The Midnight Rogue’s Broken Mate

A Name To Remember—Ryder

[Celeste]

I watched his expression darken, shifting into something that bordered on contempt—or maybe it was irritation. Either way, it was a look I knew far too well. I'd faced it for years, in countless faces, and I'd learned the hard way how to meet it without flinching. His reaction didn't surprise me. It never did. But it didn't mean it hurt any less.

He was massive—bigger than I'd realized when he'd reverted to human and collapsed on top of me. I should have known from his weight alone which had knocked the air out of my lungs. Up close, I could see the sheer breadth of his shoulders. He had to be over 6'4, towering over me like some immovable wall. His grip earlier had been firm, and controlled, but I knew instinctively that if he wanted to, he could snap my wrist without a second thought.

And then there was his face—a contradiction to his size, his dark hair curling at his nape, stunning in a way that made my breath catch if I let myself think about it for too long. Despite his commanding presence, his skin was smooth, and unblemished, with a cleanly shaved jaw making him look like he hadn't aged a day past his early thirties. His eyes were dark and overwhelming, with lashes long enough to dab his cheeks when he blinked.

He was glorious!

I was never considered pretty, especially by the men in the pack who only noticed me when they needed something—like Rafael had. I wasn't a small woman. Back in the pack, I'd been taller than most girls, standing at 5'8 in high school. I never bothered checking my height after that, maybe I was afraid to. Puberty came late and brought unwanted changes—my height earned me teasing names like 'beanpole' or 'ladder.' Even now, I didn't feel like I was built to fit anywhere. Years of scrambling for scraps left me with a slim, almost fragile frame, and my loosely sewn clothes hid curves that made me feel awkward.

Most days, I wore clothes loose enough to hide the figure I didn't like seeing in the mirror. My arms and legs were too long. My chest was heavy, causing constant discomfort to my back, and my backside made me feel even less confident, especially when compared to the small, confident women I saw in music videos.

Over time, I realized no amount of self-loathing would change anything. I chose acceptance as a way to numb my feelings, teaching myself to stop caring what others thought or at the very least... stop showing that I cared. If I couldn't be admired, at least I could be immune to their words.

But next to this man? I felt impossibly small. He hovered over me, his presence filling even the air between us, suffocating in a way that wasn't entirely unpleasant. And I hated that I noticed it—that I felt... dominated. And hell, all he did was look down at me!

I clenched my hands into fists at my sides, forcing myself to keep my expression neutral. I wasn't some fragile little thing. I had survived the pack, their insults, the hunger that plagued my stomach most days, the loneliness that never left. I could survive him too. Who the hell did he think he was looking down at me?

"Where did you get this necklace? What pack do you belong to?" he asked in a low voice, his fingers clenching the necklace hanging below my throat.

I stiffened at the question, my gaze darting briefly to the hallway beside him. Could I make a run for it? Maybe if I distracted him.

But he caught the look in my eyes, and before I could take a step, his free hand slammed against the wall beside my neck. The sound echoed, and I flinched—just a fraction—but I knew he saw it. His palm was so close I could feel the heat radiating off his skin.

"Not planning to bolt, are you?" His frown deepened and I watched a mild golden glow form in his eyes.

I forced myself to meet his gaze, tilting my chin upward in defiance. My heart was pounding so hard I was sure he could hear it, but I refused to let him see my fear. This wasn't the pack. I wasn't some frightened girl cowering under the weight of their cruelty anymore.

"Why does my necklace matter to you?" I asked plainly. It was my oldest possession, one I had even before joining the Silver Moon pack and one I was unwilling to lose.

His expression didn't change, but something in the air between us shifted. He was studying me now, the way a predator sized up its prey.

"Where did you get it?" he repeated, his tone lower this time, more controlled. "It doesn't belong to you."

My jaw tightened. "It's just a necklace." I lied. But the truth made my chest ache. It wasn't just a necklace. It was given to me by someone special—the man who raised me, right before he was killed. I remember bawling my eyes out as I fled through the snow, collapsing when all my energy had been exhausted right before the silver moon pack found me.

His jaw clenched, and I could see the frustration in his eyes. I tended to be stubborn when it came to this particular item. I swallowed hard when he looked like he was about to snap my neck in two.

He stayed there for a moment longer, his eyes searching mine for something I didn't know. Then, finally, he stepped back, his hand dropping from the wall as he ripped the necklace clean off. "Then I'll hang on to this until you're willing to answer my questions. The room by your left is unoccupied. You'll be sleeping there for the time being," he said, "Oh, and don't try to run off. I tend to be quite the huntsman at night."

Of course, I wasn't about to let him walk away with my deceased guardian's momento.

As he turned and walked away, I rushed to grab his wrist. "You can't take that!" I said. His skin was warm, almost searing against my cold hands, and his muscles tensed beneath my touch as if warning me how easily he could shake me off. But I couldn't let go. Not of him, and certainly not of that necklace.

He didn't respond, didn't even glance back at me. He kept walking, dragging me along for a few unsteady steps before I lost my footing and stumbled. Still, I held on.

"I'm the daughter of the Silver Moon Pack's alpha!" I blurted, hoping the lie would give him pause, maybe even intimidate him. It was a gamble, but I had no other cards to play. "If you touch me or take what's mine, my father will hunt you down and make you regret it."

That finally made him stop. He turned his head just enough for me to catch the hint of amusement in his dark eyes. He looked at me over his shoulder, his lips curling into a faint, almost pitiful smile.

"Silvermoon pack? Never heard of it." He said flatly, completely unimpressed as he eyed me. "From the look of you, coupled with your scent, you're just a weak omega—almost human. And even if your father was an alpha—which I highly doubt—it's clear you're nothing more than a forsaken child. Unwanted. Maybe even the weakest in your pack with a grip like that." He snatched his hand away, "So tell me, who exactly would hunt me down for your sake? Hmm? Do you honestly believe anyone would notice if you disappeared? Or care? Don't make me laugh, woman."

At those words, he snatched his arm away and walked off with the necklace.

I didn't move. I couldn't. He not only saw through my high and mighty act but also deciphered my situation in the pack. He was right though. Even if I returned to the pack, no one would lift a finger to find the man who'd taken my necklace.

Who was I kidding?

I was the only one who could snatch it back from this bastard and definitely the only one who could look out for myself.

My brows creased as I took an offensive stance where I stood at the centre of the corridor, wiping across my cheek—the same place his fingers had grazed, with the back of my wrist. "Your name. Tell me your name!" I demanded, determined to etch the words into the back of my mind.

I expected no answer, but he replied casually. "It's Ryder."

Ryder.

I had to get that necklace back, even if it killed me.