Chapter 3 – The Rejection
POV: Kael Draven
I didn't sleep.
Not because I couldn't. Because I didn't dare.
Sleep meant dreams. And dreams meant her.
Every time I closed my eyes, she was there — storm-gray and ice-blue eyes staring at me like she could see through my bones. Like she already knew the truth I was too much of a coward to say aloud.
That I felt it too.
The bond.
The pull.
The need.
But I couldn't afford to want her.
Not her.
I stood on the edge of the Nightfang war camp, high above the southern cliffs where the wind howled like ghosts through the trees. The blood moon still lingered above the peaks, fading now, but its aftertaste clung to the air — thick with tension, with magic, with fate.
Fate was a bitch.
"She's your mate," a voice said behind me, cold and sharp.
I didn't turn. I didn't need to. I'd know that voice anywhere.
My father.
Alpha Mavrik Draven.
He walked toward me slowly, each step deliberate. He was still in partial shift — claws extended, eyes a molten red that never seemed to dull. He didn't bleed like other wolves. Didn't bruise. The Moon Goddess must have carved him from iron instead of flesh.
"I rejected her," I said quietly.
He stopped beside me, arms crossed, jaw tight. "Good. Weak blood has no place in our line."
"She's not weak."
The words slipped out before I could stop them.
Mavrik's gaze snapped toward me, hard and sharp.
I kept mine trained on the horizon, pretending not to feel the weight of his scrutiny. He'd kill for less — had, in fact.
"She's a Thorneblood," he said. "A family of traitors, liars, and cowards. We burned their name from the ledger for a reason. Her father begged for mercy at my feet."
I bit the inside of my cheek until it bled.
He didn't need to say it. I'd heard the stories my whole life. How the Thornebloods betrayed the council. How they refused to kneel. How my father led the purge that brought their entire pack to its knees.
But I also remembered the way Seren looked at me.
Not like she feared me.
Like she dared me.
"She has power," I murmured. "More than she knows."
"Then all the more reason to crush her before it grows."
I turned sharply at that, fists clenched. "You'd kill her because of what she might become?"
"I'd kill her because of what she is," he snapped. "A distraction. A liability. And now, a threat to your claim."
My claim.
That's what this was always about. Not mates. Not blood. Not bonds.
Power.
I was the heir to Nightfang, the most feared pack in Elaria. I couldn't afford weakness. I couldn't afford softness. And I definitely couldn't afford a cursed mate dragging behind me like a shadow of shame.
So I did what was expected.
I rejected her.
Publicly. Brutally. Without hesitation.
But it didn't sever the bond.
It should have.
The rejection should have burned the thread between us to ash. But instead, it remained — frayed, raw, and thrumming under my skin like a wound that refused to close.
"You've made your choice," Mavrik said, stepping closer, voice low. "You will not look back."
I gave a small nod, but something deep inside me twisted at the words.
Not because I doubted my decision. But because I knew it wasn't over.
Not by a long shot.
Later, in my tent, I sat alone before the fire, watching the embers spark and hiss. My wolf paced just beneath the surface, agitated. Restless. Every instinct I had was screaming at me to find her. To protect her. To fix what I broke.
But I stayed put.
I gripped the silver flask at my side, opened it, and drank deep — bitterroot tea mixed with bloodroot. A sedative. A suppressant. The only thing that could dull the edge of a bond like this.
But not tonight.
Tonight, even poison wasn't enough.
Her scent still lingered in my memory — cold pine, wind, and something wild. Untamed. My wolf growled low.
You shouldn't have turned from her, he whispered.
It was the only way.
Liar.
I stood and threw the flask into the fire. It exploded with a sharp hiss, flames flaring briefly blue.
I couldn't stay here.
I needed air. I needed space. I needed—
Something rustled outside the tent.
I grabbed my blade and stepped out into the cold night, senses alert.
But it wasn't an enemy.
It was a girl.
Not Seren.
Talia.
"Word spreads fast," she said, a smirk curling her lips. "Heir Draven rejected the cursed wolf. I have to admit, it's poetic."
I didn't answer.
She stepped closer, brushing a gloved hand along my chest. "Now that you're... unattached, the council will be pleased. The union between our packs—"
"Not interested," I said sharply.
Talia's smile didn't fade. "Oh, you will be. There are worse fates than mating with someone powerful, Kael."
I said nothing as she walked away, her scent cloying in the cold air like perfume and venom.
I waited until she was gone before I turned and looked back toward the northern ridge — toward the direction Seren had gone.
And for a split second, I let myself wonder:
What if I made a mistake?