My Ex-Mate Rejected Me, Now His Enemy Wants Me

In The Enemy’s Territory

CLARABEL'S POV

Waking up felt like drowning in ice water.

The first thing I registered wasn't a sound or a sight, but the agonizing weight of my own body. My back felt like it had been fused to the mattress with molten lead. Every small, involuntary twitch of my muscles sent a fresh jagged line of lightning through my spine, a reminder of the silver-tipped whip and the man who had ordered it.

I didn't open my eyes immediately. I stayed quiet, listening.

The air here was different. In the Moonlit Packhouse, the air always smelled of pine and hearth-fire. Here, the air was sharp and heavy. It smelled of damp stone, old iron, and a forge that had just been quenched. It was the scent of a war camp, not a home.

Memories began to slot into place like falling stones. The rejection. Monica’s lies against me and her satisfied smirk when it worked. The wet thud of the lash. The forest, the arrow and then the man. The hunter… the Alpha with eyes like a winter storm and a presence that had felt like a physical blow.

I forced my eyes open.

The room was lit only by the grey morning light filtering through a high, narrow window slit. The walls were rough-hewn basalt, dark and unforgiving. I was lying on my stomach, my chest supported by a firm bolster to keep the weight off my back. I could feel the heavy, herbal salve caked onto my skin, its cooling sting fighting the fire of the welts.

I tried to push myself up, my hands trembling as they pressed into the furs beneath me. A low groan escaped my throat, but I forced my elbows to lock. I wouldn't be caught lying down like a wounded animal. Not here.

I knew where I was. The Blood-Wing Pack. The sworn enemies of my former life. If the Moonlit Pack were the "shining" guardians of the valley, the Blood-Wing were the shadows that kept them looking over their shoulders. They were known for their brutality, their discipline, and their absolute hatred for anything that touched Greenwood’s borders.

I was in the heart of the enemy's nest, and I was broken.

"I wouldn't move if I were you. The healers spent six hours stitching your back together. It would be a waste of their time if you ripped the scabs now."

The voice came from the corner of the room, draped in shadows. It was the same voice from the woods—deep, resonant, and entirely devoid of warmth.

I froze, my heart hammering against my ribs. I turned my head slowly, the movement sending a dull throb through my neck.

Malakai was leaning against the stone doorframe, his arms crossed over his massive chest. He wasn't wearing his furs now; he was in a dark, sleeveless tunic that showed the intricate, jagged scars of a warrior across his shoulders.

He didn't move. He just watched me with those piercing grey eyes, scanning me as if I were a puzzle he was tired of trying to solve.

"Wha—what are you doing here?" My voice was raspy, like I had been swallowing glass, but I kept it steady.

"What am I doing here? You're in the Blood-Wing stronghold," he said, stepping into the light. His presence seemed to shrink the room, making the stone walls feel like they were closing in. "And I suspect you already know that. Your wolf is suppressed by silver, but your blood... the smell doesn't lie."

I winced at the coldness of his voice, remembering the mate bond. I could still feel that golden, vibrating tether that pulled toward him. It was a cruel irony. I had been rejected by one mate only to be claimed by his greatest rival. Indeed, the Goddess must have a sick sense of humor.

"You're Greenwood’s discarded mate," he continued, his lip curling in a slight, mocking sneer. "The Luna who couldn't keep her Alpha's interest. I found out why he rejected you from the rumors through the border scouts. Banishment for attacking the 'true' love. Such a pathetic ending for a Luna."

I felt a flash of heat in my chest, but it wasn't the heat of shame. A week ago, I would have flinched at those words. I would have cried and tried to explain my innocence. I would have begged for him to believe that I was a victim.

But the girl who begged died on that stone floor in Moonlit. Now, I was filled with rage. Filled with the hunger to destroy Greenwood from afar.

"Discarded?" I repeated, my voice growing stronger as I pushed myself up further, ignoring the flare of agony in my back until I was sitting on the edge of the bed, the furs draped loosely over my front to cover my ruined dress. "Is that what you call it? I call it freedom."

Malakai paused, his eyes narrowing. He obviously expected me to crumble or weep at his feet.

"Careful, little Omega," he warned, taking a slow step toward me. "Do not think for once that being my guest gives you the right to speak to me in the tone you wish. In this Pack, your people are usually kept in chains. You are alive because I allowed it. Don't forget your place.”

He stopped inches from me, his shadow falling over my lap. Then he reached out, his large hand hovering near my face. I didn't pull away. “Have I made myself clear?”

I stared back at him, my jaw set. “Clearly.”

"Greenwood used to boast about you," his voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. "About how useful you are. A woman who knew her place at his side. With all these worth, do you really think he will not come searching for you?”

My teeth clenched hard, remembering all the insults and humiliation I was put through. “With all that worth, he still threw me out.”

“But there is a chance that he might realize he made a mistake and come to reclaim his 'property' from my lands."