I Rejected the Alpha After Rebirth—And Married His Brother

Chapter 3 Entangled in the Moonlight

I sat on the windowsill of the newlywed villa—moonlight spilled across the floor, pooling in silvery-white patches.

Marcus Blackwood, the old Alpha, once called me to his study and told me to choose between Damon and Dorian. The three of us grew up side by side, training and roughhousing together on the Shadowspine Pack's training grounds.

I'd always known they both held feelings for me. Damon's gaze always carried a possessiveness that felt like an unspoken right, while Dorian would always look away before I could turn and meet his eyes.

When I turned eighteen, assassins from the Silverblade Pack dragged me deep into the barren woods. A dagger pressed tight to my throat, its silver edge burning against my skin. I could smell the faint, sharp scent of my own blood in the air.

That was when a black wolf lunged out from the shadows, taking the fatal blade for me. The silver blade pierced straight through its left ribcage. It collapsed right in front of me, its blood staining the dark soil beneath it.

Everyone claimed it was Damon who'd saved my life. I believed them without a second thought, certain he was my fated mate for life.

He stayed in the Healing Hall to recover. I stayed by his side for three whole days and nights. I watched him slowly heal, listened as he said he was fine and that protecting me was only natural. My gratitude for him grew deeper each passing hour, and my mind was already made up.

On the fourth day, I gave Marcus my answer—I chose Damon. That day was set for both the bonding ceremony and the official announcement of Shadowspine Pack's next Alpha heir.

I said quietly to the empty room around me, "I repaid that debt with my life in my past existence. This time, we owe each other nothing."

There was no hatred in my heart. Hatred was far too heavy to carry through another lifetime. All I wanted was a clean, final break—like cutting free a rope that had long since rotted away.

Footsteps echoed from the end of the hallway. Leather shoes clicked steadily against the stone floor in a calm, unhurried rhythm.

I quickly climbed down from the windowsill and picked up my phone to make a call. "Arrange a private meeting with Marcus for me. As soon as possible."

Inside the living room, I lay back on the sofa, twisting a glass of laurel wine between my fingers.

Damon had ordered Dorian to fly overseas that night for the Black Sails Project in the Sea of Curses—a three-month assignment. He'd fully expected Dorian to obey without question.

The door swung open, and the sharp scent of fir and pine drifted into the room before anyone stepped inside.

I paused, my fingers still wrapped around the wine glass.

Dorian stood in the doorway, his coat slung casually over one shoulder. Two buttons on his shirt were undone, revealing a sleek line of his neck. He had no intention of heading to the airport at all. His eyes swept over the dimly lit living room before settling firmly on me.

I walked to the bar, grabbed an empty glass, filled it with wine, and held it out to him.

He made no move to take it.

His gaze lingered on my lips, still damp with traces of wine that glinted softly in the low light. His Adam's apple bobbed once, and his voice dropped to a deep, husky tone. "You know I've never wanted wine."

He then leaned in and kissed me.

The wine glass was pressed between us, slipping from my grasp and thudding softly against the carpet. His lips held the coolness of the night breeze, brushing gently over my mouth as he swept away the lingering taste of laurel wine. The alcohol clouded my sense of reason, and his dominant, natural aura stirred something primal deep inside me.

I clutched the front of his shirt, pulling him closer still, then looped both arms around his neck to kiss him back. A low rumble escaped his throat. One hand locked firmly around my waist, while the other tangled into my hair—his fingers tightening with a gentle, restrained pull. My wolf, Cassia, stirred within me, letting out an excited, joyful whimper.

He pressed me lightly against the arm of the sofa, his breathing heavy and ragged as he rested his forehead against mine. His pupils dilated wide, and the sharp edge of his fangs peeked faintly against his lower lip.

Then he pulled back slightly, halting the moment.

Dorian said in a hoarse, trembling voice, holding himself back with great effort, "Tell me you know who I am."

I lifted my hand, brushing my fingertips slowly along his left ribcage. Even through the fabric of his shirt, I could feel the rough, uneven texture of an old scar—twisted and winding like a river.

I said clearly, without the slightest hesitation, "Dorian."

His pupils snapped tight. And then he stopped holding back. He kissed me deeply, hands moving over every curve, urgent as he pushed clothes aside. He bent his head to my chest, teasing and sucking until heat flooded through me—like someone had lit a fire inside. A moan slipped out before I could stop it. Dorian parted my legs, tugged my underwear down, and pressed his palm against me. Then he stood up just long enough to yank off everything he had on. The next second, he pulled down his shorts.

Something huge sprang free. He looked down at me, gaze heavy-lidded and hungry. All that cool, gentlemanly restraint was gone. His eyes were bloodshot. His breath came ragged, like an animal barely holding itself back. He took himself in hand, lined up with my trembling center—

My body suddenly shook. A massive wave of heat surged up from the base of my spine and spread everywhere.

We spent the rest of the night wrapped up in each other's quiet closeness. The next morning, the buzz of a phone vibration pulled me out of a deep sleep.

Dorian stretched lazily toward the nightstand, half his face still buried in the pillow. He answered the call without glancing at the caller ID.

Damon's furious voice blared straight from the speaker. "Why didn't you fly out to the overseas pack? Where are you right now? I told you to—"

Dorian cut him off with a lazy yawn. "I'm staying with my mate."

I stirred awake fully, sitting up and leaning back into Dorian's chest. I said in a soft, playful tone, "Who's calling so early in the morning?"

Silence fell dead on the other end of the line at once.

Damon then asked, "Is Serena with you? Have you two been together all night?"

The line went dead right after.

All trace of sleep vanished from my mind in an instant. I stared up at the ceiling, my face growing warm as I thought back to last night. I covered my eyes with the back of my hand, but the heat burning in my ears gave away every flustered thought.

Dorian turned his head to look at me. His gaze drifted slowly from my flushed ears to my pink cheeks, a soft smile tugging at his lips.

He asked, "Did you know it was me all along?"

I lowered my hand and nodded gently. "I never mixed the two of you up, not even once."

He fell silent for a moment, something intense and swirling deep within his amber eyes. "Then why did you choose me yesterday?"

I answered plainly, "Because you were always the mate I'd already chosen."

Dorian froze for a second, as if my words had struck him straight in the chest. Then a low laugh rumbled up from deep in his chest. He said hoarsely, "Damon thought he'd fooled everyone. In the end, he's the only one who fooled himself."

He rolled over and pinned me beneath him. He kissed down my neck all the way to my chest. Then he pushed forward and—

*****

At noon, a loud crash echoed through the house as the door slammed open hard enough to tilt the framed paintings hanging on the wall.

Damon stood in the doorway, his shirt crumpled and unbuttoned at the collar—looking as if he'd rushed straight back from the black-sailed ships in the Sea of Curses. His chest heaved wildly with rage, his eyes bloodshot, and his amber irises burned with the near-gold glow of his wolf form.

He stepped forward, grabbed Dorian's arm, and dragged him into the bathroom. The door slammed shut behind them with a bang.

Damon's voice shook uncontrollably, not as a cold command, but as a desperate plea teetering on the edge of breaking down. "Switch back. Swap your clothes, take back your real identity—do it right now. She's mine. The bonding pact is mine."