepped closer, looming over her, his exhaustion replaced by a sharp, focused cruelty. He reached out and grabbed her wrist, moving her aside not with gentleness, but with enough pressure to grind the bones together. Mara gasped, her knees weakening, but he held her up, pinning her with a glare of pure disgust. "Let’s stop pretending," he hissed, his face inches from hers. "We both know neither of us wanted this. This union? It’s ink on paper. It’s River Creek gold flowing into Blackthorne coffers. That is all you are to me." "You... you marked me," Mara whispered, the lump in her throat making it hard to speak. "Don't think that mark buys you affection," he said, dropping her wrist as if touching her disgusted him. "I did what was required to secure the alliance. But do not mistake duty for desire. You are not the woman I want." The truth hung there, naked and ugly. It wasn't just indifference. It was resentment. Mara realized then why the maids sneered, why the guards wouldn't meet her eyes. They all knew. They knew about the other one. The one he actually wanted. The destined mate that fate had played a cruel joke on—likely an Omega, someone of low blood that the Royal Council would never accept for a Prince of the realm. Mara was the shield he was forced to wear. She looked at the man who was supposed to be her other half, her protector, her destiny. She saw only a stranger who hated her for existing. "If you don't want me," Mara said, her voice shaking but her eyes dry, "then reject me."