Rejected By One, Claimed By Two.

The Alpha Who Called Me Impossible

The journey took two full days. I barely spoke. My mother tried once or twice, but I shut her down with a look. The rejection ache in my chest never faded. It sat there like a fresh bruise that refused to heal.

The guards her new husband sent to escort us whispered when they thought I could not hear. They spoke of Blackthorne Dominion like it was a place that swallowed people whole. The future Alpha was cold enough to freeze blood in a man’s veins. He had crushed rival packs without mercy. No one crossed him and lived to talk about it. His younger brother was worse in a different way—wild, chaotic, the kind who started disasters just to watch everyone scramble.

By the time the mountains rose ahead of us, my nerves felt stretched thin enough to snap. The Blackthorne estate came into view like something carved straight out of stone and shadow. It sat against the mountainside, massive and ancient, radiating power that pressed against my skin the moment we passed through the gates. Warriors lined the courtyard in perfect rows, silent and still. Their eyes tracked us with sharp assessment. Everything about the place felt cold, deliberate, and dangerous.

The front doors of the main hall swung open before we even reached the steps.

A man stepped out…

He was taller than anyone I had ever seen, broader too, with dark hair and eyes so deep they looked almost black in the torchlight. Power rolled off him in thick waves. I did not need anyone to tell me who he was.

Draeven Blackthorne. The future Alpha. Our eyes locked.

Something inside me shifted hard, a violent jolt that stole the air from my lungs. For one terrifying second I could not tell if it was fear or something far more dangerous. The mate bond I thought had been destroyed slammed into me again, different this time, stronger, wilder.

Draeven froze. His entire body went rigid. Those dark eyes flashed pure gold, bright and fierce. A low growl rumbled from his chest and echoed off the stone walls.

“Impossible.”

He said it loud enough for every warrior and servant in the courtyard to hear. Silence crashed down. I stood there, heart hammering, while his gaze burned into me like he was seeing a ghost or a threat or both at once.

An older woman in fine robes stepped forward, her voice calm but firm. “Draeven. Is something wrong?”

He did not look at her. His jaw clenched so tight I saw the muscle jump beneath his skin.

“I said, is something wrong?” she repeated, sharper now.

“No.” His voice came out clipped and cold, nothing like the disbelief that had cracked through it seconds earlier. “Nothing is wrong.”

Then his control shattered in front of everyone.

He turned his head toward the nearest guards, eyes still flickering with residual gold. “Keep her away from me. She does not set foot near the east wing or the training grounds. If she needs something, the servants will handle it. I want distance.”

The order landed like a slap. Whispers erupted instantly among the warriors and staff. I caught pieces of it…strange, unusual, never seen him react like that. Fresh humiliation burned through me. I had just been rejected in front of my entire old pack. Now my new stepbrother was publicly treating me like a problem that needed containment.

He turned without another word and strode back into the estate. His long strides ate up the distance so fast his personal guards had to hurry to keep up. The heavy doors slammed shut behind him with a sound that rolled through the courtyard. I stood frozen in place, face hot, hands clenched at my sides.

My mother placed a hand on my shoulder. “Veylora…”

I shrugged it off. Gently, but firmly. “Don’t. I’m fine.”

I was not fine. I was done being soft. Done accepting comfort after people decided I was disposable.

No one answered when I asked what had just happened. No one even looked at me directly, as if meeting my eyes might invite trouble.

~ ~

A servant led me to a guest chamber that afternoon. The room was bigger than the entire house I had grown up in. Tall windows looked out over mountains I did not recognize, Silk curtains. A bed that could have fit four people. Everything polished and expensive.

It felt like a gilded cage.

I sat on the edge of the mattress and tried to process the last two days. Tavren’s public rejection. The bond snapping. My mother’s year-long secret. And now this—Draeven Blackthorne staring at me like I had ruined his life, then ordering his people to keep me away as if I carried a plague.

The double rejection hit me all at once. First the boy I had loved since childhood. Now the future Alpha of the most feared Dominion in the region. My chest felt tight. My throat burned. I did not cry.

Anger rose instead, hot and steady. I was tired of being the one left standing in the dirt while everyone else decided my worth. Tired of secrets. Tired of being told I was not enough.

I stood up and walked to the window, staring out at the unfamiliar peaks. Whatever this place was, whatever game the Blackthornes were playing, I would not stay the broken girl they clearly expected.

A knock sounded at the door.

“Come in,” I called, expecting another silent servant.

Instead, a young man leaned against the doorframe with the kind of easy grin that suggested he had never once worried about anything in his life. He looked a few years younger than Draeven, same dark hair, same sharp features, but his eyes held open amusement instead of ice.

“So you are the mysterious girl who made my brother lose his mind in the courtyard,” he said. He tilted his head, studying me with clear interest. “I have to say, I am impressed. Draeven does not lose his composure. Ever.”

“And you are?”

“Zyren.” He gave a small, exaggerated bow, one hand pressed to his chest like he was greeting royalty instead of a stranger in a borrowed room. “The far more charming Blackthorne brother, in case anyone forgot to mention that detail.”

Despite everything, the ache in my chest, the exhaustion, the fresh public embarrassment I felt the corner of my mouth twitch.

“Is that an official title?” I asked. “Or one you gave yourself?”

“Self-appointed, obviously.” He stepped further inside and dropped into the chair near the window like he owned the place. “Nobody else was going to give me credit, so I decided to do it myself.”

“Humble.”

“Extremely.” He grinned wider. “So, are you going to tell me why my brother looked like he had seen the ghost of every nightmare he has ever had, or do I need to guess?”

“I have no idea.” I wrapped my arms around myself. “One second he was looking at me. The next his eyes turned gold and he said the word impossible before ordering everyone to keep me away like I was contagious.”

Zyren’s grin faltered for just a moment. Something that looked almost like concern flickered behind his eyes, but it vanished as fast as it appeared, replaced by his usual playful expression.

“Well, that certainly sounds like Draeven. Dramatic. Mysterious. Allergic to explaining himself. Honestly, it is exhausting being related to someone so broody.”

I actually laughed. The sound surprised me. It was the first real laugh I had let out since the Blood Moon ceremony. It felt strange, almost foreign.

“There it is.” Zyren looked pleased with himself. “I knew I could get a smile out of you eventually.”

“Do not get used to it.”

“Too late. Already used to it.”

He reached over as if to nudge my arm in a light, teasing way. The moment his fingers brushed against my hand, something sparked between us sharp and sudden, like static but deeper, stranger.

We both froze.

“Did you feel that?” Zyren asked. His teasing tone disappeared for a heartbeat. His eyes searched mine with something unreadable.

“I do not know what that was.” My heart was pounding again. Confusion crashed into me on top of everything else. First Draeven’s violent reaction. Now this. “What is happening to me in this place?”

“That,” Zyren said slowly, recovering his easy smile even though it did not quite reach his eyes this time, “is an excellent question.”