The Rejected & Claimed

CHAPTER 04: BOUND BY FATE, FUELED BY FURY

SOMEONE’S POV

The wind howled like a restless spirit as our convoy pushed through the darkened forest. Trees loomed tall and ancient, their gnarled branches clawing at the sky like skeletal fingers. The moon hung high above, casting a cold silver glow over the path ahead. I sat at the head of the lead vehicle, arms crossed, jaw tight.

A diplomatic visit, they called it. A show of unity. But I knew the truth.

This was a performance.

A waste of my time.

Ismael, my ever-loyal Beta, lounged beside me, his boots propped casually against the seat opposite. “You’ve been clenching your jaw for an hour straight. I think you might snap your own fangs.”

I didn’t reply.

He sighed dramatically, raking a hand through his dark hair. “Come on, your Highness. It’s just one night. A little wine, some awkward speeches, probably a few desperate she-wolves trying to climb the royal bed.”

I shot him a warning glare, but his grin only widened.

“I’m just saying. We haven’t had a good party since the Bloodfang coronation, and that ended with three broken tables and a half-naked Alpha howling at the stars.”

My silence was answer enough.

Truth was, the very idea of this visit grated against every instinct I had. I shouldn’t be wasting my presence on packs like this. Weak. Disorganized. Unworthy. The Darkmoon Vale Pack hadn’t earned the alliance they clung to like a lifeline. I had brokered it only to stop further bloodshed in the eastern borders.

But now, with the old Alpha stepping down, protocol demanded that I be present for the succession.

I didn’t care for ceremonies. I cared for order.

And if this new Alpha proved to be as disappointing as the last, I wouldn’t hesitate to sever ties.

As our convoy crested a hill, the pack's territory came into view. The central estate, an outdated, overly ornamented mansion, was lit with torches and lanterns, glowing like a beacon in the night. Music floated faintly through the air, the beat pulsing like a heartbeat trying too hard.

Ismael looked out the window and muttered, “Gaudy as hell.”

I agreed. Though I didn’t say it.

The cars came to a slow stop in front of the mansion. Already, members of the pack stood waiting, smiling too wide, backs too stiff. A few bowed low as I stepped out, their eyes wide with fear or awe. I wasn’t sure which.

A she-wolf offered me a bouquet of blood-red roses, hands trembling. I ignored them.

“Announce us,” I told Ismael.

He grinned. “With pleasure.”

He stepped forward, clearing his throat before calling out, “The Lycan King has arrived.”

Murmurs rippled through the crowd. Some bowed. Some lowered their eyes. The old Alpha stood on the front steps, dressed in ceremonial black with golden accents. His Luna clutched his arm, too thin and too painted.

They looked like ghosts trying to play rulers.

The Alpha descended, offering a deep, formal bow. “Your Majesty. We are honored by your presence tonight.”

I gave a curt nod and strode past him without another word. I didn’t come here for pleasantries.

I came to see if this pack was worth the space it occupied.

And so, I am here.

I never wanted to come to this pathetic excuse of a pack.

The Darkmoon Vale Pack is neither the strongest nor the wealthiest. Its warriors are undertrained, their borders poorly patrolled. The only reason they’ve survived this long is because of their alliances, alliances I personally brokered.

Their Alpha and Luna? Mediocre at best. Pretenders sitting on a crumbling throne.

But as the Lycan King, I have responsibilities. Duties. Even to the weak. Peace among the territories must be maintained, even if it means enduring nights like this.

The air stinks of desperation and cheap wine. Their so-called renewal treaty celebration is in full swing. Wolves from allied packs gather in the courtyard, laughing, drinking, dancing under lanterns that flicker like dying stars. The scent of roasted meat wafts through the breeze, masking the scent of nervous sweat and too much perfume.

It’s a show, an elaborate, pitiful show meant to mimic strength. Meant to impress me.

It does not.

“Your Highness,” someone murmurs as I pass, bowing low.

I barely glance at them.

I take my seat near the front, a throne-like chair crafted just for my visit. Gilded, but uncomfortable. They tried, I’ll give them that. Still, this entire evening is more of a farce than a celebration.

The ceremony begins.

The old Alpha, Darian Vaelmont, steps forward with a trembling voice and prideful eyes. “Tonight,” he declares, “we honor tradition as my son takes his rightful place.”

His son, Glaive Vaelmont, walks forward with a confidence his father never possessed. There’s power in him, raw and untamed. He’s got the look of a real Alpha, even if he’s buried beneath the weight of legacy.

By his side clings a she-wolf. Blonde, painted, smiling like she’s won the damn moon.

His Luna, no doubt. Pretty, in an ordinary sort of way. She wears her title like a tiara, visible, fragile, meaningless.

Darian nods in my direction. “We are honored by the presence of the Lycan King.”

The crowd claps like puppets. I offer them a fraction of a smile and raise my glass.

Then Glaive speaks.

“I, Glaive Vaelmont, will lead this pack fairly and to the best of my abilities…”

His voice is strong. Charismatic. It carries through the courtyard, silencing even the children. I watch him closely, studying not his words, but the wolf beneath them. He’s posturing, but there’s substance.

When he finishes, a hush falls.

Then, that moment.

That flash of true magic.

A golden shimmer, ancient, ancestral, flares around him and the Luna. The power of the pack, their bond, their legacy… it floods into him. I feel the shift. Every wolf here does.

For a split second, Glaive stands still, breathing in the weight of every soul tied to his name.

Then the howls begin.

Dozens of voices cry out, welcoming their new Alpha. Music erupts. Cups clink. Wolves cheer, leaping into wild, joyful dancing.

And still… I feel nothing.

At my side, Ismael exhales loudly, folding his arms. “Can we leave now?” he mutters, clearly unimpressed.

I don’t answer immediately. A server passes with a tray, and I pluck a glass of champagne. It’s dry and bitter, fitting.

“Not yet,” I say.

Ismael scowls like a spoiled pup, but then his attention shifts. A group of she-wolves across the lawn are watching us, five of them, all dolled up in flowing dresses and moonlight smiles.

He straightens, grinning. “Maybe this trip wasn’t a total waste after all.”

I take a slow sip, eyes drifting back to Glaive and his Luna.

Something about the way he looked at her didn’t sit right.

This pack may be weak, but Glaive?

He might be worth keeping an eye on.

Especially if that pretty Luna isn’t the one his wolf really wants.

“You know,” Ismael drawls, his voice laced with smug amusement as he sips from a crystal goblet, “maybe we should stick around. It’d be cruel to leave these lovely ladies without company.”

He gestures lazily to the group of she-wolves clustered nearby, all of them glancing our way with hopeful smiles and batted lashes. Their laughter rises above the soft music, light and forced. Everything about this gathering feels staged.

I roll my eyes and turn away.

Of course he’s enjoying this.

Ismael has always been a flirt, a smooth-talking rogue who views charm as both a weapon and a pastime. At twenty-four, he still hasn’t found his mate, and until then, he’s decided to “enjoy the waiting process” his words, not mine. The man goes through women the way a storm tears through the forest, leaving chaos in his wake.

I, on the other hand, have never been interested in meaningless flings.

For Lycans like us, mates aren’t a suggestion. They’re fate. They’re everything.

And mine… she will be the only woman who will ever matter to me.

I entertain small talk with a few high-ranking Alphas, engaging in empty conversations about border negotiations, alliance treaties, and future training summits. I nod. I smile. I speak.

But I’m not listening.

Because something is wrong.

Beneath my skin, my Lycan, Okami, paces with restless urgency. He’s been agitated since the moment we arrived, his energy prickling along my spine like cold lightning. His growls echo faintly in my mind, low and constant, growing louder by the minute.

Then suddenly, he stops.

And then, he speaks.

“Mate.”

The word hits me like a thunderclap.

I freeze mid-sentence, the air sucked from my lungs. My senses sharpen, every instinct honed like a blade. My body stiffens, my pulse hammering violently in my ears.

“Where?” I demand, spinning on my heel, scanning the crowd. I reach out with my senses, sniffing the air, searching every face.

Nothing.

I smell nothing new. See no one unfamiliar. No scent. No pull.

Just the echo of her presence. Like smoke in the wind.

“Why can’t I sense her?” I snarl.

Okami’s growl vibrates through my bones. “She’s here. I can feel her. But something is wrong.”

A cold dread coils in my gut.

My mate should be standing here. Among these wolves. Her scent should’ve been the first thing I noticed the moment I stepped through the pack’s gates.

But it’s faint. Distant. Fading.

I shove past the crowd without a word, ignoring the startled gasps and whispers. My heart pounds as I move, following a thread only Okami can feel. I scan every corner, every hallway, my steps quickening with urgency.

The Alpha’s office is just ahead. Maybe someone in there knows something.

But just as I reach for the handle, a low sound stops me.

Moaning.

Wet, rhythmic, vulgar moaning.

I halt. A muscle in my jaw ticks. My fists clench at my sides as a snarl curls up from my chest.

Of course.

I pivot and storm away, not wanting to see whichever power-hungry she-wolf is trying to seduce her way into a higher title tonight.

Instead, I head for the former Alpha.

He’s standing at the edge of the ballroom, surrounded by aging warriors and their painted mates, laughing too loudly and drinking too freely.

I don’t slow.

The moment my aura brushes the room, everything stops.

Laughter dies.

Glasses freeze mid-air.

Wolves stiffen, eyes flicking to me with instinctual submission.

“Has every member of your pack attended this ceremony?” I demand, my voice hard and sharp as steel.

The old Alpha flinches. His spine straightens, and he clutches his mate protectively.

“Y-yes, Your Majesty,” he says, avoiding my gaze.

Lies.

Okami’s voice is feral, barely contained.

He’s lying.

“I don’t think so,” I say coldly, taking another step forward. “My Lycan senses his mate. But I can’t find her. All I have is the faint trace of her scent. Like she’s here… but being kept from me.”

The tension in the room spikes like a lightning strike. The Luna’s eyes go wide, her breathing shallow as she clutches her husband’s arm.

“All the unmated females are here,” she whispers quickly. “I swear it, my King.”

Liar.

Then it hits me.

A sound.

A scream.

Muffled. Raw. Terrified.

Her.

Pain stabs through my chest, sharp and blinding. Okami roars inside me. My fangs descend, claws sprouting as fury floods every cell in my body.

“Someone is trying to force themselves on her.”

The realization is a blade.

And I let it cut.

“I’M GOING TO KILL EVERY LAST ONE OF YOU IF I DON’T FIND HER IN FIVE MINUTES!” I roar, my voice rippling with Alpha command, cracking the very air.

Wolves flinch. Some drop to their knees. One she-wolf stumbles forward, trembling.

“M-My King, there are some females… in the dungeon. They… they caused trouble. Maybe… maybe she’s one of them?”

The dungeon.

A snarl tears from me as I bolt down the corridor, shoving doors aside, guards leaping out of my path. My boots slam against the stone floor, the scent of fear and blood leading me deeper.

And then I see it.

A cell.

Her cell.

And him.

A man crouched over her, shirtless, smug, hands where they should never be. Her body limp beneath him. Torn dress. Bloody lips.

Red.

Everything turns red.

The bars splinter beneath my touch. I don’t even remember moving. One second I’m outside, the next, I’m inside.

The guards freeze in horror. Their eyes widen. They recognize me now. Understand what’s happening.

But it’s too late.

I see her, my mate.

She’s trembling, bleeding. Her claws are out, but she’s weak. Barely able to fight. Her beautiful blue eyes meet mine, filled not just with fear, but something worse.

Resignation.

Like she already accepted her fate.

Like no one was ever going to save her.

I snarl so loudly the stone walls shake.

“Mate.”

The air goes still.

And then chaos erupts.

Okami lunges, bloodlust in full force.

The man barely has time to scream.

Bones snap. Flesh tears.

It’s over in under two minutes.

Then silence.

I drop to my knees beside her, brushing sweat-drenched hair from her face. Her skin is cold. Her breathing shallow. But she’s alive.

She blinks up at me, dazed. Her fingers twitch, weakly reaching for my face before her arm falls.

She collapses into me, unconscious.

So small.

So breakable.

“What did they do to you…” I whisper, pressing a trembling kiss to her forehead, my heart thundering.

I hold her tightly, anchoring myself to the sound of her heartbeat.

Someone will pay for this.

I will burn this entire pack to the ground if I have to.