Bloodthirsty Alpha’s 'Reject' Mate

KATRINA'S POV “Get away from me, you worthless piece of shit.” She looked at me like I was something foul—something disgusting. I dropped my gaze to the floor, avoiding her eyes. This is what I’ve been reduced to—nothing. I couldn’t even defend myself. If I tried, I’d just get beaten again. She sneered and sighed dramatically. “I don’t have a second to waste in your presence. Go clean my room—and do it properly this time.” With a wave of her hand, I scrambled off the floor and went to obey. Sometimes I fantasize about running away from this hellhole, but even I laugh at the thought. Where would I go? No one wants me. I’m a reject. You might be wondering—what does that even mean? It’s simple. A “reject” is someone who never shifted on their sixteenth birthday. We’re treated worse than slaves. Nobody claims us, nobody mates with us. We’re destined to die alone. We don’t live long enough to grow old—we work ourselves to death, slowly, painfully. And that’s what I am. When I turned sixteen, I waited—hopeful, excited. But the day passed. So did the night. And nothing happened. My father, who once had such high hopes for me, looked at me like I was garbage. “So, you’re one of them. A reject,” he had said coldly. “Get out of my house. No child of mine will live under my roof if they’re useless.” That was the day I was thrown out. Disowned. Now, I survive by doing odd jobs for people who hate the sight of me—like Miss Brenda. I can’t even blame her for how she treats me. In fact, I’m almost grateful. At least the money she gives me puts food in my stomach. Three meals a day is more than most rejects get. After I finished cleaning today, she came back to inspect my work. I didn’t dare lift my eyes. I kept them glued to the floor, praying she’d find nothing wrong. But she sighed—the kind of sigh that made my stomach clench. Then came the sting—a slap across my face, sharp and sudden. I winced, but I didn’t cry out. I never do. “Even something this simple is too much for you,” she snapped. “What can you do, huh? Ugh, now my hands are dirty again.” I stayed silent, swallowing my pain. She threw a wad of cash at my feet like I was some beggar. I crouched to pick it up, my pride long buried. This was still a better day than most—at least she didn’t beat me until I bled. She always reminded me that I should be grateful someone even bothered to give me work. No one else would. Clutching the money, I managed to murmur, “I’ll be leaving now.” She waved me off without a word. I bowed my head and left. The money would last me three days—enough to keep me going until she called again. I walked for miles, head down, back to what I reluctantly called home. When my father cast me out, I came here—to the Rejects' Residence. That was six years ago. And I’ve lived here ever since. It was hell at first, but over time, I adapted. We take care of each other here, because no one else will. Our paths don’t cross with the rest of the pack—they don’t like seeing us. It’s better that way. I don’t have to face the people who once called me family. When I finally reached our tiny, broken-down shelter—barely a house, really, shared with four others—I heard cries from inside. It was Mara and the others. My heart leaped into my throat. The baby was coming. I rushed into the shabby room, heart pounding, only to find the others gathered tightly around Mara, who lay on a worn-out blanket, her face twisted in agony. “Oh, thank God you’re here,” Pamela cried, her cheeks streaked with tears. “We don’t know what to do,” Tricia added, panic thick in her voice. “Karina,” Lucy said, turning to me, “do you have any idea what to do?” I froze. My mind raced, but I was just as lost as they were. None of us had any medical training—how could we? We were rejects. No doctors lived among us. No one cared enough to teach us. But then, somewhere deep in my memory, a forgotten moment surfaced—the day my brother was born. I had tried so hard to forget my family, to bury the pain they caused. But right now, I needed every scrap of knowledge I could cling to. I closed my eyes and reached back into that memory. “Get me a towel,” I said suddenly, my voice stronger than I felt. “Soak it in cold water and place it on her head.” Pamela scrambled to follow my instructions. I moved closer to Mara, who was sweating and writhing, her breaths coming in ragged gasps. “Open your legs wide,” I told her gently. “The pain... it’s too much,” she whimpered, tears slipping down her cheeks. “I know,” I said softly, placing the cool towel on her burning forehead. “Just hold on. It’ll pass.” I reached between her legs, hesitating. I had no idea what I was doing, not really. But I remembered the midwife from twelve years ago, the way she guided my mother through her labor. “Does it feel like the baby’s coming?” I asked, repeating the same question the midwife once did. Mara shook her head frantically. “No, but the pain—it's unbearable.” I squeezed her hand tightly. “You’re strong. Just hold on, okay? You’re not alone.” The girls gathered around her, each one of us helpless yet determined to be there. None of us knew how to handle this—but we were all she had. For the next two hours, Mara screamed, cried, and trembled while we tried to soothe her. The towel on her forehead was soaked through, replaced again and again. Tricia’s face was swollen from crying so hard as if she could physically feel every bit of Mara’s pain. I wanted to break, but I couldn’t. Someone had to stay strong. Then Mara’s voice broke through the chaos: “I think... I think it’s coming.” I wiped my tears quickly and steadied myself. Lucy gripped her hand while Pamela whispered prayers under her breath. I took position and braced myself. “Alright, Mara. On three. One... two... three—push!” She groaned and pushed with all the strength she had left. Again and again, we counted, and again and again, she pushed—until I finally saw it. “I see the head!” I shouted, breathless. “Just one more push!” With one last, desperate effort, Mara screamed and bore down—and then, finally, the room filled with the wailing cry of a newborn. A son. My hands trembled as I lifted the slippery, tiny body. “Oh, thank God,” I breathed, both relieved and terrified. But just as joy rushed through us, Lucy’s panicked voice shattered it all. “Mara? Mara, open your eyes!” I turned and saw her body going limp, her eyes fluttering shut. “Mara!” I cried, clutching the baby to my chest, his umbilical cord still tethered to his mother. Pamela and Tricia rushed to her side, shaking her, calling her name through their sobs. But I couldn’t move. I just stood there, frozen, cradling the newborn as the horror unfolded. “Please,” I begged, tears streaming down my cheeks. “Mara, it’s a boy. You did it. Open your eyes... hold your son...” We were just sixteen. Children ourselves. Thrown into a place forgotten by the world, left to figure out survival without guidance. We weren’t equipped for any of this. “I’ll go get help,” Pamela sobbed, bolting out the door. “She’s still breathing... maybe she fainted,” Lucy said, trying to sound calm. I grabbed a dull knife from our supplies and, with shaking hands, cut the cord that still connected Mara to her child. I wrapped the baby in a clean cloth and laid him gently on the small table nearby. Then I hurried to Mara’s side, checking for signs of life. She was still breathing—barely. Minutes later, Pamela returned with three other girls and an older woman who’d been away when labor started. She’d helped deliver babies before and quickly took control. With all of us working together, Mara was stabilized. “You did well, Karina,” the older woman said as she cleaned Mara up. “You saved her.” I let out a long, shaky breath. My clothes were soaked with blood. I needed to wash, to feel clean again. But in the Rejects’ Residence, we couldn’t bathe during the day. There was no running water here—just the stream hidden deep in the forest. We snuck out at night, unseen by the rest of the pack. If we were caught... punishment didn’t bear thinking about. That night, under the cloak of darkness, I walked to the stream. The cold water bit into my skin as I waded in, scrubbing away the blood, the fear, the sorrow. And yet, I had never felt so alive. There was a baby among us now. A miracle. But I knew the truth. He wouldn’t stay. The head of our residence would report the birth to the Pack Alpha. Babies born of rejects were spared—they were taken in and raised among the pack. Being born of a reject didn’t make you one. It was the only mercy we were ever granted. Still, my heart ached for Mara. I didn’t know how she would survive losing him. As I stood in the water, letting it run down my face, I heard it. A twig snapped behind me. My body went stiff. I spun around, my heart slamming in my chest. Someone was standing in the shadows, half-hidden by the trees. “Who are you?” I demanded, my voice trembling. “What are you doing here?” I clutched my arms around myself, glancing quickly around for my clothes. The figure didn’t speak. And suddenly, the night didn’t feel so safe anymore.