Chapter1 The King's rejection
1221 Words
“You think a low-born Omega like you deserves to be my mate?”
Victor’s words echoed in the deathly silence of the great hall. I was on my knees, the icy stone biting through my thin ceremonial dress.
The pain in my joints was nothing.
The real agony was inside, a searing, tearing sensation as the fragile thread of the mate bond—a warmth I’d felt for less than an hour—was snapped by his will.
Laughter erupted around me, cruel and jagged.
I could pick out the whispers.
“A phoenix? More like a gutter rat.”
“How dare fate insult our King with this… creature.”
“Look at her, thinking she could rise.”
I dug my fingernails into the cracks of the floor until I felt them break. The physical pain was an anchor. I would not cry. Crying meant they won.
“Get out of my sight,” Victor said, his golden eyes holding less warmth than a winter moon.
“Do not let your pathetic face cross my path again.”
I looked up, forcing myself to meet that disdainful gaze.
For one stupid, shining moment during the ceremony, I’d felt it—a connection, a fragile hope that maybe, just maybe, the universe was throwing me a bone.
“Yes, Your Majesty.” My voice was a rasp.
I stood. My legs shook, but I locked them.
As I turned, head held high over a hollow chest, I heard him speak to his Beta.
“Return her to the lower levels. To her duties. Ensure she remains far from the upper quarters.”
The whispers followed me like a stain.
And of course, the hyenas were waiting.
Lydia, a high-born Omega, blocked the corridor with her pack.
“Look, it’s the Queen of Nothing,” she cooed.
“Move,” I said.
“Move?” She laughed.
“What gives you the right? The show’s over.” She shoved me, hard.
My spine slammed against rough-hewn stone.
“Remember your place, Thea. Your gutter trash. You’ll die in the gutter. Stop dreaming.”
I said nothing.
I waited until they sauntered off, their laughter echoing, before I continued my walk down.
Down into the bowels of the fortress, where the air tasted of rust, stale blood, and madness.
This was my domain: the holding cells for wounded or battle-mad Alphas.
My job was to clean up the aftermath.
The supply closet was empty, silent except for the distant drip of water.
Good.
I couldn’t handle pity or questions.
I grabbed a bristle brush crusted with something dark and got to work.
The rhythmic, mindless scrubbing was the only thing holding the howling void inside me at bay. The ache in my chest was a constant, dull echo of the broken bond.
They say it can kill you.
I swore they wouldn’t.
I had to live. I had to see the scales balance.
Deep in the night, the assault sirens ripped through the silence.
Vampires.
Chaos.
“All non-combatants to the shelters!”
I was swept into the river of bodies flooding to the lower-level bunker—a cramped, airless hole that stank of fear.
The fortress above us roared with battle: explosions, snarls, the scream of metal on stone.
Then my pain hit.
A yanking, visceral agony in the center of my chest.
The ghost of the bond, screaming.
It’s Victor.
He must be injured.
Dying.
Not my problem, I thought savagely, biting my own cheek until I tasted copper.
He broke it.
But the pain was a command.
It pulled at me, like a hook in my soul.
“ Go！ He’s dying! You must go !”
I shoved my way to the bunker door.
“Thea! Are you insane?” someone yelled.
I tore my arm free and ran out into the hellscape of the main corridor.
The hallway was a slaughterhouse. Blood was everywhere.
I ran, pulled by that terrible internal compass, up toward the thunder of battle.
The scene on the central battlement stole the breath from my lungs.
Carnage.
And in the center of it, I saw Victor.
On his knees, armor in tatters, drenched in gore.
The royal wolf-head tattoo below his collarbone—the symbol of his unbreakable will—was weeping fresh, scarlet blood.
His eyes were bleeding red around the gold.
His breath sawed in and out of his chest, an animal sound.
His claws, fully extended, slashed at the surrounding air.
He was almost losing himself, being consumed by the feral beast.
“The King is turning!” someone shrieked.
“Get the Healer! Get Vivian!”
“It’s too late! Look at him!”
My legs were water, but I moved.
One step by another.
“Thea, stop!” Hands grabbed at me.
I shrugged them off.
When I was ten feet away, Victor’s head snapped up.
Those eyes held no recognition, no reason. Only berserk, gold-filmed rage.
With a roar that vibrated in my teeth, he launched.
I didn’t run, didn’t flinch.
At the last possible second, as his claws aimed for my throat, I stepped into the attack and slapped my palm against his bloody chest.
Seconds later, something… unlocked.
A warmth I never knew existed, a power sleeping in the deepest, darkest part of me, exploded outward.
Not from my hand.
From my core.
Golden light.
It erupted from my skin, brilliant and pure, wrapping around Victor like a cocoon.
It poured into the wound on his chest, into the madness in his eyes.
I felt it.
The storm inside him—the chaotic, screaming rage—hit my light and… calmed.
Like waves settling after a hurricane.
His charge stopped dead.
His claws retracted.
The red bled from his eyes, leaving only stunned, exhausted gold.
The blood from his tattoo slowed, then stopped.
Everyone stared. At both of us. At the fading gold light on my fingertips.
I stared at my own hands.
What in the name of the Moon…?
“Impossible…” someone breathed.
Victor blinked, awareness returning.
He looked down at my hand on his chest, then up at my face.
Confusion flashed, then was incinerated by fury.
He shoved me away with brutal force.
I hit the ground hard, the impact jarring my bones.
The coppery taste of blood filled my mouth.
“Don’t you dare to touch me,” he snarled, standing tall again, his voice hoarse with contempt. “Your filthy Omega hands make me sick.”
I lay there on the cold, bloody stone.
How f*****g poetic.
“But, Your Majesty,” an elder stammered, “she… she pulled you back!”
“So?” Victor didn’t even glance my way.
“She made herself useful. For once.”
“No, Sire!” said another elder, his voice trembling with excitement.
“This is different! Vivian’s power failed! This is… new!”
The murmurs became a roar.
From the edge of the crowd, I saw her, Vivian.
The noble Healer.
Our eyes met, and I knew—I’d just made an enemy who would wish me dead in my sleep.
“Test her! Now!” the Head Elder commanded.
Betas hauled me to my feet.
The golden warmth was gone, replaced by a hollow, draining exhaustion.
My vision swam.
- Writer
