His Rejection: Rewritten

P.

There was an age when witches did not hide from wolves. The old blood was plentiful then, or so it was believed.

Witches built their homes beyond the borders of men, raised daughters beneath ancient trees, and practiced their craft without fear of being reduced to little more than myth. Their women were said to live extraordinarily long lives, with magic preserving their youth while kingdoms rose and fell around them; their men were not so fortunate...

Whatever gift prolonged the lives of their women did not favor their sons. Witch-born men aged as human men did, though humans hadn't been sighted in decades.

The men sickened, and died. Wars claimed more, and with every passing generation, fewer boys were born to take the places of those they buried. The witches possessed magic enough to command nature, but even magic could not fill an empty cradle.

The wolves suffered from a curse of their own. The moon ruled their men...

When the full moon climbed into the night sky, every mature male wolf was compelled to answer it. No rank was spared. Warrior and Omega, Beta and Alpha alike were dragged unwillingly from flesh into fur, and once the transformation was complete, there was no certainty that the man would remain the master of the beast.

Some did.

Most did not. The strongest were often said to suffer the worst of all.

For three nights surrounding the fullest moon, packs prepared themselves as though for siege. Children were kept inside. Females learned to recognize the signs of a moon-mad wolf and how to protect themselves. Males were separated where possible, for old grievances forgotten beneath daylight could become blood feuds beneath the moon. There were tales of fathers awakening beside wounded sons. Brothers killing brothers. Alphas tearing through their own warriors because a command had sounded too much like a challenge.

Then morning would come...

The wolf would recede, and the man would be left to discover what his hands had done while they were claws.

The wolves called it many things. A punishment. A blessing twisted by time. The price demanded by the moon for the strength she had given them.

Whatever its origin, they had never found a way to stop it, but the witches believed they could.

Magic could not prevent a wolf from answering the full moon, but it might quiet the frenzy that came afterward. There were herbs said to strengthen the mind against the beast and old enchantments capable of binding two halves of a soul together rather than allowing one to devour the other. Given enough time, the witches believed they could teach a wolf to enter the moon unwillingly and emerge from it remembering himself. For the first time, wolves were offered something strength had never been able to give them.

Control.

But the witches wanted something in return...

Men.

Not slaves. Not sacrifices. Husbands. Mates. Fathers for children who might carry their ancient blood into another generation.

Thus began the First Accord.

Neither race was meant to kneel before the other. The witches would share their knowledge of the moon and the wolves would open their packs to unions between their peoples. If such unions proved fruitful, perhaps the witches would no longer watch their bloodlines disappear and perhaps the wolves would no longer fear themselves whenever the moon grew full.

It was an equal bargain...

To seal it, the daughter of the ruling witch bloodline was promised to the greatest Alpha among the wolves.

She was said to have been beautiful, although beauty is easily bestowed upon women whose faces have been forgotten. Some claimed her hair fell to her waist like spilled midnight. Others swore it shone beneath the moon like pale silver. There were stories that flowers bloomed beneath her bare feet and others that the earth trembled when she became angry.

Perhaps none of those things were true. Her power, however, was rarely disputed.

The elements favored the Witch Princess. Fire blazed beneath her touch. Wind carried whispers to her ears. Water was said to still when she approached, and the earth itself answered when she called.

The Alpha was formidable in his own right. His territory stretched farther than most wolves could travel in a day, and his pack had grown wealthy beneath his rule. He was a warrior feared by enemies and respected by his own, and some claimed even the madness of the full moon struggled to conquer him completely.

Their marriage promised something neither people had possessed before.

Peace and survival.

Perhaps even children that carry the greatest strengths of both races.

The Witch Princess traveled into wolf territory beneath a swollen moon to meet the man she was expected to marry.

She never made it to his side, for among the wolves gathered to witness their union stood another.

He was no Alpha, he was said to be a warrior; others remembered him as a member of the Alpha's personal guard. A few versions placed him closer to the Alpha than either account, though those tellings seldom survived long enough to become popular.

His importance before that night mattered little because the moment the princess saw him, everything changed.

The wolf looked upon the witch. The witch looked upon the wolf, and fate made a mockery of every promise their people had made.

Her mate.

The very thing the witches had hoped might someday become possible between their races had happened before the alliance had even been sealed. Only fate had chosen the wrong wolf...

The princess refused the Alpha.

Whether she did so quietly or before the entire gathering depended upon which tongue told the tale. Some claimed she begged him to understand. Others insisted she stood before hundreds and declared that no agreement made by men could command her to deny what fate had given her.

Either way, the answer remained the same. She would not marry him.

The Alpha did not take the humiliation kindly. Perhaps he had desired the princess herself. Perhaps he desired the power her blood promised his heirs. Perhaps it was simply unbearable for a man accustomed to obedience to be rejected before his own pack.

He demanded that she honor the Accord.

She refused.

He ordered his wolf to renounce the bond, but the wolf refused him too.

That was when pride became something far more dangerous.

What happened afterward was never told the same way twice...

The wolves would say the princess bewitched one of their own and turned him against his Alpha.

Others would swear no spell was necessary—that the bond between them had been unmistakable from the moment their eyes met.

Some claimed the wolf challenged his Alpha. Some claimed he never raised a hand. Some said the Alpha ordered his death.

Others insisted he meant only to imprison the man until the witch could be made to see reason.

The dead left behind no testimony.

What remained certain was that the Alpha went for the wolf, and the Witch Princess stood between them.

The earth answered first.

It split beneath the feet of the approaching warriors with a sound like the world itself cracking open. Men stumbled. Stone erupted from beneath the soil. The ceremonial fires leapt from their braziers as wind screamed through the clearing hard enough to tear banners from their poles.

The wolves saw an attack. The witches saw their princess surrounded; neither waited to discover which was true. Wolves shifted. Magic answered, and the First Accord died beneath the same moon meant to bless it.

The princess fought desperately to reach her mate as wolves closed around him. Wind threw warriors backward. Roots tore from the earth. Fire moved where no fire should have moved.

A wolf lunged, she struck him.

Another followed. Then another...

Perhaps she meant only to protect the man fate had chosen for her. Perhaps rage took hold of her. Perhaps power such as hers had never been meant to know fear.

Whatever the truth, wolves died. And when wolf blood touched the earth, restraint died with them.

Witches entered the fight.

Claws opened throats.

Magic broke bones.

The clearing filled with smoke, snarls, screams, and the terrible sound of people discovering that peace was far easier to promise than preserve. By dawn, the ground prepared for a union was soaked in blood.