The Rejected Luan's Chosen Path

Chapter 6: The Arrival

Rule

The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows over the rugged landscape just beyond the kingdom's fortified walls. The air was crisp, biting at our skin through the gaps in our armor, and every breath came out in thin, visible wisps. The scent of pine from the nearby forest mixed with the faint metallic tang of our armor—a familiar cocktail that spoke of battles fought and those yet to come.

I stood at the edge of the gravel clearing, arms crossed over my chest, the weight of my dark metal armor pressing against my shoulders like an old friend. The late afternoon sun caught the sharp edges of my gear, turning me and my enforcers into imposing shadows against the rugged backdrop. Beside me, Thorn and Dax stood just as still, their arms crossed, their gazes sharp, ready. We were a wall of silent judgment, waiting.

Do you think any of these pups will last an hour? Thorn's voice echoed in my mind, his telepathic link clear and smug.

I bet half of ‘em cry like babies before we even hit midday, Dax replied, the mental chuckle in his voice rumbling like distant thunder.

Fifty says that scrawny one with the buzz cut taps out first, Thorn added, nodding toward the approaching bus, kicking up a cloud of dust in its wake.

I didn’t respond, letting their banter swirl around me like background noise. My focus was on the task ahead—weeding out the weak, forging the strong. But there was a tension coiled in my chest, a heaviness I couldn’t shake.

Hey, Thorn's voice nudged into my thoughts again; I heard Beck Kingsley, Alpha Kingsley of the Alabaster Moon's pup, is coming. I wonder why he's here. Isn't he supposed to be the next Alpha of the pack?

Yeah, Dax answered before I could process. I heard his old man kicked him out of the pack. Something about him being gay: he couldn't handle his son not fitting the perfect mold.

I frowned, astounded by the prejudice most packs hold. I’ll never understand why such trivial standards measure strength in packs. Who cares if the boy is gay? Who cares if a female was born an alpha? As long as they can do their jobs, it shouldn’t matter. Unfortunately, it does matter to these backward packs.

Figures, Thorn snorted. I bet he won’t last long, either. Regardless of whether he’s gay or not, the pack is known to be soft.

Their mental snickers were cut short as the bus screeched to a halt, its brakes hissing like an angry beast. The door groaned open, and one by one, the recruits began to file out. Fresh faces, some wide-eyed with excitement, others hardened with false bravado. They had no idea what awaited them.

A few females exited the bus, their eyes immediately locking onto me. I felt their gazes, lingering and hungry, as they took in my frame—the sharp lines of my armor, the unmistakable aura of power that clung to me like a second skin. They whispered among themselves, their attraction palpable in the way they stood a little straighter, flicked their hair over their shoulders, and batted their lashes.

But I didn’t spare them a second glance.

And then I saw her.

Angelina.

The punch of attraction hit me square in the gut, a visceral, unwelcome force that I wasn’t prepared for. She stepped off the bus like she owned the ground beneath her feet, her ebony hair catching the light, cascading over her shoulders in waves. Her dark eyes scanned the clearing, sharp and assessing, like she could see right through the armor, right through me. There was confidence in her stance, a quiet defiance that set her apart from the others.

Damn, Thorn whistled in my head, his thoughts dripping with appreciation. She’s hot. I wonder what she’s doing here. Maybe she's looking for a mate.

I wouldn’t mind being her mate, Dax added with a mental grin.

That was enough.

Focus, I snapped, my mental tone colder than the steel of our armor. She's just another recruit. Keep it professional.

Their mental chatter fell silent, the reprimand cutting through the easy camaraderie like a blade.

But as the recruits gathered, my eyes were drawn back to Angelina as if pulled by an invisible thread. And then it happened—her gaze met mine. For a heartbeat, everything else faded away. Her dark eyes locked onto mine, and I saw the flicker of attraction, the subtle hitch in her breath. She blushed, her gaze dropping, but not before glancing back up from under her lashes.

A slow, knowing smirk tugged at the edges of my mind, though my face remained impassive. I knew that look. She feels my lure. Not surprising. I was a powerful Lycan—my features were sharp and perfectly symmetrical, my masculine frame carved from centuries of combat and discipline. I radiated an aura of power that was unmatched, even by the werewolf king himself. Lycans are far more powerful than werewolves. The only reason Lycans are not at the top is because there are so few left, and those who are still here have no interest in getting involved in werewolf politics. I care very little about ruling people. My preference is to be in the middle of the fight. There's nothing like the exhilaration that you feel when you destroy your enemies.

Though I was satisfied by the attraction, outwardly, I was stone-cold, stoic, and unyielding. I let none of that awareness show, maintaining the brooding smolder that had served me well over the years.

My gaze hardened further as I noticed her talking to Beck, the tall, dark-haired recruit with the easy smile that grated on my nerves more than it should. The sight of her smiling at something he said sparked something sharp and unwelcome in my chest.

I clenched my jaw, stepping forward to address the group. My voice was cold, sharp enough to cut through the thin veneer of their confidence.

“Welcome to hell,” I began, my eyes sweeping over the recruits, lingering on Angelina just long enough to make sure she felt the weight of my indifference. “You’re here because you think you have what it takes to be Elite. But let me make one thing clear—most of you won’t last the week. Some of you won’t even last the day.”

The recruits shifted nervously, exchanging uneasy glances. Good. Fear was a tool, and I intended to use it.

“There are no favorites here,” I continued, my gaze locking on Angelina for a fraction of a second longer. “No special treatment. You’re all the same—until you prove otherwise.”

I turned on my heel, the cold weight of my armor matching the ice settling in my chest. She was just another recruit. And I’d make damn sure I treated her like one.

But deep down, I knew—this she-wolf was going to be more trouble than I ever anticipated.