Rejected? Thanks! Now I'm Petting the Lycan King

Chapter 2: The Grumpy Dog in the Alley

The rain had transitioned from a polite drizzle to a miserable, freezing downpour by the time I reached the neon-lit boundaries of the human city. My silver heels were ruined, my designer dress was plastered to my shivering skin, and my mascara was likely running down my face like war paint.

I didn't care. I felt completely, euphorically invincible.

Under the harsh, flickering light of a broken streetlamp, I pulled out my phone and refreshed my banking app for the fourteenth time in the last twenty minutes. The screen illuminated the darkness, displaying a series of numbers so beautiful I almost wanted to kiss them.

$50,000,000.00. Transfer Complete.

I let out a breathless, borderline manic laugh that echoed off the damp brick walls around me. I had actually done it. In my past life, I had died a broken, penniless outcast, freezing in the snow while mourning a mate who treated me like garbage. In this life, I was twenty-one, completely unbonded, and richer than a small island nation.

Love was a fragile, useless illusion. But a fifty-million-dollar balance? That was a warm, heavy blanket of absolute security.

My stomach gave a loud, unladylike growl, interrupting my financial gloating. The intense adrenaline crash was finally hitting me, replacing the high of blackmailing a future Alpha with a sudden, ravenous hunger. I needed calories. Specifically, the greasy, heavily processed, wonderfully cheap kind of calories that the Silvermoon Pack’s private chefs would have a heart attack just looking at.

I spotted a glowing, greasy sign a block away: Big Sal’s Burgers – Open 24/7. It was exactly the kind of establishment that gave health inspectors nightmares. It was perfect.

Pushing through the glass door, a bell jingled cheerfully. The air inside was thick with the smell of frying oil and burnt onions. I slapped a twenty-dollar bill onto the sticky linoleum counter and ordered the biggest double cheeseburger on the menu, a large fry, and a milkshake thicker than wet cement.

While the tired-looking teenager behind the register scooped my fries, my mind snapped back to business mode.

Seth had paid me off, yes. But I wasn't stupid. I knew how Alphas operated, especially one with a bruised ego and a dark secret to protect. He wouldn't let me walk away forever. Once the sting of the public humiliation wore off, he would likely send a few "rogue" wolves to track me down, intimidate me, or worse. I needed a plan. I needed protection.

I couldn't hire human bodyguards—they’d be useless against a werewolf. And I couldn't hire from within the pack networks without word getting back to Seth. I needed someone off the grid. Someone desperate. Someone who looked intimidating enough to scare off a minor pack member, but cheap enough that I didn't have to dip too deeply into my newfound fortune.

Grabbing my greasy brown paper bag, I stepped back out into the rain. I decided to take a shortcut through the narrow alleyway next to Big Sal’s to reach the main road where I could hail a cab.

That was my first mistake.

Halfway down the dark, trash-strewn alley, a metallic clatter echoed sharply to my left. I froze.

The air shifted. The familiar, pungent smell of garbage and wet pavement was suddenly violently pierced by the sharp, metallic tang of fresh blood.

Werewolf blood.

Every survival instinct I possessed screamed at me to turn around and run. Rogues—werewolves who had been cast out of or abandoned their packs—frequented the human slums. They were wild, unpredictable, and highly territorial. In my past life, a rogue attack was what ultimately killed me.

But as I backed up, my silver heel snapped on a broken glass bottle, sending me stumbling backward with a sharp gasp.

"Don't move."

The voice didn't come from a human. It was a low, gravelly vibration that seemed to physically rattle the brick walls around us. It sounded like stones grinding together, deep and impossibly dangerous.

I squinted into the suffocating darkness of the alley. Sitting slumped against a rusty dumpster, partially hidden by the shadows, was a man.

No, 'man' was an understatement. He was a mountain wrapped in a tattered, rain-soaked leather jacket. Even sitting on the wet pavement with his knees drawn up, he was massive. His shoulders were impossibly broad, stretching the thick leather of his coat to its absolute limit.

But it was his eyes that caught my attention. In the pitch black, they were glowing. A faint, smoldering amber light pierced the shadows, locking onto me with the predatory intensity of a cornered beast.

He let out a low, rumbling growl. It was a warning. A sound designed by nature to trigger absolute, paralyzing fear in any lower-ranking wolf. It was an Alpha’s command to submit.

I stood there, holding my greasy paper bag of burgers, waiting for the terror to hit me. I waited for my knees to buckle, for my head to bow, for the biological urge to expose my neck in submission.

Five seconds passed. Nothing happened.

I actually blinked in confusion. For the second time tonight, a supposed Alpha aura had washed right over me like a gentle breeze. Whatever weird, broken Omega biology I possessed in this second life, it was proving to be incredibly convenient.

The glowing eyes in the dark narrowed. He growled again, louder this time, shifting his massive weight. I heard the unmistakable sound of heavy combat boots scraping against the asphalt, followed by a sharp hiss of pain.

He was injured.

My capitalist brain, completely overriding my survival instincts, immediately began to run a rapid cost-benefit analysis.

Look at the size of him. He was built like a tank. He was clearly a rogue werewolf, which meant he was off the grid. He was injured and hiding in a filthy alleyway behind a cheap burger joint, which meant he was broke and desperate. He looked terrifying enough to make Seth’s arrogant little lackeys wet their pants just by standing in a room.

He is perfect.

"Stop growling, you sound like a defective lawnmower," I sighed, adjusting my grip on my takeout bag.

The growling abruptly choked off. If a giant, terrifying shadow monster could look bewildered, this one definitely did.

"What did you say?" the gravelly voice rasped, sounding more confused than threatening now.

"I said, stop growling. It's not working, and you're just straining your vocal cords." I took two deliberate steps toward the dumpster, my ruined heels clicking against the pavement.

As I got closer, the ambient light from the street illuminated him. My breath hitched slightly, though not from fear.

He was strikingly, almost aggressively handsome. His face was a landscape of sharp, aristocratic angles covered in dirt and a few days' worth of dark stubble. Rain plastered jet-black hair against his forehead, and a nasty, bleeding s***h ran across his left cheekbone. He looked like a fallen warrior, or a very expensive Calvin Klein model cosplaying as a street thug.

"You're bleeding," I pointed out the obvious, staring down at him.

His jaw clenched. He stared up at me, his amber eyes taking in my ruined designer gown, my drenched silver hair, and the distinct lack of fear on my face. "Leave, Omega. Before I decide you're not worth the effort of ignoring."

"Rude. But I can work with that," I muttered to myself. I crouched down, ignoring the dirty puddle ruining the hem of my dress, and brought myself to eye level with him.

He stiffened, his massive hands curling into fists. "Are you insane? You smell like a high-society pet. If you know what's good for you, walk away."

"What's good for me is exactly what I'm doing." I reached into my paper bag and pulled out the hot, foil-wrapped double cheeseburger. The smell of grilled beef and melted cheese instantly overpowered the metallic scent of blood.

I saw his nostrils flare. His eyes flicked to the burger, then back to my face. The absolute hunger radiating from him was palpable.

"Here is the deal, Mr. Broke-and-Bleeding," I said, my voice crisp and totally devoid of sympathy. "I have a problem. My ex-fiancé is an arrogant, narcissistic Alpha who is probably going to try and harass me in the near future. I am in need of a visual deterrent. A bodyguard. A fake boyfriend, if you will."

The giant man blinked slowly, the golden glow in his eyes dimming slightly in sheer, unadulterated disbelief. "You are... trying to hire me."

"I am offering you employment, yes. Try to keep up." I unwrapped half of the burger, letting the steam rise into the cold air. "You are huge, you look like a convicted felon, and you clearly don't have anywhere to be. It’s a perfect match."

He let out a short, rough bark of laughter that sounded painful. "You have no idea who I am, little girl."

"I know you're sitting in a puddle behind a fast-food restaurant," I shot back smoothly. "So unless you're the secret CEO of this alleyway, your resume isn't exactly intimidating."

His jaw dropped a fraction of an inch. I could tell he wasn't used to being spoken to this way. In fact, he looked like nobody had ever spoken to him like this in his entire life.

"The terms," I continued, pressing my advantage, "are simple. You follow me. You stand around looking menacing whenever someone from my old pack shows up. You don't ask questions about my personal life. In exchange, I will provide you with a dry roof over your head, three meals a day, and a salary."

I reached into my pocket, pulled out my wallet, and extracted a single, crisp ten-dollar bill. I slapped it onto the wet foil wrapping of the burger.

"Ten dollars a day. That's a highly competitive rate in this economy for unskilled labor."

Silence stretched between us, thick and heavy. The rain continued to pour, drumming against the metal dumpster. The man looked at the ten-dollar bill, then at the cheeseburger, and finally up into my eyes.

I expected anger. I expected him to lunge at me, offended by the meager offering. I had fifty million dollars sitting in my bank account, but rule number one of becoming a self-made rich woman: never overpay for a stray.

Instead of anger, something shifted in his expression. The dangerous, feral edge in his amber eyes was suddenly replaced by a flicker of deep, profound amusement. It was a microscopic change, but it completely transformed his face.

He reached out. His hand was enormous, his knuckles scarred and bruised. His long fingers elegantly pinched the ten-dollar bill, sliding it off the burger with surprising gentleness, before he took the food from my hand.

"Ten dollars," he repeated, his voice dropping an octave, wrapping around me like dark velvet. "And room and board."

"And you have to wash my dishes," I added quickly, realizing I had leverage.

The man took a massive bite of the greasy burger, chewing thoughtfully. He swallowed, his throat working visibly, and then locked his gaze with mine. The golden light in his eyes flared, bright and consuming, pinning me in place.

"Deal," he rumbled.

I smiled, feeling a surge of absolute triumph. I had just solved my biggest problem for the price of a cheap lunch. "Excellent. Can you stand? Or do I need to drag you to the taxi?"

He didn't answer. Instead, he placed a hand against the brick wall and pushed himself up.

And up.

And up.

I had to physically take a step back, tilting my head back until my neck cracked. When he was sitting down, I knew he was big. But standing up to his full height, he blotted out the streetlights entirely. He had to be at least six-foot-five, a towering mountain of pure, lethal muscle that made Seth look like a teenager in a cheap suit. The air around him seemed to hum with suppressed energy, dark and overwhelmingly powerful.

Suddenly, my ten-dollar investment didn't look like a desperate stray anymore. He looked like an apex predator that had just decided to play along with its food.

A tiny, rational voice in the back of my head whispered that I had just made a very, very dangerous mistake.

"Lead the way, boss," the giant murmured, the corner of his lips twitching into a smirk that didn't reach his terrifyingly intense eyes.

I swallowed hard, clutching my remaining fries to my chest.

Well, I thought to myself, turning toward the street. At least I got a receipt for the burger.