REJECTED: Hired to Breed

SPREAD YOUR LEGS

KARLA

"Focus, Karla, focus," I whispered to my reflection in the restroom mirror, my voice a soft echo against the cool, tiled walls of the restroom.

But how could I possibly focus? I freaking just saw my mate tonight! He was there, gazing at me with... with an expression I dared not dwell upon at this moment. Was this what it felt like to discover your destined mate? My nameless wolf inside me was a whirlwind of excitement, her cries of 'mate, mate' resonating in my mind, scattering my focus like leaves in the wind. And his scent— that intoxicating blend of sweet cedar, so potent it eclipsed all others in the room, enveloping me in a surreal cloud. But the disappointment etched on his face threatened to break me. Could I fault him for that? Truth be told, this was far from the ideal place I had imagined encountering my mate.

"Karla, are you alright in there?" Cole's impatient voice broke through my thoughts.

I was far from alright; my trembling hands were evidence of that. I didn't want to face the crowd out there anymore. But I had no choice; I needed to continue dancing for the sake of the establishment, to scrape together enough to escape the suffocating embrace of my debts.

"Yes, I'm fine," I replied, forcing my voice to sound steady.

"Alright, honey, get your ass back to the stage and do your thingy," he dismissed with casual indifference.

I nodded, as though Cole could see me. I knew Cole's concern was superficial, he cared little about my well-being; all that mattered to him was the money I could bring in. While I hadn't always been a pole-dancing pro, I had watched countless musicals, enough that I could as well become a dance instructor.

Dancing had always been my passion, but fear of ridicule had kept me from displaying my skills. During my high school days, when I was bullied and my father's advice was absent and my mother was busy looking at her face in the mirror, checking for wrinkles, I would retreat to my room, watching dance videos on YouTube or any source I could find. Sometimes, I danced along until the steps flowed through me as naturally as breath.

Gradually, my interests evolved into the realm of sensual dancing. I would watch the performers, envisioning myself captivating an audience, becoming the centre of attention. I never aspired to be a stripper, but I yearned for acceptance. I studied clips of exotic dancers, mimicking their moves using any available object in my room as an improvised pole. No one knew about my secret passion. I relished showcasing my skills to people, but I despised the unwanted touching.

How could fate be so cruel as to bring my mate in the unlikely setting of a strip club? With a final, lingering look in the mirror, I steeled myself, ready to face the world outside with the only skill that had never betrayed me. As I opened the door, the sudden appearance of Cole nearly jolted me.

"Hey," I said, taken aback by his presence.

"Omg, Karla, you are still here? Do you know how much you are costing us tonight?" he blurted out, his tone laced with frustration.

"I'm sorry," I apologised.

"You're lucky I like you, Omega. I'll let it slide this time," Cole said dismissively before striding away. With a heavy heart, I trailed after him, stepping back into a world where my dancing was both my freedom and my chain.

~*~

Despite being of legal age, I had always shunned alcohol, my tolerance for it virtually non-existent. However, tonight was different. After hastily retouching my makeup in the secluded confines of the back room, I found myself uncharacteristically downing glass after glass. The thought of facing my mate again, especially with a clear and sober mind, was unbearable.

I didn't want to care about the judgment in his eyes and how filthy it made me feel. I just wanted to do my job and leave the place. My mind still raced from finding my mate. From his appearance, he seemed affluent and sophisticated, possibly an Alpha.

A whirlwind of questions tormented me. Would he accept me, a mere stripper, or would he outright reject me? Stripping was predominantly a human profession because werewolves seldom mated with humans. It was a rarity, and werewolves tended to be traditional and judgmental. No esteemed werewolf family would consider a stripper as a suitable daughter-in-law or Luna.

I continued to drink until my legs felt as if they were floating. I staggered towards the stage; my resolve fuelled by liquid courage. Cole suddenly blocked my path, his head tilted, and a sly grin on his lips.

"You lucky b***h," he declared. "Someone wants to speak to you."

"Who?" I asked, my voice barely steadying against the dizziness that threatened to overpower me.

Cole, without a word, firmly grasped my wrist and steered me out of the backstage area. He led me through an alternate door, one that bypassed the stage and opened directly into the club room.

"There," he nodded towards a man lounging on a couch, a glass of liquor swirling idly in his hand. It was him, my mate.

"Why do I have to meet him? I don't offer personal services. You know that, Cole," I protested, the alcohol in my system emboldening my words.

"Tell him that, baby girl," Cole retorted, pushing me in the direction of the man.

As I neared, his gaze lifted, settling on me with a broad grin. Self-consciously, I adjusted my outfit, though it did little to provide additional coverage. I resolved not to let this man make me feel inferior. He had no right to judge me when he didn't even know me.

'Mate,' my wolf howled with excitement, and I felt a surge of something I couldn't quite explain coursing through my veins.

"Can I help you, Sir?" I inquired, standing before him with as much dignity as I could muster.

He downed the contents of his glass in one swift motion, his stare unwavering. "Did Cole not tell you why I wanted to see you?" he slurred slightly; his words tinged with intoxication.

Right, he was equally drunk. I shook my head, studying him as he poured another drink into his glass.

"I want a lap dance. Spread your legs," he demanded bluntly.

His words struck me like a slap. Though part of me understood why he might think that way. It still hurt, especially coming from him. How could he not assume I was a call girl after witnessing men slapping money on my backside?

"Ex-excuse me?" I stammered; disbelief etched across my face.

He regarded me with a look that suggested he thought I had lost my mind. "Did you hear me?"

"I did, but—"

"Spread your legs, Omega," he commanded, his hand dismissively waving away any protests I might have had.

Hello readers. Here's a new chapter for the New Year. I know I've not posted for a while now because I was busy. But I'm back again.

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