Rejected by the Alpha: My Fated Revenge

The First Confrontation

Dusk bled across Ashwood’s skyline like spilled blood. The city outline blurred in fog, turning into a messy painting. Blackthorn Forestry’s office sat on the top floor—a wide, dark room with deep oak panels that soaked up the fading light from the rainforest outside. Thick carpet muffled every step, making the space feel dead quiet. Bookshelves packed with old files and forest maps. Air smelled of pine, leather, and a faint wild scent—like wet wolf fur after rain. Floor-to-ceiling windows looked down on the thick trees. Sunset light cut through clouds, stretching long shadows across the room like a coming storm.

Ivy shoved the door open. No appointment. No knock. Heart pounding like a drum. She gripped a stack of printed photos and files, edges crumpled from her tight hold. The last few days had swallowed her whole: the park run-in with Lucien, his touch, that burning pull that kept her awake all night. She replayed blurry shots over and over—online forums, old newspaper clips, black-market police files. Everything pointed to him. Blackwood family’s bloody history. “Accidental” deaths. Werewolf legends woven in. She couldn’t wait anymore. Fear and determination mixed into one force. He knows I’m digging. Is he protecting me or watching me? Tonight I get answers.

The door slammed shut. Echo bounced around the room. Lucien sat behind the desk, reading a file. His figure cast a long shadow in the dim light. Black hair messy. Suit sleeves rolled up, showing strong forearms. He looked up. Gray eyes locked on her. Nostrils flared. That scent hit him again—jasmine mixed with anger and fear. It woke the beast inside. Pheromones burned through him like fire. Made him want to jump from the chair. How did she get here? Damn it, Callum’s watch failed. He’d barely held back in the park last night. Now she stood here—real, tempting, making him ache. But he couldn’t lose control. He stood slowly. Voice low like thunder before rain: “Harper. You’re trespassing. What’s so important you couldn’t make an appointment?”

Ivy didn’t back down. She marched forward and slammed the photos and files on his desk. Papers scattered: bloody scenes from the lumberyard, blurry shots of him shifting, victim wounds side by side. Family history copies marked with “beast attack” cases. Her green eyes burned. Voice shook but steady: “I have proof. You killed that guy—or that wolf—at the lumberyard. I saw you shift. Saw you tear him apart. You think I didn’t get photos? Those suburb attacks? Your family’s behind them. And eighteen years ago—my mom’s death. That ties to you, doesn’t it?”

Room went dead silent. Only wind in the trees outside and a far-off wolf howl. Lucien’s face darkened. Gold flashed in his eyes for a second, then vanished. He walked to the door. Clicked the lock shut. No way out. He circled the desk. Closed in on her. Air stretched tight like a bowstring. His scent hit her—wild musk, rain-soaked earth. Her heart raced. She stepped back. Wall stopped her.

Lucian picked up one photo. Stared at his own shifted form. Beast growled inside: She knows too much. Erase her? No. Can’t. She’s mine… He sighed. Voice rough: “That wasn’t murder. It was justice. He was pack. Lost control during full moon. Would’ve hurt innocents. We have rules. Have to remove threats.” He gave part of the truth. Held back the rest. Gray eyes locked on her. Trying to read her soul. “You dug too deep, Harper. This isn’t your world. Stop. Or you’ll regret it.”

Ivy’s breathing came fast. She stepped forward despite fear making her knees weak. “Rules? Losing control? Admit it—you’re a werewolf! Those legends are real. Blackthorn pack, Silver Claw pack, fighting over some ‘Eclipse Grounds.’ I talked to victim families. Dug up old files. Your family history is soaked in blood. Eighteen years ago—that monster… golden eyes. Just like yours!” Voice rose. Accusing. Tears welled—not weakness, eighteen years of built-up pain. “Tell me why. Why did my mom die? Why do you monsters hide in our world?”

Lucian’s mind stormed. Her scent drove him crazy. Pheromones hooked into his soul. Made him want to pull her close. Mark her. But he knew better. Family curse: Alpha’s mate becomes a weakness. Enemies use it. Silver Claw already moving. They smelled her. Wanted her gone. He gave a cold laugh. Eyes glowed gold brighter: “Monster? Harper, pray you never learn the full answer. Because once you do, you won’t escape me.” Voice low. Dangerous. Possessive edge. He leaned in. Breath hot on her cheek. Hand rose. Pressed her shoulder. Fingers touched skin—warm, soft. Almost broke him.

That moment exploded. Ivy’s heart slammed—not fear, heat. His touch burned. Woke something wild inside. Jasmine scent bloomed in the air. Wrapped him like a drug. Pine, musk, raw forest—he smelled like the night. Green eyes met gray. Time froze. Rain dripped from his hair. Down jaw. Into collar. Breathing rough. Chest rose fast. Gold flashed in pupils.

Claim her. Mark her. Now.

Beast roared. He clenched fists. Nails dug in. Blood seeped. Stepped back. Couldn’t. Mate meant weakness. Chain. Sworn off it. But her scent was poison. Hurt deep.

Ivy felt the pull. His closeness made knees weak. Body answered—raw want mixed with fear. She shoved him. Palm flat on chest. Felt wild heartbeat. “Don’t touch me! You… monster!” Voice shook. Not anger. Confusion.

She ran. Door flew open. Out into hallway. Rain started again. Hammered her umbrella.

Lucian leaned on the door. Closed eyes. Her scent lingered. Made him growl low: “Damn that smell. I have to stay away. Or I’ll ruin her.” Beast raged. He smashed a vase. Shards scattered like his control. Silver Claw closing in. Full moon near. He had to prepare. But her shadow clung. Wouldn’t let go.

Ivy drove home. City neon blurred in rain. Pulled up to her building. Took a deep breath. Opened door. Heart sank. Apartment trashed. Bookshelf down. Drawers open. Photos scattered. On the table—one note in red ink: “Stop. Or you’re next.” Hand shook. Fear like ice water. Who did this? Silver Claw? Or Lucien’s warning? She locked up. Curled on couch. Stared at note. Eighteen years of hate burned. But tonight loneliness crashed in like waves.

Meanwhile Lucien drove back to his villa. Full moon close. Beast already stirring. He chained himself in the basement. Iron cuffs on wrists. Reinforced steel walls. Room dark. Only moonlight through narrow window. Lit his shape. He growled in pain. Muttered low: “Evelyn…”

Rain night. Ashwood secrets seeped deeper. Ivy lay in bed. Stared ceiling. Office confrontation burned in her head. She didn’t know yet—this was just the start. Full moon coming. Pack war brewing. And she was right in the middle of the storm.