Rejected By Blood : Claimed by the Alpha

The pain always found me before the sun did. Crack! The sharp sound snapped deep inside my left wrist before my eyes were even open. "Ah—dammit!" I tumbled sideways off my thin cot, hitting the icy wooden planks with a dull thud. My breath came out in short, white puffs. I sat on my knees, clutching my arm against my chest, squeezing my eyes shut as blinding heat tore straight down into the bone. Right under my fingers, the skin over my wrist swelled into a dark, ugly purple. It throbbed like it had just been crushed between two heavy rocks. I stared down at it, trembling all over. Why? What did I do? I hadn't done anything. I went to bed early after washing grease off beer mugs at the lower-town tavern. I didn't fall. I didn't fight. Yet this was my whole life. Wounds, burns, and fractures showed up on my body out of thin air. When I was eight, I woke up with three deep cuts across my shoulder blades. When I was twelve, my ribs burned with dark bruises while I was just peeling potatoes. The slum healers said my blood was tainted. The street wolves laughed and called me a broken freak. I didn't have anyone to ask. Seventeen years ago, an old beggar found me lying in a frozen ditch by the pack wall, wrapped in a dirty potato sack with frost on my lashes. She fed me stale bread and water until winter took her when I was ten. Ever since, I had survived alone as Ember—a packless nobody who scrubbed floors just to stay alive. "Get up, Ember," I muttered through gritted teeth, wiping cold sweat from my forehead. "The floor won't clean itself." I pulled myself up to the shaky wooden table. On it was a small piece of cracked mirror. My face was pale and thin from missing meals. I slowly lifted my thick black bangs. Burned deep into the skin between my eyebrows was a dark, crescent-shaped birthmark. It looked like an old iron scar. Whenever these strange injuries struck me, the mark pulsed with heat, stinging like a lit match. I had no idea what it meant or who gave it to me. But in a werewolf pack that hated runts and strange defects, showing a mark like this meant death. I quickly combed my bangs down flat, covering it completely. Then I took a ragged strip of cloth, wrapped my swollen wrist as tight as I could stand, and pulled my scuffed boots on. Today was my big chance. Down in the valley, the gleaming glass towers of Bloodstone Pack University rose high into the clouds. It was where the richest royals and strongest warriors went to study. I wasn't a student. I was a cleaner. It had taken me weeks of begging the head custodian just to earn five copper coins a day mopping the lobby. Five coins bought a bowl of hot bean soup and half a loaf of bread. When I reached the university grounds, the place was packed. Sleek sports cars lined the drive. Rich students wore fine wool coats and heavy pack rings, laughing and showing off their scents. I kept my head down, dragging my metal bucket into the grand lobby. "Hey! Stray!" Garrow, the head custodian, shoved a heavy wooden mop into my good hand. "The northern delegation from Black-Rift arrives any minute," he hissed, glaring at my limping stride. "If Alpha Damian sees a single spot on this marble, I'll throw you to the border hounds. Move!" My stomach tightened. Alpha Damian. Everyone in the slums knew his name. He was the heir to the deadliest pack in the north. But they also whispered dark stories about him. Three years ago, his former pack took in a sweet, gentle female who claimed the moon had made them fated mates. Damian had let his guard down, letting her into his private chambers—only for her to poison his inner circle and unlock the gates for rogue slaughterers. Damian had torn the traitors apart with his bare hands, but the poison left his heart cold as ice. Since that bloody night, he despised the very idea of 'fated mates.' To him, anyone who smiled sweet was a liar, and anyone who claimed the moon brought them together was an enemy spy waiting to strike. I didn't care about royal secrets. I just needed my copper coins. I dipped my mop into the bucket, scrubbing near the massive marble pillars. Near the center of the hall, surrounded by a crowd of laughing girls, stood Princess Roselle. She wore a pristine white designer blazer and a sparkling gold watch. She looked gorgeous, radiant, and completely untouched by the world. "It was so stupid!" Roselle was laughing, waving her hand. "I was getting into my sports car last night, and the heavy door slammed right shut on my left wrist!" A girl next to her gasped. "Oh no! Did it break? Are you hurt?" Roselle scoffed with a careless smile. "Hurt? Please. You know I don't get bruised. I didn't feel a thing. It barely left a pink mark." I froze, the mop slipping slightly in my grip. My gaze dropped to my own left wrist. Underneath the tight cloth, the bone was swollen, purple, and burning with violent heat. The exact same wrist. How? I thought bitterly. Why does she walk in gold without feeling a scratch, while I starve in rags and choke on pain that isn't even mine? "Look at that dirty rat staring," a girl beside Roselle sneered. Roselle turned her head. For a second, her golden eyes met mine. Her smile dropped. A cold look of disgust twisted her face. "Why is there a beggar standing in our lobby?" Roselle said loudly. "She smells like wet garbage. Someone call the guards to toss her into the ditch." Cruel laughter broke out among the students. I bit my lip, keeping my eyes glued to the floor. Don't speak. Just mop. Suddenly, the air in the lobby turned freezing cold. A heavy, dark pressure crashed over the room like an iron blanket. The laughter died instantly. Students went pale, their inner wolves whimpering under the suffocating weight of an apex predator. Vroom. Three black armored trucks pulled up outside the glass doors. Heavily armed guards pushed the doors open. Then, he stepped inside. Alpha Damian. He was huge, with broad, powerful shoulders wrapped in a long black wool coat. His dark hair fell slightly over sharp, angular cheekbones and a jawline carved from granite. But it was his eyes that made my blood run cold. They were pure, piercing silver. Hard, suspicious, and full of lethal silence. Every student bowed their head. Roselle immediately straightened her posture, putting on a bright, rehearsed smile as she stepped forward to greet him. Panicked, I tried to drag my heavy bucket out of the main pathway. Snap! A sharp flash of pain tore through my broken wrist. My fingers went completely numb. CLANG! The bucket slipped and flipped over the slick floor. Five gallons of dirty, gray, soapy water surged across the marble—splashing violently over the polished black leather boots of Alpha Damian. The entire lobby went dead silent. "You stupid b***h!" someone whispered in terror. I fell forward onto my knees, my hands landing right in the filthy puddle. Cold water soaked my clothes. My heart slammed against my ribs. He's going to kill me, my mind screamed. Slow, heavy footsteps splashed through the puddle. The black boots stopped inches from my trembling hands. "I-I'm sorry!" I cried out, keeping my head pressed down to the wet floor. "I'm sorry, my lord! I slipped... please don't hurt me!" The silence hung heavy. Then, the air shifted. Damian’s aura snapped tight, vibrating with an electric shock. A sudden, sharp intake of breath came from above me. Slowly, Damian dropped to one knee right into the dirty water. His heavy hand reached down, rough fingers gripping my chin and forcing my face up. I froze. His silver eyes were wide, dilated, burning with wild, primal heat as he took in the scent of my shivering skin. His chest rose and fell fast. Mine, his inner beast roared so loud the air hummed. For half a second, his face softened, pulled by the unmistakable, intoxicating tug of a fated mate. Then, just as quickly, his eyes hardened into pure, icy venom. The memory of betrayal flashed across his features. His jaw locked tight, and his grip on my chin turned harsh and bruising. He didn't pull me into his arms. He leaned in, his silver eyes narrowing with deadly suspicion as he stared into my face. "Who sent you?" Damian whispered, his deep voice dripping with cold malice. "Who paid you to spill this water and wave your mate scent under my nose?"