The Rejection

DAMIEN’S POV

The heavy oak doors of my office click shut, sealing away the scent of blood, fear, and… her.

I stand perfectly still, my hands clenched into fists at my sides, my chest heaving. The moment the rogue was dragged out of the room by my security team, an agonizing, white-hot pain lanced through my chest. It feels like a silver blade is twisting right between my ribs.

Mate.

My Lycan is going insane. He is a massive, ancient beast clawing at the confines of my mind, howling with a grief so profound it brings me to my knees. I stumble against my mahogany desk, gripping the edge so hard the wood groans in protest.

Ours. We rejected ours.

"Shut up," I growl aloud, squeezing my eyes shut.

"I'm sorry, Damien. I didn't mean to upset you," a soft, trembling voice says from across the room.

I snap my eyes open. Seraphina is standing near the door, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. She looks terrified, her big blue eyes welling with tears. She’s wearing a silk gown that leaves little to the imagination, her blonde hair perfectly styled. She is the picture of a perfect, high-society Luna.

But my wolf doesn't even glance at her. He is still fixated on the rogue. On Elara.

She was bleeding, my wolf snarls. Our mate was bleeding, and you let them drag her away.

I force myself to stand up straight, smoothing the front of my shirt. I am Damien Thorne. I am the Alpha of the Lycans, the CEO of a billion-dollar empire. I do not lose control. And I certainly do not lose control over a filthy, lying rogue who broke into my home.

"You have nothing to apologize for, Seraphina," I say, my voice cold and measured. "You were the one who was wronged by her."

Seraphina takes a cautious step toward me, her bottom lip trembling. "I just… I can't believe she had the nerve to come here. After everything she did to my family. When my father married her mother, we tried to treat Elara like our own. But she was always so jealous, so cruel. When she tried to poison my tea to steal my inheritance… I was so scared."

Her words are a script I have heard a dozen times since I began courting her for a business merger. The Blackwood family is old money, but they are broke. A marriage to Seraphina secures a vital trade route for my pack. I chose her because she was a suitable, submissive partner.

But now, looking at her, all I can hear is the echo of that rogue’s voice. She’s lying!

I shake my head, forcing the image of those defiant, pain-filled eyes out of my mind.

"She is a thief and a liar," I state firmly, trying to convince my wolf as much as myself. "She will be dealt with. She is my maid now. She won't see the light of day until she confesses to everything."

Seraphina’s eyes light up with a cruel, triumphant glint, but she quickly masks it with a sweet smile. "You are so strong, Damien. I don't know what I would do without you. Should we call the police? Surely you don't want a criminal in your home."

"No." The word comes out harsher than I intended. Seraphina flinches.

I take a breath, forcing my tone to be calm. "No police. A public trial would bring unwanted media attention to Thorne Industries. I will handle her personally. She will work off her debt to me in the shadows. It is the best punishment."

And she stays close, my wolf murmurs, satisfied.

I walk over to Seraphina and press a chaste kiss to her forehead. "You should go home. It's late. I have work to do."

"Are you sure?" she asks, pouting. "I can stay and help you relax."

"I'm sure," I say, the words clipped. "My driver will take you."

The moment she is gone, the oppressive weight of the silence returns. I pour myself a glass of bourbon, but I don't drink it. I just stare out the window at the glittering city, waiting for the pain in my chest to subside.

It doesn't. It only gets worse.

By the time an hour passes, the pain is a relentless, searing ache. I can feel her. Through the shattered fragments of the bond, I can feel her absolute terror and her agonizing sorrow. It's suffocating.

She's dying, my wolf howls. The rejection sickness is taking her.

I slam the glass down on the desk, shattering it. I don't bother to clean up the mess. I stride out of my office, my steps echoing in the empty hallway.

I tell myself I am going down to the basement to ensure my property isn't damaged. I tell myself I need her alive to interrogate her about the merger files.

But I'm moving too fast. My heart is pounding too hard.

The basement of the Thorne building is normally used for storage, but it has a few reinforced rooms for security personnel. I dismissed the guards at the entrance with a sharp wave of my hand.

I approach the heavy steel door to her room. It has a small, reinforced glass window. I look inside.

Elara is curled up in a ball on a thin mattress on the floor. She is shivering violently, despite the room being a comfortable temperature. She’s still wearing her torn, bloodied clothes.

But it’s the sound that makes my blood run cold.

She’s whimpering. A low, heartbroken sound of an animal in a trap. She is clutching her chest, right where her heart is, her face pale as death.

Rejection sickness.

I know about it. It’s a condition that happens when a werewolf is rejected by their fated mate. It’s essentially the slow, agonizing death of the soul. It can take weeks, or it can take days. For a rogue—already weak, already malnourished—it could take hours.

I stand there, frozen, watching her die.

"Lily," she whispers suddenly, her voice a broken, ragged breath. "I'm sorry... I'm so sorry, Lily... I failed you..."

She reaches out with a trembling hand, her fingers brushing against the concrete floor. She’s not talking to me. She’s not even aware I’m here. She’s slipping away.

My hand moves to the keypad. I should leave her. A weak rogue is useless to me. If she dies, the bond dies, and the pain finally stops.

I press the code. The heavy door clicks open.

I step into the room, the dim light from the hallway spilling across her broken form. She doesn't react.

"Rogue," I say, my voice echoing in the small room.

Nothing.

"Elara," I say, her real name slipping from my lips before I can stop it.

At the sound of her name, she twitches. She slowly lifts her head. Her eyes are barely open, glassy and unfocused. The life is draining out of her.

"Damien..." she rasps. "It hurts... it hurts so much."

A violent surge of protective instinct crashes through me. My Lycan roars, pushing against my skin. My eyes flash black, my fangs dropping.

I cross the room in two strides. I kneel down, my hands gripping her shoulders. Her skin is freezing.

"Why didn't you tell me you were sick?" I demand, though the words sound irrational even to my own ears.

"I just wanted... to save my sister," she breathes out, a single tear tracing a path through the dirt on her cheek. "I just wanted to save Lily..."

The realization hits me like a truck.

She wasn't lying.

The file she was holding. The desperation in her eyes. She wasn't trying to steal from me for greed. She was trying to save a sibling.

And I just sentenced her to death.

"Don't you dare die," I snarl, pulling her limp body into my arms. She is terrifyingly light. I can feel her heart stuttering weakly against my chest.

"I, Damien Thorne, take it back," I growl, the words tearing from my throat. "I reject the rejection. Do you hear me, Elara? You are my mate. You are not allowed to die."

A sharp gasp escapes her lips. The pain in my chest doesn't vanish, but it shifts. It becomes a burning tether, a desperate need to keep her alive.

Her eyes flutter shut, her head rolling back against my shoulder. She's unconscious.

Panic—real, genuine panic—claws at my throat. I stand up, holding her tightly to my chest.

"Julian!" I roar, my voice echoing down the basement hallway. My Beta will hear me. The whole building will hear me.

I stride toward the elevator. If I have to tear the city apart, I will find a doctor. I will force her to live. Because I just realized a horrifying truth.

If this rogue dies, I will burn the whole world down.