The silence that followed Kaelen Valerius's thunderous rejection was far more deafening than any roar. It pressed down on Anya, a suffocating weight that stole her breath and blurred her vision with unshed tears. The forest, once her sanctuary, now felt like a vast, echoing chamber amplifying her humiliation. She was still on her knees, the damp earth seeping through her jeans, but she felt nothing but the icy grip of despair.
Unwanted. The word, spat from the Alpha King's lips, carved itself into her soul. It wasn't just his voice; it was the collective gasp from the distant festival grounds, the sudden hush, and then the rising hum of whispers that confirmed her worst fears. Everyone had heard. Everyone knew. The daughter of the supposed traitor, the half-blood human, was not only Kaelen Valerius's fated mate but also his public disgrace.
Anya finally pushed herself up, her limbs stiff and uncooperative. Her hand still throbbed, a dull ache that served as a cruel reminder of the impossible mark, the undeniable bond that Kaelen had so vehemently denied. How could fate be so cruel? To tie her, a nobody, to the most powerful Lycan in the territory, only for him to cast her aside with such brutal contempt.
She stumbled through the trees, not caring where she went, only that it was away from the Valerius estate, away from the judging eyes she imagined were already burning into her back. The festive lights of the main grounds, usually a warm glow in the distance, now seemed like a mocking beacon of everything she was not and could never be.
As she moved deeper into the woods, the sounds of the festival began to fade, replaced by the rustling of leaves and the distant hoot of an owl. Her mind, however, was a chaotic storm. Why me? Why now? She had always known her life would be different, marked by her mixed heritage and her mother's shadowed past. But she had never imagined this. A fated mate, a bond that was supposed to be sacred, twisted into a public spectacle of rejection.
Her thoughts drifted to her mother, Elara. What would she have done? Elara, who had been so vibrant, so full of Lycan grace, yet had vanished without a trace, leaving behind only rumors of betrayal. Anya had always held onto a sliver of hope that her mother was innocent, that there was a reason for her disappearance beyond treason. Now, with Kaelen's rejection echoing her mother's perceived shame, that hope felt like a fragile, dying ember.
She walked until her legs ached, until the familiar path dissolved into a tangle of unfamiliar undergrowth. The moon, a sliver of silver in the night sky, offered little comfort. It was the Blood Moon, a night of power and connection for Lycans, a night that had just irrevocably shattered Anya's world.
Finally, she collapsed against the rough bark of an ancient oak, tears streaming down her face, unchecked and burning. She wasn't just crying for herself, for the humiliation and the broken heart. She was crying for the injustice, for the cruel hand of fate, and for the life she had desperately tried to build for herself, now crumbling around her.
She closed her eyes, trying to conjure the image of her father's kind smile, his gentle hands. He was her rock, her only true family. How would she tell him? How could she possibly explain that the Alpha King, the man he had always taught her to respect, had just publicly humiliated his daughter? The thought of his pain twisted another knife in her gut.
A cold gust of wind swept through the trees, making her shiver. She pulled her thin cardigan tighter, seeking warmth that wouldn't come. Her mind replayed Kaelen's face, the golden eyes filled with disgust, the powerful frame rigid with disdain. He hadn't just rejected her; he had despised her. The intensity of his revulsion was almost as painful as the rejection itself.
She thought of the prophecy, the one Kaelen had mentioned. Purity, strength. And she was neither, in his eyes. She was human, flawed, tainted by her mother's alleged crimes. What was this mark on her hand? A cruel joke from the Moon Goddess, perhaps? A cosmic error?
Anya slowly uncurled her fingers, gazing at her palm. The faint shimmer was gone, but she could still feel the phantom heat, a subtle thrum beneath her skin, a constant reminder of the bond Kaelen had so vehemently denied. It was a bond that existed, whether he wanted it or not. And that thought, oddly, brought a tiny spark of defiance amidst her despair. He could reject her, but he couldn't erase what fate had decreed.
She didn't know what would happen next. Would Kaelen send someone to ensure she stayed away? Would the pack's scorn intensify? Her quiet life was over. The forest, her sanctuary, now felt tainted by the Alpha King's presence, by his rejection.
Anya eventually pushed herself to her feet, her resolve hardening. She couldn't stay here. She couldn't go back to the library, to her small life, not yet. Not with the echoes of his roar still ringing in her ears. She needed to think, to breathe, to figure out how to pick up the pieces of a life that had just been irrevocably shattered.
She started walking again, this time with a purpose, though she wasn't sure what that purpose was. Just away. Away from the Valerius estate, away from the Lycan world that had always treated her as an outsider, and now, as an unwanted burden. The night was vast and cold, but somewhere deep inside, a tiny flicker of resilience began to glow. She might be unwanted, but she was still Anya. And she would survive this. She had to.