Rejected by the Alpha’s Son

Chapter6

Lyra

They let me back in to pack my things.

That is how it was phrased when the message was delivered to me. A flat administrative permission relayed to me by a low ranking member of the pack, who delivers the message without meeting my eyes and is gone before I could even reply. I was giving till morning to collect my belongings.

I hesitate at the entrance of the pack house for a moment before I go in.

Through the wooden door I can hear movement in the house. I hear the low murmur of wolves going about their evening. Pressing my palm flat against the door and feeling the familiar texture of it, I push it open and step inside for what feels like the last time.

I feel the change in the atmosphere immediately.

Their reaction isn’t dramatic as nobody screams or yells. It is much more subtle than that and still somehow way worse. A young werewolf coming down the stairs catches my scent before she sees me and her wolf reacts before her mind can intervene as she takes a small involuntary step back, her hand finds the banister as her eyes go wide searching for the source of the smell. In the kitchen— which is close to the door, someone goes quiet mid-sentence. I hear the pause, the conversation stopping like a held breath, and then resuming in a lower tone.

I guess the news has spread.

I walked quickly to my room, closing the door behind me. I'm finally able to breathe.

It’s the same room I’ve lived in for years. The same narrow bed with the same grey blanket. The same small mirror that has shown me my own face through every version of my life.

It looks smaller than it did yesterday.

I pull my bag from under the bed and I start packing my things.

As I pack the few clothes and books I own, I think back to the events of this morning. My meeting with Xavier and his surprising request, our discussion being interrupted by Dylan and Dylan’s obvious anger and jealousy. I remember the angry words that were thrown about and quickly followed by Dylan’s angry declaration that robbed me of my position in my pack.

I remember the feeling of absolute disbelief washing over me at the words that came out of his mouth. As if making me a mateless werewolf wasn’t enough for him, he also made me a rogue. Rogues are feared and hated in the werewolf world because you have to be a really evil wolf to be kicked out of your pack. Rogues are also usually killed on sight. No questions asked.

Knowing all this, why would Dylan, the one supposed to love and cherish me, doom me to a life of being hunted?

I quickly pack up the few clothes I have and the few books I have collected over the years —worn spines, with pages soft from reading. The last thing I pack is a small figurine that has been on my windowsill since before I can remember, its origin a question I stopped asking because the answer never came.

From down the hallway I can hear them adjusting to my presence the way you adjusted to a smell that made you uncomfortable —moving to other rooms, and finding reasons to be elsewhere. My strong werewolf hearing catches it all.

Choosing to ignore it all, I sit on my bed and wait for the tears to come.

Nothing.

I feel nothing.

I look around me one more time. I look at the room that had always been my safe haven. At the window and the strip of sky visible through my curtains and the floor where I woke up four mornings ago with the wound of rejection still fresh.

So much has happened in four days.

Picking up my bag, I leave the only home I have ever known without looking back.

The pack grounds are still mostly quiet with only a few wolves moving around the distant edges. I know when one of them catches my scent as his stride changes slightly, unconsciously widening his arc away from where I stand. He doesn’t look at me.

Straightening my back, I hitch my bag higher on my shoulder and I continue walking.

I almost miss her.

Sitting so still and small in the grey pre-dawn light at the edge of the communal garden, she looked part of the wall her back was resting on. White haired, wrapped in a shawl with her hands folded in her lap, on something I couldn’t see from this distance.

I have seen her several times at pack gatherings, communal meals, and seasonal ceremonies that were marked on the werewolf calendar. All of which I was forced to attend.

Why was she sitting alone on this lonely path?

I slow down as I pass by, but she notices me anyway and looks up.

Her sharp eyes find mine across the short distance and the emotion in them is something I have no name for.

She holds something out to me before I can walk past her.

It’s a blanket.

A hand-knitted, thick, and soft looking blanket. The color was the shade of the deep muted purple of heather in late summer.

She reaches out with her small hands and hands it to me like she has been sitting there, waiting to give me.

I take it from her, confused.

The wool is softer than I expected. It’s handmade. That strikes me as odd because why is she giving me this?

My throat tightens in a way I don’t expect when he reaches out and hugs me.

Was this her way of saying goodbye?

I know word must have spread about what Dylan did to me.

Is this pity?

I wait for an explanation that doesn’t come. She doesn’t offer comfort, platitudes or the careful words people reach for when they don’t know what else to say. She simply withdraws from the hug, holds me at arm's length, and looks at me for a moment longer before she turns and walks back towards the garden.

I open my mouth and close it back as no words available to me feel adequate enough. She also doesn’t seem to need them anyway.

Folding the blanket over my arm, I say a quiet thank you —which she doesn’t reply to— and continue on my way.

I looked back at her one last time before turning the corner. She’s still sitting in the same spot.

She doesn’t wave.

Neither do I.

I hold the blanket closer to me and I don’t let go of it and somehow that feels like the most honest conversation I’ve had in four days.

I hear the low and steady flow of the river before I see it. The steady sound threading through the trees, water going over smooth stones, it’s all so familiar.

Stepping into the clearing, I get the feeling of walking towards the unknown that awaits me.

I stop at the edge.

Just one step.

One step across the water and I’m no longer in Ashveil. I become a rogue in open territory with nothing left behind me and only a promise ahead of me. My wolf stirs inside me, still fragile and not fully herself. She presses forward slightly, trying to tell me something I already know.

Xavier is still here.

After the altercation with Dylan, I had feared the worst —that he would go back on his offer. Not wanting to associate with a rogue. The heavy feeling on chest leaves at the sight of him.

He is standing on the opposite side of the bank with his arms loose at his sides. Is he alone? I look behind him and find no one.

“You came to Ashveil alone?” I asked across the water.

“I came with my Beta, Cain.” He holds my gaze steadily. “I sent him back to Blackridge. A pack can’t stay too long with its Alpha and Beta away. He should have things running by the time we arrive.”

I think about that —the weight of responsibility that came with who he was, and also the risks that came with it. He doesn’t need my baggage added to his, but he chose me anyway.

With that in mind, I step across the river.

The water is cold where it runs over the top of my shoes —a sharp cold I feel all the way up through my ankles.

I’m on the other side. The last thread of whatever connection I still had with Ashveil leaves me so quietly I almost miss it.

I look back, half expecting Dylan to be there.

He’s not.

I look up when I feel Xavier’s gaze on me, as though studying me. "Are you alright?”

“Yes,” I say, even though I am, and I’m not. I can’t explain it because I don’t fully understand it myself, so go for the easiest answer.

He falls into step beside me.

The territory between Ashveil and Blackridge is not what I expected.

The forest comes to life around me. The ancient trees whispered secrets to the wind, and the trees crashed against each other like drums in the hands of a giant.

The place has a serene feeling to it.

Suddenly, there’s a shift in the air.

I noticed it within the first thirty minutes.

Xavier’s demeanor had changed.

It’s small, the kind of thing I wouldn’t have caught a week ago. His stride has shortened and the set of his jaw has tightened into something I haven’t seen since the riverside, since Dylan.

“What is it?” I ask cautiously.

“Nothing,” he says without turning towards me. “Keep walking.”

I don’t believe him. My wolf doesn’t either, as she has gone very still. The stillness of an animal trying to locate the source of the treat.

I glance behind us.

Nothing. Just the path curving back the way we came, grass swaying faintly in the breeze.

“Xavier.” I keep my voice low. “I can feel it. Whatever you’re feeling. Something isn’t right. Don’t tell me it’s nothing.”

He stays quiet for a moment.

“We’re being watched,” he says finally. “I don’t know where. I don’t know how many.”

My stomach tightens. “Ashveil?”

“Maybe.” A muscle moves in his jaw. “Or rogue hunters.”

His words settle into me cold and slow.

Rogue hunters?

I knew werewolves hated rogues, but I had never heard of rogue hunters. I want to know more about them but this is neither the time nor the place for that.

I look at the grass again, at the surrounding trees big enough to hide anything. Somewhere above, a bird calls and immediately goes silent. I can’t tell if that means something or nothing at all.

“What do we do?” I can hear the silent panic in my voice.

“We keep moving.” His hand brushes my lower back —more directive than gentle, urging me forward and slightly closer to him.

I quickened my pace immediately to match his.

The surrounding forest has gone unusually still. No more chirping birds now. No small movement from burrowing animals. Just our footsteps and our breathing.

I feel the blood rushing to my ears as my heart rate quickens.

As we pass along a stretch of road where the trees thin slightly, and the light gets brighter, I relax slightly, letting myself believe the worst is behind us.

That was until I felt the most excruciating pain I had ever felt in my life.

I feel a sharp and sudden burning sensation in my right thigh. It comes with an intensity that steals the air clean from my lungs.

My legs buckle beneath me as my hand flies down instinctively, my fingers find something that shouldn’t be there.

I look down.

An arrow!

Long and buried deep in my skin. The fabric of my trousers is already dark and wet around it, spreading faster than it should.

“Xavier—”

My voice doesn’t sound like mine.

He has already turned to me, his expression is not one I’m able to read as the world spins around me. The trees are smearing into streaks of green and gold as I feel the ground pulling me to it.

Am I dying?

I tried to hear Xavier’s voice but all I could focus on was the burning sensation I felt as my blood screamed in my veins.

The last thing I see are angry grey eyes above me, right before my world goes blank.