CHAPTER ONE
1248 Words
The Outcast’s Gambit
Evelyn POV
“I, Evelyn Harper, reject you, Lucas Reed, as my mate. I REJECT YOU!” My voice rips through the cave, hoarse and desperate, every ounce of strength I’ve got poured into those words. I drag the silver dagger, slick with my own blood, across my mate mark. Pain explodes my body feels like it’s being torn apart, my wolf howling inside me like her heart’s been shredded. It’s worse than I imagined, like getting hit by a semi while someone rips your soul out. But my mind? It was very clear. “I made it,” I breath hard, falling onto the cold hard floor. “Finally, I am free.”
I’ve just done the unthinkable. I completed the rejection ritual, branding myself a pariah, a “Scarred One” in the eyes of every wolf from here to the bloody Atlantic. I didn’t just reject Lucas, my fated mate. I rejected my old pack, my old life, everything I was. The silver blade’s left a black, jagged scar where my mate mark used to be, a permanent middle finger to the goddess who paired me with him. Freedom’s got a price, and I’m paying it in blood and loneliness. But as I lie here, naked, battered, and alone, I don’t regret a damn thing.
I pass out, the world fading to black. When I come to, the physical pain’s dulled to a throbbing ache, but my heart? It’s a mess, bleeding out all the grief I’ve been holding back. I’m a Scarred One now, an outcast, and oh, yeah I can’t shift anymore. My wolf, Ember, is still there, whimpering in the corners of my mind, weak but stubborn. We knew what this ritual would cost us. Stripping away my ability to shift, scarring my body, turning me into a walking curse in the eyes of our kind. But we didn’t care. We *had* to break free, no matter what.
I drag myself up, the damp cave floor biting into my palms. My legs are shaky, barely holding me, but I force myself to sit. Ten years I spent building a life with Lucas’s pack. I had a little jewelry shop nothing fancy, just my designs, hammered metal and polished stones that made me feel alive. Gone now. I had to pay a steep price to Alpha Mason to get out, practically signing over my soul to leave. My shop, my savings, all of it poof. But I’d rather be broke and free than chained to a mate who didn’t deserve me.
I grab the clothes I stashed in the cave a ratty hoodie, jeans, and a bra that’s seen better days. As I pull the bra on, the strap digs into my fresh scar, and I wince. I haven’t dared look at it yet. It’s ugly, I know it. A gnarly reminder that I’m marked as a rejecter, a homewrecker, a walking bad-luck charm. Whatever. Lucas? He’ll walk away clean, his mate mark fading like it was never there, no pain, no shame. Me? I’m stuck with a lifetime of side-eyes and whispers. Wolves are pack animals we crave connection, family, belonging. I want that too, but not with a pack that treated me like garbage, not with a mate who broke my heart.
I finish dressing, my mind racing. What now? I’m 30, broke, scarred, and starting from scratch. Rejecting a mate isn’t unheard of, but doing it after the mating bond, after the mark? That’s rare as hell. Growing up, there was this old lady on the edge of town, a Scarred One. Kids swore she’d sneak into your house and curse your dreams or eat your soul. I’m her now, the boogeyman of the werewolf world. Fine. I’ll live on the fringes, grow a garden, make my jewelry, maybe start a little herb shop. I’ll have to hide my face, though no one’s buying earrings from a “cursed” rejecter. Americans love their superstitions, don’t they? Like we’re still burning witches in Salem.
Before I did the ritual, I got re-bonded to my dad’s pack. It dulled the pain a bit, kept me from dying right there on the cave floor. I glance at my shoulder, where my pack mark a deep green oak leaf glows faintly. It’s a lifeline, a reminder I’m still connected to something. My dad’s the Alpha of the Oakridge Pack, the biggest in the Midwest, a powerhouse in North America. That’s my one ace in the hole. I’m Evelyn Harper, eldest daughter of Alpha Henry Harper, and yeah, I’m a bit of a freak in werewolf circles.
See, I was born before my parents found their fated mates. My mom, Clara, was the daughter of my granddad’s Beta. She and Dad grew up thinking they’d be mates, but the goddess had other plans. I was raised in Dad’s pack, but Mom’s pack led by her mate, Alpha Nathan of the Blackthorn Pack, didn’t want me around. Nathan was cool with me, even liked me, but another Alpha’s kid in his pack? Too messy. So, I stayed with Dad and his mate, Sarah, my stepmom.
Most wolf pups are born from fated mates, destined by the goddess. Me? I was a mistake, a glitch in the system. In Mom’s pack, I was the kid who shouldn’t exist. Dad’s pack was better, nobody dared say it to my face, thanks to Sarah. She treated me like her own, shutting down anyone who looked at me sideways. I love her for that. My half-siblings, though? They got the golden treatment. Lily, 11 years younger, and Owen, the heir, 13 years my junior. They’re all sunshine and love, spoiled rotten by the pack. I was jealous sometimes, but I couldn’t help spoiling them too. They’re my family, no matter how weird I felt.
I worked hard to earn the pack’s respect, proving I wasn’t just the Alpha’s oddball daughter. Dad and Sarah run Oakridge like a business, not a war camp. They’re smart, not savage, fighting with strategy over claws. The pack’s progressive, brushing off old superstitions like the ones blaming me for Sarah’s miscarriages. Whispers said I was cursed, that I brought bad juju. Dad and Sarah never bought into that crap, but it stung anyway.
I met Lucas when I was 20, late for a she-wolf to find her mate. Most girls get their “mine” moment by 19, but me? Almost 21. I’d started thinking I’d never have one, that being a “mistake” meant the goddess skipped me. Then I saw him. Lucas wasn’t your typical hulking wolf. Tall, lean, with shaggy black hair and green eyes like a forest after rain. He was an artist, like me, all passion and big ideas. “You are mine,” Ember growl.
Hell, I am already done for.
“So, Mate,” He spoke, smiling as if he just won a thousand dollars lottery. “Mind telling me your name?”
“Evelyn,” I answered barely above whisper, and then, his lips brushed mine with a force kiss. It was fireworks, like something out of a cheesy rom-com, but better.
His gentle touch was fire, making me feel raw and sense of belonging. I began to dream of a sweet life with him, with our kids and maybe a German dog, lol. But that dream? It crashed and burned, and I’m not re
ady to talk about why. Not yet.
- Writer
