The sun clawed its way higher, turning the rogue lands into a furnace. My bare feet blistered on sharp rocks, but the pain was nothing compared to the fire still smoldering in my chest. Darius's rejection echoed with every step—like a brand I couldn't scratch off.
My wolf prowled just beneath my skin, restless. Hunt. Claim. Destroy. She fed on the rage, turning it into fuel. I let her guide me deeper, away from the border where pack scents still lingered like ghosts.
By midday, exhaustion hit. My stomach growled—empty except for the pup growing inside. I pressed a hand there, feeling the faint warmth. We're surviving this, I told it silently. For you.
A new scent cut through the dry air: smoke. Cooked meat. Wolves. Many.
I crouched behind a boulder, peering down into a shallow valley. A makeshift camp sprawled—tents patched from hides and scavenged cloth, fires crackling, figures moving with wary grace. Rogues. Not the feral kind that attacked me last night. These had structure: guards on perimeter, a central fire pit, even what looked like a training ring scarred into the dirt.
My wolf perked. Pack? No. But close.
I shifted—painless this time, fur flowing like ink. Black coat blending with shadows, I crept closer. Voices drifted up.
"...another scout from Blackwood sniffing around. They want the borders locked tighter."
"Alpha Darius is paranoid since the rejection ceremony. Thinks every rogue is plotting."
Laughter—bitter. "Let him. We don't bow to alphas anymore."
My ears flattened. They knew. Of course they did—word traveled fast in the wilds.
A tall woman with silver-streaked hair stepped into view near the main fire. Mid-thirties, scarred arms, eyes sharp as blades. She carried herself like a leader. "Eyes open," she barked. "If Blackwood pushes, we push back harder. No one takes our freedom."
Her scent hit me: iron, smoke, old blood. Strong. Not alpha, but close—beta turned rogue, maybe.
I should have run. But hunger clawed, and something deeper pulled me forward. Curiosity? Or the need to not be alone anymore.
I stepped out of the trees, human again—naked, blood-streaked from the fight, but head high.
Silence fell like a blade. Dozens of eyes locked on me. Growls rumbled low.
The silver-haired woman turned slowly. "Who the hell are you?"
"Elara Voss," I said, voice steadier than I felt. "Former Blackwood omega. Recently... rejected."
Murmurs rippled. Recognition flashed in some eyes.
The leader stepped closer, nostrils flaring. "You smell of him. Alpha Darius. And..." Her gaze dropped to my stomach. "Pup. His?"
I didn't flinch. "Yes. But he doesn't know. And he never will, if I have anything to say."
She studied me—long, hard. Then barked a laugh. "Bold words for a half-dead omega wandering rogue lands. I'm Kira. This is Forgotten Camp. We take in the cast-outs... if they prove useful."
Useful. The word stung, but I needed shelter. Food. Allies.
"I fought off three rogues last night," I said. "Shifted for the first time. Won."
Kira arched a brow. "Prove it."
She nodded to the training ring. A burly male rogue—broad, scarred, grinning—stepped in. "Come on, little omega. Show us what Blackwood threw away."
My wolf surged. Yes.
I entered the ring. No clothes, no weapons—just me and the rage.
He lunged first—fast, claws out. I dodged, instincts sharp from last night's fight. He swung again; I caught his arm, twisted, used his momentum to flip him into the dirt. Gasps from the crowd.
He roared, shifted mid-roll—gray wolf, massive. Charged.
I shifted too—black fur, bigger than before. We collided—teeth snapping, claws raking. He was stronger, but I was faster. Angrier.
I feinted left, struck right—jaws closing on his shoulder. He yelped, submitted with a whine.
I released him, shifted back. Breathing hard, but standing tall.
Silence again. Then Kira clapped—slow, deliberate.
"Not bad," she said. "You've got fire. And that wolf... she's not ordinary omega stock." She circled me, sniffing. "Royal blood? Ancient line? Something's different."
I froze. Royal? My parents had been low-rank servants—dead in a border skirmish when I was young. No one ever mentioned...
Kira shrugged. "Doesn't matter yet. You fight, you eat. You stay... for now."
She tossed me a cloak—rough wool. "Cover up before the males start drooling. Food's over there."
I wrapped it around myself, legs shaky from adrenaline. At the fire, they handed me roasted rabbit—hot, greasy, heaven. I tore into it, ignoring stares.
A younger rogue girl—maybe seventeen—sidled up. Scrawny, eyes wide. "Is it true? Alpha Darius rejected you in front of the whole pack?"
I nodded, swallowing. "Publicly. Called me worthless."
She scowled. "Bastard. My sister got rejected last year. Starved in the wilds."
Kira joined us, sitting cross-legged. "We hear stories like yours every moon. That's why we exist. No alphas. No Lunas. Just survival. And payback when we can."
Payback. The word lit something in me.
"Tell me more," I said.
Kira's eyes gleamed. "We raid supply lines sometimes. Disrupt packs that hunt us. But Blackwood's been quiet lately—too quiet. Word is Darius is mating Serena soon. Solidifying power."
Serena. The image of her arm in his flashed—red hair, smug smile. My wolf snarled.
Kira leaned in. "You want revenge? Join us. Train. Grow stronger. When you're ready... we hit where it hurts."
I looked around—at the scarred faces, the wary hope in their eyes. Outcasts like me.
For the first time since the rejection, I didn't feel broken.
I felt... possible.
But as night fell, the mate bond twisted again—sharp pain in my chest, like Darius was close. Impossible. He was miles away, celebrating with his chosen.
Still, the pull lingered. Heat flickered low in my belly—echo of what could have been.
I curled by the fire, hand on my stomach. The pup kicked—stronger now.
We'll make him regret it, I whispered to the flames. All of them.
Kira watched me from across the fire. "Sleep light, Elara. Rogues don't trust easy. But if you prove loyal... you might just become the queen they threw away."
Queen.
The word settled in my bones.
And somewhere deep, my wolf howled in agreement.
But as I drifted toward sleep, a distant howl echoed—not from the camp.
From the direction of Blackwood.
Searching.
End Of Chapter 3