Bound By Rejection

The scent hit her like a slap: cloying, sweet, and aggressively thick with lust. It was the unmistakable musk of a wolf in heat, a primal perfume that usually signaled joy and fierce possession. And it was not her scent. Lyra froze mid-step outside Alpha Kael’s private chambers. Her hand, usually steady and confident, trembled millimeters from the iron latch. The door was slightly ajar, a sliver of torchlight escaping the crack like a treacherous signal. Her heart didn’t just thump; it felt like her very soul was trying to claw its way out of her chest. Her inner wolf, usually a magnificent, fiery presence, stirred beneath her skin, bristling with an unnatural, violent unease. That scent, cheap, ambitious, and utterly foreign, didn't belong in the space they were supposed to share. It had no right weaving itself around the familiar, woodsmoke-and-mountain-pine smell that was uniquely Kael. It had no right to replace hers. A metallic taste coated the back of her throat—blood and raw betrayal. And then she heard it. Laughter. Low, husky, and undeniably feminine. Raina. The name was a poison dart. Raina, the high-ranking Gamma who had been vying for the Luna position since the day Lyra was introduced. The rival who never stopped sniffing around Kael, even after he’d marked Lyra. She was the one who, in a petty moment, had called Lyra a "placeholder", a phase until Kael was ready for a proper political mate. Lyra had laughed it off, secure in the invincible power of the fated bond. Fool. A rush of heat surged through Lyra’s veins, burning away the cold fear. Her vision narrowed to the gap in the door. This can’t be real. Not Kael. She remembered a night less than a month ago, beneath the twin moons. Kael had been wrestling with the burden of the throne, the Council's demands pressing down on him. She found him on the mountain peak, his armor of Alpha command momentarily dropped. (Flashback: The Promise) “I hate this, Lyra,” Kael confessed, his voice rough. He wasn't looking at the territory below, but at her. His massive hand cupped her cheek, the pads of his fingers slightly calloused from his sword hilt. “They want me to be a king. But I only ever wanted to be yours.” “You are,” she whispered, leaning into his touch. The mate bond surged between them, a lightning bolt of possessive love. It felt infinite. “The Elders will try to drive a wedge. They always do. Promise me, Lyra. No matter what ugly lie they spin, no matter what they tell you I’ve done—don’t leave. Don’t reject me. Our bond is stronger than any political maneuver.” She had sworn it then, sealing the promise with a kiss that tasted of snow and destiny. “I’m yours, Alpha. Until the stars fall.” (End Flashback) The memory was a sharp, physical wound. Lyra shoved open the door. The crash echoed like a gunshot down the stone hallway, tearing down the silence. The cloying, aggressive scent hit her in full this time, thicker, overwhelming. It twined around the torch-smoke and the cold stone walls of the Emberfang stronghold like a poisonous serpent, suffocating the last vestiges of her hope. And there they were. Kael. Shirtless. His broad, scarred back, usually Lyra’s favorite view, gleamed with sweat under the flickering torches. His hands... hands that had marked her, comforted her, and protected her, gripped Raina’s bare hips. The Gamma straddled him on the edge of his wide, custom-made oak desk. The very desk where Kael had carved Lyra’s initials just last week, in a rare, sudden moment of tenderness. The desk where he used to trace the lines of her spine while they poured over pack reports. Lyra didn’t scream. She didn’t shift. Her own magnificent wolf, the one Kael had called his equal, recoiled into a tight, frozen knot of shock and ultimate fury. She took one deliberate step into the room, and finally, Kael looked up. His eyes, which should have been molten gold, filled with the devastating agony of a heartbroken mate, were a sharp, cold amber. There was no confusion in them, no regret, no fear. And chillingly, there was no sign of his Alpha Wolf’s presence. It was just the calculating Alpha Kael Thorn, the politician, watching a rival fall. Raina, a small, dark-haired beauty, looked at Lyra and gave a slow, self-satisfied smile, then pressed herself closer to Kael, staking her claim. “Get out, Raina,” Kael ordered, his voice flat, devoid of passion, utterly devoid of the lingering scent of heat. It was a command, not a lover’s dismissal. He pushed the other woman off him. Raina shot Lyra a look of pure, malicious triumph before grabbing her clothes and slipping out the back door. Lyra stared at Kael, her body shaking so violently she could barely stand. “Why?” she finally managed, the word a painful, raw sound torn from her throat. Kael stood up, pulling on a shirt from a nearby chair. He still wouldn't meet her eyes fully. He only glanced at the silver chains he was hiding in his hand. “You tried to take everything,” he said, his voice cold, heavy with rehearsed cruelty. “You tried to use the bond against my will, to bind me to your ambition. This is a political correction, Lyra. You are a threat to the Council and to my rule.” Then he moved with chilling speed, throwing a sack of something dark and pungent at her feet. The smell, wolfsbane. A thick plume of the poisonous powder coated the air, instantly dulling her senses and making her wolf whimper in retreat. Simultaneously, he dropped the silver chains. They landed with a harsh clang, searing her wrists and ankles on contact. “You son of a—” Lyra choked. The wolfsbane was already starting to work, crippling her strength. Her legs gave out completely. She collapsed onto the cold floor, the silver burning into her skin like acid. Kael crouched beside her, his amber eyes gleaming with cruel satisfaction. He was the monster the Elders wanted him to be. “I gave you everything,” she whispered, struggling against the chains, the silver stealing her magic. “No,” he said, standing. “You tried to take everything. There’s a difference between a gift and a siege.” He turned toward the door, leaving her on the floor, weak and burning. “She attacked me and my second-in-command,” he called to the guards waiting just outside. He'd summoned them moments ago through the pack's mental link. “She’s unstable. Dangerous. She needs to be detained until the full moon. I’ll deal with her then.” The door creaked open. Two guards stepped in. Neither met her eyes as they hauled her up by the silver chains, the metal shrieking in protest. “Say it!” Lyra screamed, fighting through the wolfsbane haze. “Reject me, you bastard! Say the words! Finish what you’ve started! End it!” Kael’s broad, scarred back was a wall of cold indifference as he walked away. The physical pain of the silver chains was nothing compared to the psychic screaming of the un-severed mate bond. Every nerve ending in her body felt pulled taut, stretched thin between her tortured, chained body and his retreating, cold presence. He’s not leaving. He’s severing. She scrambled, reaching for him, not out of love, but out of a desperate, primal need for the agony to stop. He didn’t look back. Not as the guards hauled her away, their grips crushing the silver deeper into her wrists. Not as her body scraped against the stone floor, leaving streaks of blood and shredded pride. Not as the heavy iron cell door slammed shut. He didn't reject her. And that... that was the ultimate declaration of war. Because the mate bond was still there, a venomous current connecting their souls. He wanted her broken, not gone. He wanted her to feel his ownership, his constant, lingering, agonizing presence in her absolute despair. Lyra fell onto the dungeon floor, the wolfsbane winning, the silver chains hissing against her skin. She still felt him. Still sensed him. Still, by some cruel trick of fate, belonged to him. I would rather burn the entire world down than live like this.