Once Rejected, Now the Alpha’s Obsession

If I’d known the Moon was going to ruin my life, I wouldn’t have bothered putting on mascara. I’m pressed up against the far wall of the Crescent Crest great hall, half-hidden behind a pillar draped with pale silver fabric, pretending I’m part of the décor. Laughter and clinking glasses echo off stone and glass; somewhere near the front, wolves are already a little drunk on spiked punch and nerves. The Mating Moon hangs in the sky above us, framed perfectly by the open archway that leads out to the ceremonial grounds. Huge and swollen and bright, like a single, unblinking eye. Watching. Judging. My palms are damp where I clutch the hem of my dress. It’s white—of course it’s white, because our pack loves symbolism and tradition and all things unnecessarily painful. My hair is twisted into something soft and pretty, my lips tinted a muted berry. I look like every other eighteen-year-old she-wolf in this room. Except I’m not like them. They’re excited. I’m terrified. “Lila.” A soft voice nudges my side. “You’re going to bruise the poor fabric if you keep strangling it like that.” I blink and drag my gaze away from the archway. Mila, one of the few girls in this pack who doesn’t actively hate me, tilts her head at me with a half-smile. Her dark hair tumbling over her shoulders makes her look like she walked off a salon commercial; my own lighter brown waves feel suddenly too plain. “I’m fine,” I lie. She raises a brow. “You look like you’re about to either pass out or punch someone. Possibly both.” “Those are both valid options,” I mutter, then instantly regret it. I’m not supposed to be the bitter one. I’m supposed to be the quiet one. The weak, forgettable omega in the back. Her fingers squeeze my wrist. “Hey. It’s going to be okay. The Moon knows what it’s doing.” I wonder if it does. My gaze drifts across the room again, pulled like a magnet toward the center of it all—toward him. Damien Blackthorne stands near the dais, surrounded by a cluster of older wolves and council members. He’s in a black shirt and tailored pants, no tie, sleeves rolled up over his forearms like he’d rather be fighting than making small talk. The overhead lights catch on his dark hair, on the sharp line of his jaw. Even from here I can feel it, the sheer gravity of him, the way the room bends without anyone realizing they’re orbiting around him. Future Alpha. My future nothing. I swallow hard, heat crawling up my neck. Watching him has been my worst habit since I was old enough to understand what attraction was. At first it was just because he was older and beautiful in a way that made my stomach flutter. Then, when I saw the way he protected the younger wolves during training, how he stood between a snarling beta and a trembling twelve-year-old boy, it shifted into something deeper. Broken people recognize broken things in others, even when the others look perfect. Damien is perfect, if you don’t know where to look. His mouth moves as he responds to something an elder says, but his eyes are restless, scanning the room, the crowd, the open arch. His wolf is close to the surface tonight; I can feel the static of it in the air, buzzing over my skin. Mating ceremonies always stir pack instincts, but this feels… different. A strange pressure builds at the center of my chest, like someone is slowly twisting their fingers into my heart. I blow out a breath, trying to ignore it. Not yet, I tell myself. Not here. Not now. My wolf turns in my mind, anxious. Do you feel that? she whispers, her voice a low trembling vibration. “Yes,” I whisper back, my lips barely moving. Mila follows my stare and sighs. “Of course. You’re staring at him again.” I jerk my gaze away from Damien, cheeks burning. “I am not.” “You so are.” Her voice is amused, not cruel. “It’s okay, you know. Half the unmated females here are staring at him. The difference is you pretend you’re not.” I want to tell her it’s not like that. That it’s not just a crush, not just the way his shirt stretches over his shoulders or the way his voice sinks over my skin when he’s serious. That it’s something older, rooted in childhood. Damien teaching me how to fix a busted hinge on the back gate when I was eleven and too scrawny to lift the replacement on my own. Damien stepping between me and a group of sneering girls when they thought pushing the omega around would be a fun after-school activity. Damien handing me a mug of hot chocolate after I came back from border duty hypothermic because someone had “forgotten” to bring spare jackets for the lowest-ranked wolves. He never laughed with me the way he laughed with others. But he never looked down at me either. He just… saw me. At least, he did. Before he decided distance was safer. Before the last year, where he started avoiding me so cleanly it felt surgical. He knows, I think. Somewhere deep in his bones, he has to feel it too. The way the air thickens when we’re in the same space. The way my wolf goes silent in his presence, spine straight, waiting. What if I’m wrong? What if the Moon chose someone else? The thought hits me so hard my knees wobble. Relief and disappointment crash into each other inside my chest, a messy, painful collision. Because wouldn’t it be easier if it wasn’t him? If my mate was some anonymous wolf who didn’t already own the softest, most secret parts of me? And yet the idea of standing under that pale moonlight and feeling the bond snap into place with anyone else makes bile rise in my throat. “I’m going outside for some air,” I mutter. Mila’s face softens. “Do you want me to come with—” “No. It’s fine. I’m okay.” I add a smile so she doesn’t press it. She hesitates, then nods. “If you faint, do it somewhere dramatic at least. Like in front of the dessert table. Give us all a story to tell.” I huff out a weak laugh and slip away from the pillar. The crowd parts around me, not because anyone sees me, but because no one really does. Being an omega means you become an expert at making yourself smaller. Invisible. Untouchable. They see my low status like a stain that might rub off if they brush against me for too long. I’m almost at the archway when it happens. The pain in my chest slams from a dull twist to a sharp, slicing pull. My breath catches, a tiny sound breaking free. The voices in the hall blur into a distant roar. The smell of sweat and perfume and too-sweet punch disappears, replaced with a scent that punches through everything else. Pine and smoke. Rain on hot stone. Damien. My vision narrows, dark at the edges. Somewhere, I hear a glass shatter, someone laughing, wolves chatting like nothing monumental is happening. Their lives are still ordinary. Mine just cracked open. The bond snaps into place like a rubber band pulled too tight for too long. I can feel it, a searing line that runs from my heart across the room, threading itself through his chest. He goes still. I don’t have to look to know it. The air changes. The hum of pack energy shifts like every instinct in the room is paying attention now. My wolf is suddenly on her knees inside my head, whimpering and elated and terrified all at once. Mate. The word is a whisper and a scream all at once. I turn. He’s already looking at me. Damien stands halfway between the dais and the crowd, his shoulders tense, eyes locked on mine like he’s been waiting for this moment his entire life and dreading it just as long. Across the hall, our gazes collide, and a shock runs through me so hard every hair on my arms rises. His eyes are darker than usual, the irises rimmed with a molten gold that speaks of his wolf pushing forward. His jaw is clenched, lips parted slightly like he forgot how to breathe. Heat rushes through my veins, a wild, dizzying thing. I feel pulled, like if I take one more breath I’ll be dragged across the room and there will be nothing between us. No pack. No rank. No history. Just us. The bond hums, a thrumming under my skin. Joy swells so fierce it hurts. It’s him. It’s always been him. The Moon didn’t make a mistake. It chose the boy who once handed me hot chocolate without a word and the man who commands every eye when he walks into a room. I take a shaky step toward him. Damien flinches. It’s small. A tiny tightening of his hand at his side, a fraction-of-a-second recoil in his eyes. But I see it. I feel it like a slap. The swell of joy sinks a little. I keep moving, because I don’t know what else to do. One step, then another, the crowd blurring around me. Conversations falter as people notice the invisible line stretching between us, the way the air crackles. Whispers ripple through the hall. “Is it her?” “The omega?” “Damien’s mate is—” “Hush—” Each half-heard comment slices into me, but the bond keeps pulling, dragging me closer. By the time I reach the bottom of the steps leading up to him, my legs are trembling. Up close, his scent is overwhelming, wrapping around me, sinking into my lungs, my bones. His eyes rake over my face like he’s memorizing every line. There’s something wild there, something wounded and furious and… afraid? I stop one step below him, so we’re almost level. I part my lips, a laugh bubbling up—half hysterical, half euphoric. “Damien,” I whisper, because what else is there to say? We’re mates feels too big and too small all at once. His pupils blow wide at the sound of his name. For a heartbeat, I see it—everything I’ve ever wanted. His hand twitches like he’s about to touch my cheek. His chest rises sharply, throat working. Then something shutters down behind his eyes. The gold recedes, leaving his irises a cold, stormy gray. His shoulders draw back, his spine straightening as if he’s putting on armor. The wildness doesn’t disappear, but it shifts, curdles into something harder. His voice, when it comes, is rough and uneven, like it’s been dragged over gravel. “No.” The word slices through the fragile connection hanging between us. My breath stutters. “What?” A hush falls over the hall. You could hear a pin drop. Or a heart shatter. Damien looks down at me like I’m something dangerous he can’t afford to touch. His wolf is still there, clawing at the surface—I can feel it, a distant pounding in my chest that isn’t mine. But his jaw hardens, and he clamps down on it. “You’re not…” He swallows, the muscles in his throat working. When he speaks again, each word is a deliberate, brutal cut. “I won’t accept this.” The bond throbs in protest, a physical ache under my ribs. Blood drains from my face. My ears are ringing. “Damien, what are you talking about? The bond—” “I know what it is.” His tone is sharper now, louder, carrying easily to every corner of the hall. “I feel it, Lila. I’m not blind or stupid.” Hearing my name in his mouth like that—flat, emotionless—hurts more than the twisting pain in my chest. He takes a step back. It feels like a chasm opens up between us. “I, Damien Blackthorne, heir to the Crescent Crest Pack,” he says, voice suddenly clear and ringing with Alpha command, “reject you, Lila Ashbourne, as my mate.” For a second, the world simply… stops. The bond tears. It doesn’t break cleanly; that would be mercy. It rips through me in jagged pieces, shredding everything soft and hopeful inside. My lungs seize. My knees buckle. I hear someone gasp. Someone else laughs—a shocked, disbelieving sound quickly swallowed. The elders murmur. Mila’s hand flies to her mouth in the corner of my vision. Damien’s face is carved from stone, every line harsh and unforgiving. Only his eyes betray him, storm-tossed and raw, but I’m too far gone to read them. A high, strangled sound tears out of my throat. My wolf howls inside my skull, a desperate, broken noise that feels like it’s tearing me in two. I don’t remember falling. One moment I’m standing in front of him, the Moon watching, our pack holding its breath. The next, the world tilts, spins, rushes upward. Cold air slams against my skin. Strong arms close around me before I hit the floor. Damien’s scent floods me as he catches me, one arm around my back, the other under my knees. For a heartbeat, my body forgets everything but the rightness of being held by him. His chest vibrates under my cheek. His voice is a low, hoarse whisper only I can hear. “Damn it, Lila.” Then darkness swallows me whole.