Rejection
1609 Words
Brax POV
“BOOTS?! You want me to wear boots?! I am Veronica Hale! I only wear heels!” She stormed off, heels sinking deeper into the mud with every furious step, her long hair bouncing as she muttered to herself.
Behind her, Brax and his unit cracked up—until she spun around to glare at them, and their faces snapped back to deadpan seriousness in perfect synchronized warrior formation.
“Where am I staying?” she asked, hands on her hips.
“I’m sure we can find you a tent somewhere,” Brax said, the corner of his lips attempting to curl upwards.
“I’m not… staying in the packhouse?” she asked, pointing at the big tent behind Brax. Jackson and Ezra were barely holding it together.
I cannot believe she actually thinks this is the packhouse, Ezra wheezed through the link. Brax stepped on his foot to quiet him down. The man was going to make him laugh.
“I’m not staying with you?” Veronica asked, her bottom lip trembling now. Suddenly, all laughter left Brax. It was one thing to see her angry—but it was another to see her upset. The matebond tugged at his heartstrings, making him want to comfort her.
“Don’t worry, I’ll be nearby,” he said softly, his eyes flickering to her lips.
“Good. And I want a luxurious tent, with my own bathroom.” She smiled, her face snapping back to its usual smugness.
The shift was instant. Calculated.
This woman… she played him like a fiddle.
Brax’s jaw ticked. One day, he thought, she was going to learn I don’t do games.
“Sure, whatever you want,” Brax smiled sweetly.
You do realize we don’t have that here, right? Ezra asked.
She won’t be staying long enough to realize, Brax promised.
Reassuring her tent would be ready in a few days, Brax had convinced her to stay in a small tent in the middle of the camp. He’d wanted to put her at the edge, but Goddess forbid anything would happen to her. The woman clearly couldn’t protect herself and he’d promised her father he would.
As Brax was climbing out of his tent, he heard the first shriek. A smile pulled at his lips.
Veronica was up.
He sauntered over to the source of the ruckus, only to find Veronica, with a towel wrapped tightly around her, glaring at the female warriors who were running around half naked, laughing and talking.
When her eyes met his, she stomped over to him. “They came into the shower tent!”
“And?” Brax asked, a bit confused.
“And? I was in there, naked! They saw,” She whispered in horror.
“Veronica, this is how we do things here. Most of my pack are warriors. We train together and shift,” She looked at him as if he was talking in another language.
“Have you not…shifted before?” Brax asked, lifting an eyebrow.
“Of course I have. Why are you asking me that?!”
“Because when we shift back.. we’re naked.” He deadpanned.
“We’re not animals, Braxton!” she bit back, “you can shift back behind a bush or something,”
Brax held back a chuckle, his wolf rumbled low in his chest—liking the way Veronica had used his full name. It wasn’t something that often happened.
Suddenly, a topless female warrior walked up to him, “Alpha, I—”
“What are you doing?” Veronica snapped, stepping in the woman’s path.
“Talking to the Alpha,” she said, looking confused.
“Put on some Goddess damn clothes first! You’re a warrior, not some woman of the night,” she scoffed. The warrior shrugged and walked off, before Veronica turned to Brax.
“And you,” she said, looking at his bare chest, “put a shirt on!’
“This pack needs a handbook. And a towel service.” She grumbled, walking off.
Mate jealous, his wolf rumbled.
Down boy, we’re not keeping her, Brax sighed.
Training that morning was… interesting.
He’d ordered everyone to be there. That included Veronica.
Saying she wasn’t happy was an understatement.
What the hell is she wearing? Jackson asked through the link, barely containing a snort.
Veronica had shown up in what could only be described as battle Barbie goes to Pilates. Her matching pink workout set sparkled under the morning sun, rhinestones on her leggings spelling Alpha Princess across her ass. A sheer robe with fur trim fluttered behind her like a cape, and her wedge sneakers—yes, wedge sneakers—sank slightly into the damp ground with every step.
Perched on her waist was a Gucci fanny pack, looking very out of place in a field full of bruised, dirt-covered warriors.
Is that a fanny pack? Ezra chimed in.
Probably has pepper spray and dry shampoo in it, Jackson added.
Veronica reached into the pouch, pulled out a tiny folding fan, and dramatically fanned herself.
“I am not running,” she announced to no one in particular. “I don’t run unless someone’s chasing me. And even then, it depends on the shoes.”
Brax sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Veronica, just warm up with the others.”
She blinked at him. “Warm up how?”
“Stretch. Jog in place. Breathe?”
She looked at the group—half of them mid-push-up, others already sparring—and frowned like he’d asked her to lift a boulder.
“I did yoga once. Hot yoga. It was traumatic.”
“Now would be a good time to overcome that trauma,” Brax muttered. “Ezra, partner her.”
Ezra’s eyes widened. “Why me?”
“Because Jackson will throw her over his shoulder and she’ll file a Goddess-damned lawsuit.”
Ezra groaned.
Brax watched as Veronica approached him, pulling out her lip gloss and applying a fresh coat mid-walk.
“I don’t do violence,” she told Ezra primly.
“It’s not violence. It’s training.”
“Same thing.”
She planted her hands on her hips and gave him a look. “Fine. What do I do?”
Ezra gave her simple instructions. A basic defensive move. Step and block.
Veronica tried.
Kind of.
She missed the step, spun the wrong direction, and accidentally elbowed Ezra in the face.
“Oops!” she squeaked. “Oh my Goddess! I broke your nose, didn’t I?!”
Ezra blinked, nose slightly red. “No. You just bruised my pride.”
I warned you, Jackson muttered through the link.
Brax couldn’t hold back the chuckle that rumbled in his chest. Veronica glared at him as if he were the problem.
“Can’t I just supervise?” she asked sweetly.
“No,” Brax said, still grinning. “You lead by example, remember?”
Veronica looked down at her mud-splattered leggings and scuffed wedges like they’d personally betrayed her.
“Does this pack have a spa?”
“Do we look like we have a spa?” Jackson grumbled.
Brax crossed his arms and met her eyes. “You said you wanted to help run the pack. This is how we do it.”
She straightened her shoulders like she was preparing to go to war—fanny pack bouncing slightly as she walked back toward the group.
“This,” she muttered, “is cruel and unusual punishment.”
It had only gotten worse from there.
She’d refused to run drills, complained about the meal rotation, insulted the warriors’ clothing, and declared that the sleeping arrangements were below any standards known to wolves. Brax had let it slide—for the most part. But the final straw came mid-afternoon.
She was yelling at one of his senior warriors, finger in his face. "I am your Luna! You will treat me with respect!"
The warrior stiffened, but didn’t speak. Brax, however, stepped in.
"You’re not my Luna," he said flatly, his voice loud enough for everyone in the training field to hear. "And at this rate, you never will be."
The silence was instant and heavy.
Veronica’s jaw dropped. Her cheeks flushed red—not with embarrassment, but rage.
“You—you arrogant, brute-headed—bastard!” she exploded. "Fine. If I’m not your Luna, then let me make it official!”
She stalked toward him, eyes flashing. “I, Veronica Hale, reject you, Alpha Braxton Dravenwood, as my mate.” Her voice was loud. Proud. Only a tiny crack at the end gave her away.
Gasps echoed around the field.
A few warriors stopped sparring mid-move. One even dropped his staff.
Brax crossed his arms and gave her a slow, assessing look. Then, with a casual shrug, he said, “I accept your rejection, Veronica Hale.”
And turned his back on her. The mate bond snapped in his chest, causing him to almost stagger in pain, but he pretended he was fine.
She stood frozen for a beat, —livid, trembling, clutching at her chest—before spinning around and storming off, her ridiculous boots squelching in the mud.
She’s heading for the woods, Jackson murmured through the link.
Let her blow off some steam, Brax replied.
But a few seconds later, he sighed.
“Send two warriors after her. Keep your distance. Just make sure she doesn’t do anything stupid.”
Because no matter what she said, or how angry she was... he had promised her father he would keep her safe.
And he was not one to break a promise.
- Writer
