Rejected as Weak: The Alpha Wants Me Back

Help Him

Silas came back twenty minutes later with two names and a confirmation.

"The Keller family agreed. They know who you are. They still want to meet." He paused. "So did the Harts."

I nodded, relieved in a way I didn't want to examine too closely. Two families had heard the word rejected mate and still chose to sit down with me.

That was something.

"Which one first?" I asked.

"The Kellers. Their daughter has been struggling with sensory overload during—"

He stopped mid-sentence.

His phone buzzed.

He glanced at the screen, and his expression tightened.

"Calder's son is getting worse."

I didn't move.

Silas looked at me. "The medic is with him. Ruth called for help about five minutes ago."

"Is she asking for me?"

"No. She asked for the medic."

I leaned back against the wall.

"Then that's who should be there."

Silas didn't argue.

He typed something quickly, then tilted the phone toward me.

"The medic says Ben's heart rate is climbing. Partial Shift is stalled. He's fighting it."

"Where is he?"

"South wing. Near the old storage room." He turned toward the door. "I'm going. You can stay here or come, but if

you come, you stay outside until Ruth says otherwise."

I followed him.

The south wing smelled like old paint and dust.

A small crowd had gathered in the corridor, mostly staff. Someone had already cleared a space around the storage room door, which stood half open.

Through the gap, I could see Ben on the floor with his back against the wall. His knees were drawn up, his arms locked around them.

One hand was furred, claws pressing into his own sleeve.

The other was still human, fingers white with strain.

Ruth knelt a few feet away, her hands hovering in the air like she couldn't decide whether to reach for him or pull back.

"Ben, stop," she was saying. "You need to stop. You're scaring everyone."

Ben's jaw clenched.

The fur spread up his forearm, then receded.

His whole body shuddered.

The medic—a lean woman named Anya, from the patch on her jacket—was already inside. She moved carefully, checking his pulse without pulling his arms away from his body.

"Ben, I need you to loosen your hands. Just a little. Can you do that?"

He shook his head.

"Ben." Ruth's voice pitched higher. "Do what she says."

His breathing hitched.

The claws on his left hand scraped against the floor.

I stayed outside.

Gideon had once told me that a trained handler could manage most Shift crises with enough space and clear commands.

Greyhaven was doing exactly that.

Anya kept her voice low and steady. A young trainer I didn't recognize stood near the far wall, hands visible, not crowding.

Elias appeared at the end of the corridor, took one look at the scene, and quietly told two onlookers to leave.

He didn't push forward.

Didn't throw Alpha weight around.

They were doing everything right.

It wasn't enough.

Ben's Shift kept trying to move, and Ben kept forcing it back.

Every time the wolf pushed, he braced harder.

Every time he braced, the pain worsened.

His face was pale, sweat darkening the collar of his shirt. His eyes flicked between Ruth and the floor, and his chest

rose in sharp, irregular jerks.

Ruth said, "Ben, look at me. You're okay. You're okay."

But her voice was trembling.

And Ben heard it.

His hand slammed against the wall—not to hurt anyone, just to brace—and a low, pained sound escaped him.

The fur spread again, this time up to his elbow.

Ruth gasped.

Ben saw her face and immediately tried to force it back.

The claws scraped.

His spine arched.

He let out a sob.

Silas was beside me now.

Quietly, he asked, "What are you seeing?"

"He's fighting the Shift."

"I can see that."

I shook my head.

"No. He's not just afraid of Shifting. He's afraid of what it does to her."

I paused.

"Every time she gets scared, he tries harder to stop. And the harder he fights, the worse it gets."

Silas looked from me to the room, then back.

"Can you help?"

The question wasn't a command.

It was a genuine request for information.

I looked at Ruth.

She was still on her knees, both hands pressed to her mouth now, her eyes wide and wet.

"Not unless she asks me to," I said.

Silas didn't push.

He didn't call out to Ruth.

He just stood there, watching, while Greyhaven's people did what they could.

They couldn't fix the loop.

Ben's eyes rolled back for a second.

His whole body locked.

A patch of fur appeared along his jaw, then vanished.

He gasped like he'd been underwater.

"Help him," Ruth whispered.

Then louder, looking directly at me for the first time since the consultation room:

"Help him. But if you make this worse—"

She didn't finish the threat.

She didn't have to.

I stepped forward but stopped at the threshold.

"Are you asking me to help him?"

Ruth's face twisted—anger, fear, desperation all tangled together.

"Yes." Her voice cracked. "Yes. Help him."

I walked in.

Anya shifted just enough to give me room, but stayed close enough to reach Ben if she needed to. The trainer near

the wall stayed where he was.

I kept my hands visible and my movements slow.

But I didn't go straight to Ben.

I stopped beside Ruth.

"I need you to move back."

Her head snapped up.

"I'm his mother."

"I know." I held her gaze. "But he's watching you. Every time he sees you scared, he tries harder to stop. And the harder he tries, the more it hurts."

Ruth's face went pale.

"I'm not trying to—"

"I know you're not." I kept my voice even. "But he needs you somewhere he can see you, and he needs you not to tell him to stop."

She stared at me like I'd asked her to cut off her own hand.

But after a long moment, she shifted backward, just a few feet.

Not leaving.

Still visible.

"Sit down," I said. "Put your hands where he can see them. Don't say anything. Just breathe."

She sat, stiff and terrified.

I turned back to Ben.

His eyes found mine.

They were half gold, half brown, and full of the particular panic of a kid who believed he was about to ruin everything.

"I'm not going to touch you," I said. "But I need you to listen."

He didn't nod.

He didn't move.

"Stop fighting it."

His whole body flinched.

"I can't. I'll scare her."

The words came out thin and broken.

"She's already scared," I said. "You don't have to fix that."

Ben's breath caught.

For a second, the Shift surged—fur along his arms, claws extending, bones shifting—and he braced so hard I could see the muscles in his neck strain.

"Ben." I kept my voice low. "Let her be scared. It's not yours to fix."

His eyes went to Ruth.

She was still sitting, hands open in her lap, tears on her face.

Not calm.

But not commanding him to stop.

Something in him shifted.

He stopped pushing back.

The claws didn't disappear.

The fur didn't recede.

But the frantic flickering between forms slowed.

His muscles unlocked, and the terrible tension in his spine eased.

The partial Shift simply held, steady and painful-looking but no longer fighting itself.

His breathing started to lengthen.

The faint pull behind my ribs shifted.

It was still there, but less tangled somehow, as if two rhythms that had been colliding had stopped pushing against each other.

A sharp pulse drove behind my eyes.

My fingertips went cold, and when I shifted my weight, a sudden heaviness settled through my knees.

I stayed where I was until it passed enough for me to trust my legs.

Ruth made a small sound—relief, maybe, or the aftershock of fear.

Ben's head lifted.

He looked at her.

"Mom," he said.

"You're scared of me."