The Alpha's Reject, The King's Obsession

Chapter 3: Fire and Shadows

The fire crackled, spitting tiny orange sparks across the dark stone floor.

I stood frozen near the hearth, wrapping my arms tight around my freezing ribs. My fingers were still stiff and red from the snow, and the thin fabric of my ruined dress felt like ice against my skin. Every part of me wanted to shake, but the heavy, suffocating weight of the room kept me completely still.

Drack Collins didn't look like a monster right now. But he didn't look gentle, either.

He stood just a few feet away, watching me with those impossible silver eyes. The air around him felt hot—not like a fireplace, but like the heavy, thundering heat before a summer storm. My wolf, Lyre, was quiet inside my head, curled up tight and purring with a deep, shaky hum of satisfaction. The pain from Jace’s cruel rejection was entirely gone, replaced by a thick, heavy warmth that tied us straight to the man standing across the room.

"You're shaking, little wolf," Drack said.

His voice was lower now. It didn't shake the stones anymore, but it scraped right across my skin, making the hairs on my arms stand straight up.

"I... I'm okay," I lied. My teeth clicked together so hard it hurt.

The King didn't answer with words. He just let out a low breath through his nose, took two long strides forward, and shrugged off his heavy, fur-lined outer coat. Before I could even blink, he draped the thick, warm pelts over my shoulders.

The weight of it nearly knocked me sideways, but the sudden blast of heat was so intense I almost cried. It smelled like cedar wood, mountain smoke, and rain. It was huge on me, dragging on the stone floor like a royal cape, completely swallowing my small frame.

"Sit," Drack commanded softly, pointing a large hand toward a carved stone chair right by the crackling fire.

I didn't argue. My legs felt like dry twigs ready to snap. I shuffled over and sank down onto the seat, pulling the heavy furs tight around my chin.

Drack didn't sit. He turned his broad back to me, walking over to a heavy wooden table on the other side of the vast hall. He poured a dark, steaming liquid from a heavy clay pitcher into a silver cup, then walked back and set it on a small round table beside my chair.

"Drink," he said, keeping his distance so he wouldn't crowd me. "It's hot spiced wine. It will pull the frost out of your blood."

I stared down at the silver cup. The steam curled up into the cold air, smelling sweet and sharp. In the Crimson Moon packhouse, omegas weren't allowed to drink wine, let alone sit by the main hearth or wear pelts meant for pack royalty. Back there, if I spilled a drop of water, I’d get a slap across the face or a week locked in the dark pantry.

Here, the absolute ruler of the Lycans was standing guard while I warmed my hands.

"Why?" I whispered, my voice cracking in the quiet hall. I looked up, meeting his piercing silver gaze. "I'm just an omega. I'm nothing to my own pack. Why bring me here?"

Drack’s jaw tightened. A muscle jumped in his cheek, and for a second, the air in the room grew so hot and heavy it felt hard to pull breath into my lungs.

"Jace Scottsdale is a beta of a weak, blind little border pack," Drack said, his voice dropping into a dangerous, gravelly register. "He threw away something rare because he wanted to impress an alpha's daughter with a shiny red dress. He didn't see what you are. But my eyes aren't painted on."

My heart gave a strange, heavy thump against my ribs.

"You're not nothing, Cassandra," the King continued, taking one slow step closer. "The moon goddess doesn't make mistakes. She didn't break your bond with that fool just to leave you freezing in the snow. She broke it because you belong to the mountains now. You belong to me."

The words sent a violent, electric shiver straight down my spine.

“He means it,” Lyre whispered in my mind, her voice full of fierce, sudden pride. “We belong to the King. The whole pack is going to pay for what they did to us, Cassandra.”

I picked up the silver cup with both shaking hands. The metal was warm against my palms. I took a small sip, and the hot, spicy wine burned all the way down my throat, melting the ice in my chest.

"What happens tomorrow?" I asked, looking back up at him through the steam rising from the cup. "The Crimson Moon pack... they'll know where I went. What if they come looking for me?"

A slow, terrifying smile touched the corners of Drack’s mouth. It didn't look happy; it looked like a predator showing its teeth before the hunt.

"Let them come," the King murmured, his silver eyes flashing in the firelight. "No wolf from that pack has ever dared to cross our borders. If they step foot on my mountain looking for what is mine, I will tear their packhouse down to the dirt."

I sat back in the massive stone chair, pulling the heavy furs tighter around my face. For the first time in my entire life, nobody was yelling at me. Nobody was telling me to clean the floors or stay out of sight.

In the dark shadows of the Lycan fortress, wrapped in the King's coat, I realized something terrifying and wonderful.

My old life as an abused omega was completely dead and buried in the snow. And whatever came next?

The pack wasn't ready for it.