The Princess the Alpha Rejected

CHAPTER 14

Ariana’s POV

Night was the only time Silvercrest truly slept.

During the day, the pack was relentless—voices, movement, constant awareness pressing in from every direction. Even when no one was watching me openly, I could feel the weight of attention lingering like a shadow that refused to leave. But at night, when the moon climbed high and the pack grounds quieted, Silvercrest loosened its grip.

That was when I moved.

I waited until Clara’s house was still, until her breathing had evened out and the lamps in neighboring homes dimmed one by one. Only then did I slip from my room, pulling a dark cloak around my shoulders as I eased the back door open and stepped into the cool night air.

The forest beyond the pack boundary greeted me like an old friend.

Its silence was not empty. It was alive—filled with soft rustling leaves, distant nocturnal calls, and the steady rhythm of the earth beneath my feet. Here, no one expected anything from me. No one watched to judge or measure.

Here, I could breathe.

I walked deeper into the trees until the lights of Silvercrest were nothing more than a faint glow behind me. The ground sloped gently downward into a clearing I had discovered weeks ago, hidden enough that even wandering warriors rarely passed through it. Moonlight filtered through the canopy above, illuminating the space in pale silver.

My wolf stirred immediately.

*You waited too long tonight,* she murmured, her voice smooth and familiar, brushing against my thoughts like a presence settling beside me.

“I had to,” I replied silently as I slipped off my cloak and set it aside. “People are paying attention now. Too much attention.”

She circled within me, restless but obedient. *They are beginning to see. You cannot hold me back forever.*

I closed my eyes briefly, grounding myself. “I know. But not here. Not in Silvercrest.”

I stepped into the center of the clearing and let my shoulders relax, letting my awareness sink inward. The suppression technique my mother had taught me was still firmly in place, masking my aura, dulling the sharp edges of my power. Even so, the pull of my wolf pressed insistently against it, testing the boundaries.

*You are starving me,* she said quietly. *You ask me to be small when we were never meant to be.*

The guilt flared instantly, sharp and unwelcome. “I’m not asking you to be small,” I said, my voice steady despite the emotion tightening my chest. “I’m asking you to be patient.”

I rolled my shoulders and shifted into motion, beginning with slow, deliberate stretches. Every movement was controlled, purposeful, my muscles warming as I eased into familiar patterns. This was not Silvercrest’s brutal, dominance-driven training. This was precision. Balance. Control.

This was how I had been taught.

I moved through footwork drills, light on my feet, focusing on silence and efficiency. Each step was measured, every turn smooth and economical. I imagined threats from all directions, adjusted my stance, corrected my balance instinctively.

My wolf watched, alert and engaged.

*You are holding back,* she observed.

“Yes,” I admitted. “Because if I don’t, they’ll feel it.”

Silvercrest valued strength, but they only recognized one kind. Raw. Loud. Obvious. They would not understand the kind of power that came from restraint, from choosing not to strike even when you could.

They would fear it.

And fear, in this pack, was dangerous.

I picked up speed, movements flowing more fluidly now, my breathing steady as sweat began to bead along my skin. My wolf surged closer to the surface, her energy wrapping around me, lending sharpness to my senses even through the suppression.

*They already fear you,* she said softly. *They simply do not know why.*

I didn’t answer right away.

Instead, I shifted my focus inward, reaching deeper, allowing her presence to rise just enough that I could feel her strength without unleashing it. The sensation was intoxicating—heat flooding my veins, clarity sharpening my thoughts, the world around me snapping into vivid detail.

I stopped abruptly, forcing the energy back down before it could crest.

“No,” I said firmly. “Not here.”

*Why do you protect them?* she asked, genuinely curious rather than accusatory. *They hurt you. They judged you without knowing you.*

“I’m not protecting them,” I replied, opening my eyes and staring up at the moon. “I’m protecting us.”

I sank down onto a fallen log at the edge of the clearing, my breathing slowing as the adrenaline faded. The forest hummed quietly around me, unbothered by my internal struggle.

“If I show them everything,” I continued, my voice softer now, “they won’t see *me*. They’ll see a threat. Or a symbol. Or something they think they can control or destroy.”

My wolf settled, her presence heavy but calm. *You are tired of hiding.*

“Yes,” I admitted. “But I’m more tired of being misunderstood.”

She was quiet for a long moment, and I could feel her considering my words, turning them over with the same careful attention she gave everything.

*This place is not your battlefield,* she finally said. *It is your lesson.*

I let out a slow breath, tension easing from my shoulders. “Exactly. And lessons take time.”

I stood again, this time shifting into combat forms my mother had drilled into me since childhood. They were not meant to overwhelm an opponent, but to neutralize, to end conflict efficiently. Each movement flowed seamlessly into the next, my body remembering what my mind did not need to consciously command.

I imagined Silvercrest’s training style intersecting with mine, adjusting angles, compensating for aggression with redirection. It was easy—too easy—to see how quickly things could escalate if I stopped holding back.

That was what frightened me.

Not my power.

But how little room Silvercrest left for it.

When I finally slowed, my muscles burning pleasantly, I sank to the ground and leaned back against a tree, closing my eyes. The bond stirred faintly within me, calm and steady, like a distant heartbeat.

I thought of Adrian then, of his measured words and deliberate patience. Of how he had looked at me—not as someone to be evaluated, but as someone worth understanding.

That mattered more than I let myself admit.

*He sees you,* my wolf said, surprising me.

“He sees part of me,” I corrected gently. “The part I choose to show.”

*And the rest?*

I opened my eyes, gazing at the moonlit clearing. “The rest stays with us. For now.”

The walk back was slower, my body pleasantly sore, my mind quieter than it had been in days. When I slipped back into the house and closed the door softly behind me, the familiar scent of home wrapped around me, grounding and reassuring.

In my room, I sat on the edge of the bed and rested my hands on my knees, letting the silence settle.

“We’ll leave eventually,” I told my wolf quietly. “This year will end. And when it does, I won’t need to hide anymore.”

She stirred, warm and certain. *Until then, we endure.*

“Until then,” I agreed.

I lay back and stared at the ceiling, exhaustion finally claiming me. Silvercrest slept on, unaware of the truths walking quietly through its forest each night.

And that was how it needed to be.

For now.