Rejected By Blood

Seraphina’s POV “You sold me to the Morettis?” The words echoed off concrete and steel, sharper than the chains biting into my wrists. My voice didn’t shake, even though my hands were bound in silver silk that burned like slow fire. The warehouse was empty except for us, wide and hollow, smelling of rust, river water, and old blood. This was the kind of place deals were made when no one wanted witnesses. Valente Senior looked at me like I was a signature already written. He straightened his coat, smooth and expensive, untouched by the dirt around us. “This ends the war,” he said. His voice was calm, measured, as if he were talking about property lines instead of his daughter. I pulled against the cuffs, just once. The silver hissed against my skin, smoke curling where it touched. Pain shot up my arms, sharp and grounding. I welcomed it because it kept me standing. “You’re giving me away like land,” I said. My jaw tightened. “You don’t even get my consent.” He stepped closer, his shadow falling over me. “You were born into this,” he replied. “Consent was never part of it.” I searched his face for something familiar. Anything that looked like the man who used to braid my hair when I was young. There was nothing. Only ambition, polished clean. Bootsteps sounded behind him. Another presence filled the room without effort. The air shifted, heavier, colder. I didn’t need to look to know this was a Moretti. “Lucian Moretti,” my father said. His tone changed, respectful now. Almost eager. Lucian stood a few feet away, arms folded, gray eyes calm and unreadable. He wore power like a second skin. Nothing about him felt rushed or uncertain. This was a man who expected the world to obey. “So this is her,” Lucian said. His gaze flicked over me once, sharp and assessing. Not cruel. Just final. “I am standing right here,” I snapped. “I have a name.” Lucian looked at me again. “Names matter less than outcomes,” he said. “You will learn that.” My father grabbed my chin suddenly, forcing my head up. His fingers dug in hard. “Look at him,” he ordered. “This is the family that will keep you alive.” I knocked his hand away. “I’d rather die than kneel to them.” Lucian did not react. He turned to my father instead. “The terms remain,” he said. “Brooklyn. A full ceasefire. No retaliation.” My father nodded too quickly. “Yes. Yes, of course.” Lucian reached into his coat and pulled out a sealed parchment. The ink glistened dark and wet. Blood-bound contracts never lied. My chest tightened as my father took it. He read fast, lips moving silently. Then he pressed his thumb to the seal. It was done. Lucian tucked the parchment away. “Prepare her,” he said. “My son will meet her tonight.” I laughed once, harsh and empty. “You didn’t even ask if he wanted me.” Lucian paused. “He will,” he said simply. Then he turned away. Hands grabbed my arms from behind. Four enforcers stepped out of the shadows. Big. Silent. Efficient. I fought immediately. Kicking, twisting, biting when I could. The silver burned deeper as I struggled. One of them struck me hard across the face. My head snapped to the side. Blood filled my mouth. My father didn’t stop them. Didn’t even turn around. They dragged me outside into the rain. Cold drops soaked through my clothes instantly. The city lights blurred as they shoved me into the back of a black car. The door slammed shut. I sat there breathing hard, wrists burning, jaw aching. Lucian took the front seat. The driver pulled away without a word. As the car moved, anger settled into something colder. Focus. I would survive this. I always did. Dominic. The thought of my brother steadied me. He would feel this. He always did. I needed him to know I wasn’t broken. That whatever the Morettis planned, I wouldn’t go quietly. The car stopped beneath a tower of glass and steel. Private security waved us through. An elevator waited, doors already open. Lucian gestured for me to enter. The ride up felt endless. I counted the floors without meaning to. Thirty-eight. The doors opened directly into a penthouse. Warm light spilled over marble floors. The space smelled like gun oil and tobacco. Old power lived here. Someone stood at the window, back to us. Tall. Broad. Still. He turned slowly. Dante Moretti. The moment our eyes met, everything inside me snapped. The bond hit like a blow to the chest. Hard. Violent. Absolute. Mine. The word roared through my blood. My wolf surged forward, desperate, aching. Dante froze. His face went pale. His hands clenched at his sides like he was holding himself together by force. The air between us burned. From the shadows near the bar, someone else stepped forward. Golden hair. Scarred neck. Familiar stance. “Seraphina?” Dominic’s voice cracked. I turned toward him, heart slamming. “Dom.” Relief and horror collided in his eyes. He looked from me to Dante, then back again. Understanding hit him hard. Lucian’s voice cut through the silence. “Three nights,” he said. “The full moon.” He looked at Dante. “You will claim her publicly.” Dante didn’t answer. Lucian continued calmly. “Every pack will witness it.” “Or Brooklyn burns.” The doors closed behind him. Silence fell heavy. Dante spoke first. “I don’t want her.” The bond twisted painfully. I bit back a reaction. “Good,” I said quickly. “Because I don’t want you either.” Dominic’s shoulders loosened slightly. But his eyes stayed sharp, watchful. Thunder rolled outside. Lightning flashed across the room, bright and sudden. In that brief light, I saw the truth in Dante’s eyes. He was lying. Not to me. To the world. He wanted me. The bond screamed. And he was terrified of what that meant. Dominic stepped closer to me, his hand hovering near my arm. Protective. Familiar. The bond shifted again. Deeper. Waiting. Glass shattered without warning. The window exploded inward. Figures poured through, fast and violent. Russian wolves. Silver blades flashing. Chaos erupted. I grabbed the nearest weapon. Silver burned my palm. I didn’t let go. I stepped in front of Dante as the first attacker lunged. “Together,” I said, voice cutting clean through the noise. Dante met my eyes. “Together,” he answered. The war had found us. And it wasn’t waiting for permission.