Fated to Fall

Chapter One: The Weight of Rejection The sharp wind howled through the dense forest surrounding the Silver Claw stronghold, rattling the wooden beams of the infirmary where Virella worked late into the night. The scent of herbs mixed with blood and sweat filled the cramped room, but nothing could mask the bitterness curling inside her chest. She sat bent over a wounded scout, carefully stitching a deep gash across his shoulder. His breath was shallow, but his eyes held a flicker of hope—hope she had long abandoned for herself. Since the day she was rejected, Virella had learned one painful truth: the pack did not want her. No alpha claimed her, no omega whispered promises of a Lifebond. Instead, they looked at her with pity or outright disdain. The pack’s murmurs were poison. Rejected. Cursed. A mistake. She clenched her jaw as her hands worked with steady precision, refusing to let the words break her spirit. Her rejection was unlike any other. It wasn’t just a lost bond—it was a mark, a scar on her soul. The alpha who should have claimed her turned away without a word, leaving her standing alone beneath the cold moonlight. She remembered his eyes—void of warmth, filled with something like disgust. That night, a piece of her shattered. But breaking was a choice she refused to make. If the pack would not give her a place, she would earn one. She immersed herself in the art of healing. The infirmary became her fortress, a place where pain could be soothed and broken bodies mended. She learned ancient remedies and mastered the power unique to healers—the rare ability to influence the life force itself. Each life she saved was a small victory, proof she mattered. Still, the silence of rejection echoed through her nights. She slept alone, the ache of loneliness a constant companion. The dream of a Lifebond had withered, replaced by quiet determination. Then, one evening, everything changed. The night erupted into chaos. Shouts echoed through the stone corridors of the Silver Claw stronghold as the northern border came under a fierce attack. The sharp clash of steel, the guttural snarls of enemy wolves, and the desperate cries of the wounded filled the air like a storm. Virella stood in the infirmary, surrounded by those who bore the marks of battle—deep gashes, shattered bones, and exhaustion etched into their faces. Each one stumbled through the door, their voices raw with pain and fear. “Virella! Please, help me!” “My arm… I can’t move it!” “Save him—he’s losing too much blood!” The irony was bitter and sharp in her mind. These were the same people who had whispered cruel rumors about her, who had shunned her like a plague. The pack that had rejected her and left her alone to survive. Now, in their greatest hour of need, they pleaded for her hands, for her power. Her heart twisted. But she did not hesitate. She knelt beside the first wounded, her fingers gentle yet steady as she began her work. The warm glow of her healer’s gift spread through her palms as she touched torn flesh and sealed broken skin. Murmurs of relief, pain lessened, and ragged breaths became steadier. One by one, she moved through the infirmary, her mind focusing on the lives in front of her, pushing aside the ache of loneliness and rejection. Then, the heavy doors to the infirmary opened with a thunderous crash. All eyes turned as a shadow filled the threshold—tall, broad-shouldered, and impossibly commanding. Draven, the Sovereign of the Silver Claw, entered. His silver eyes, sharp and cold as frost, swept across the room. And then—finally—he stopped on Virella. She was hunched over a wounded warrior, her dark hair falling like a curtain around her face, the soft glow of healing magic pulsing from her hands. He inhaled sharply. The scent was unmistakable—an omega, yes, but unlike any he had ever known. It was rich, intoxicating, layered with strength and defiance. A scent of survival, and something deeper—power. Confusion stirred inside him. Why had no alpha ever claimed her? He saw it—her beauty was undeniable, both fierce and delicate. But beyond that, there was a well of strength in her gaze, a fire hidden beneath the surface of the rejected omega. She was no fragile girl waiting to be saved. She was a goddess cloaked in shadows, a force unto herself. The pack’s eyes flickered nervously between Draven and Virella, waiting. But he did not hesitate. Without a word, he signaled to his wolves standing guard at the door. “Bring the healer to me.” Before Virella could protest or even understand what was happening, powerful hands grabbed her arms. She struggled, heart pounding in disbelief. Ruthless and unyielding, Draven did not ask for her permission. As his wolves closed in to escort her away, his voice cut through the stunned silence. “You are mine now. And you will come with me.” The weight of his claim was like iron chains around her soul. Dragged from the only place she had ever felt purpose, Virella’s mind raced with fear and fury. But beneath it all, a spark burned fierce and wild. She was not broken. She was not powerless. And this ruthless alpha would soon learn that the rejected omega was far stronger than anyone had ever dared to imagine.