The Rejected Mate

Chapter 10

The roaring in Amara’s ears wasn’t just her own pain anymore.

Rogue musk rolled in from the trees—sharp, sour, edged with old blood. Shouts bled out of the hall behind her.

“Outer line, west side!”

“Get the pups down—”

Elias swore. “Stay here,” he snapped, already vaulting off the porch. He hit the yard at a run, jacket half‑off, body bunching toward shift.

Her chest still burned around the jagged absence where the bond had been, but her wolf shoved past it with a savage snarl.

Rogues. On their land. While everyone was still warm from Rowan’s neat little lie.

Nira’s fingers dug into Amara’s arm. “You are not shifting. Your system is—”

A scream cut her off.

High. Young.

A small form burst from the side of the house—a pup, maybe eight, bolting away from the crush at the main doors. A darker blur streaked out of the treeline after him.

Rogue. Too fast.

“Go,” Nira snapped, already turning back toward the hall. “I’ll clear the crowd. Don’t be a hero. Just get him.”

Amara was moving before the words finished.

Pain stabbed her chest with every breath, but her legs knew how to run. She vaulted off the porch, boots hammering frozen ground. Her wolf surged up, not into full shift, but close—muscles stretching, senses sharpening, teeth pressing at her gums.

The pup glanced back, saw the rogue, stumbled. Gravel slid. He hit the dirt.

The rogue was on him—

Amara crashed in from the side.

They slammed into each other in a tangle of limbs and teeth, rolling past the pup. Coarse fur filled her hands; claws raked her forearm. She got an arm across the rogue’s throat, drove him down, weight behind it.

“Run!” she barked at the pup. “House. Now!”

Small footsteps scrambled away.

The rogue bucked under her. He stank of rot and fear, muscles wiry and wild. Teeth snapped for her face; she jerked aside, punched hard into his muzzle, drove her knee into his ribs.

He lunged for her throat.

Her wolf lunged back.

For a heartbeat there was nothing but heat and teeth and copper. She didn’t remember choosing to bite, only the sudden burst of blood in her mouth and the way his snarl broke into a choking gurgle.

Hands locked around her from behind, hauling her off.

“Enough,” Gideon growled in her ear, iron‑solid. “He’s done. Breathe, Frost.”

The rogue lay wheezing, throat a wet mess but not severed. Gideon stepped around her and finished it with a brutal, efficient twist of his boot.

Amara spat blood, chest heaving. Her vision flickered, half human, half wolf. The empty place where the bond had been throbbed in counterpoint to her new bruises.

Chaos surged around them—guards racing past toward the trees, elders shoving pups toward the back, Blackridge wolves forming a wall near the hall doors.

Rowan stood there.

She felt him before she properly saw him, a dark shape at the threshold, half‑shifted, giving orders in a low, deadly voice. His gaze swept the yard, counting, assessing.

It hit her like a hit of cold water when his eyes found her.

Her, bloody‑mouthed, half‑shifted over a corpse. Him, framed in lamplight, still smelling like the bond he’d just torn out of her.

For a moment the noise dulled. Something raw and startled flickered across his face.

Then another rogue burst from the trees toward a knot of younger wolves. Rowan’s head snapped around. He moved, fast, all clean violence.

“Extraction,” Gideon said. “You’re on pups and civilians. Straight to ground. You don’t break formation unless I say so.”

He didn’t wait for an answer.

Amara dragged her eyes off Rowan with an effort that felt physical.

Pups. Hall. Routes. Things she could still hold together.

She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and ran for the back of the house, lungs burning, wolf snarling, heart a raw, empty ache.

Behind her, over the clash of bodies and the pounding in her own veins, Rowan’s voice cut through the night—sharp, carrying, a single command not meant for her at all.

And somewhere in the forest, something old and ugly answered.