Chapter Four: Echoes of Rejection

Time slipped by, sneaky and soft as a cat’s paw—never quite obvious, but impossible to ignore. Mornings hit different now. Evangeline still woke up sore, heart thumping out weird rhythms, but there was this stubborn fire in her chest. Not the kind that burns everything down, more like something that keeps you moving even when you sort of want to give up and melt into the floorboards.

She wasn’t fading anymore. Not today. She was actually fighting back.

Didn’t mean the sting of rejection had packed up and left, though. Nope, it stuck around, sticky and gross, like gum on your shoe after a summer sidewalk. Four words haunted her, on repeat: I, Kieran Cross, reject you. Real cute, right?

Sometimes the words came back in her dreams, all echoey and sharp, like a creepy lullaby you can’t stop humming.

“Hey, you plan to stare holes through that tree or what?” Hann’s voice crashed through the memories. The girl flopped down next to her with zero grace, practically bouncing the log, balancing two sorry-looking pieces of flatbread and a battered water flask.

“Skipped training again,” Hann said, shoving bread into her hand. “Silas was asking.”

“I’m fine,” Evangeline muttered, which even she didn’t buy.

“Yeah, and I’m the Queen of the Wolves,” Hann shot back, munching away. “You’re hurting.”

“I’m healing.”

Hann snorted. “There’s a difference?”

Evangeline just stared off, eyes tracing some invisible path through the trees. “Thought being a mate was supposed to mean something. Like, sacred or whatever.”

“It is, sure,” Hann shrugged. “Doesn’t mean people don’t screw it up. Mates can be trash too, you know that by now.”

“I don’t hate him,” Evangeline said, voice barely there. “That’s the problem. Scares the hell outta me.”

Hann cracked her knuckles, scowling. “Don’t sweat it. I’ve got enough hate for the both of us.”

Evangeline tried for a smile. It sort of worked, then fizzled out.

“What if I’m not good enough to lead?” she whispered.

Hann gave her this look—sharp enough to cut steel. “You turned into a blood-red wolf mid-breakdown, survived your own heart turning traitor, and got a bunch of rogues to believe in hope again. You’re already leading, whether you want the job or not.”

“I didn’t pick this gig.”

“None of us did.” Hann dusted off her pants and stood. “But that’s what splits you from Kieran. He ran. You stay and fight.”

When training rolled around, Evangeline actually showed up for once.

The clearing was a mess of bodies and noise—rogues sparring, testing each other, grunting and laughing. Silas was right in the middle, shirtless (because, of course), moving with this easy confidence, like he belonged there.

He spotted her right away.

Their eyes locked. She didn’t back down. Marched right up, back straight, chin up.

“I want in,” she said.

“You sure?” Silas shot her a look, eyebrow cocked and that trademark crooked smirk creeping in. “Yeah, good luck thinking this’ll be easy.”

She fired right back, not even blinking. “Like anything ever is?”

Silas’s eyes lit with something like pride. “Alright then, Luna.”

The word still felt weird, but it didn’t make her want to bolt anymore.

They started slow. Stances, breathing, basic strikes. Her body rebelled—trembling, sweating, heart hiccuping like crazy. She fell twice, hit the dirt hard, but every time she got up, wiped her palms, and said, “Again.”

“You’re pushing too hard,” Silas warned.

“Good,” she snapped. “Let it break me. At least then I’ll know what’s left.”

Silas just watched her, silent, like he was seeing something nobody else could. She was sharp edges wrapped in softness, pain forging her into something new. And, yeah, he wanted to see her win.

Later, when the rest of the camp went quiet, Evangeline stood alone at the edge, staring up at the moon. She thought of her mom. The life she left behind. The version of herself who still believed love was simple—and maybe a little easier to earn.

She couldn’t shake the memory—his eyes, cold as winter, sizing her up like she was nothing but extra weight.

“I can’t be mated to someone like you.”

Yeah. That one hurt. Cut deeper than any blade. Left scars no one could see.

She didn’t notice Silas until he was right there, close enough to startle her if she’d had the energy to jump.

“Can’t sleep?” His voice was low, almost gentle.

“Didn’t even bother trying,” she mumbled, hugging her knees like maybe she could hold herself together.

Silas nodded, like he got it. Silence stretched, complicated and heavy.

“You’re thinking about him,” he said eventually.

Not like she could lie about it—her face probably gave it away. “I gave him my heart. It was already kind of broken. He didn’t have to stomp on it too.”

Silas’s voice dropped, steady and real. “He never deserved it anyway.”

She shot him a look, eyes narrowed in the weird silver glow. “Seriously, why the hell do you even have faith in me?”

He turned, and the silver glow caught in his eyes. For a second, he looked almost otherworldly—like a storybook hero or some wild thing from a dream.

“Because when I found you, you were half gone. But even with death breathing down your neck, you fought. You locked eyes with me, and I swear, I felt something—like your soul yelling for a second chance.” He took a breath. “The Moon Goddess doesn’t screw up.”

Her chest tightened. Goosebumps. Who knew hope could feel sharp?

Silas moved a little closer. No touching, just near enough to feel the warmth rolling off him—a shield against the ache.

“I’m not asking for anything,” he said, words soft but serious. “You’re still patching yourself up. Whenever you’re ready… I’m not going anywhere.”

Her heart went off like a freaking drum—only this time, it wasn’t from being shattered. Nah, this was something untamed, electric, and hell, maybe it even tasted a little like hope.

For once, she let herself believe—she didn’t have to do this alone. Not anymore.

Meanwhile, back in MoonClaw Pack, things were… less poetic.

Kieran lost it. Full-on, fists-to-the-wall, blood-on-stone rage. The council chamber echoed with the sound, but his Beta, smart guy, kept his distance.

“They’ve declared themselves a pack,” Kieran spat, voice raw. “Rogues. Freaking strays, now staking claims.”

“They’re calling themselves the RedHowl,” the Beta replied. “And Evangeline? She’s their Luna.”

That one landed like a punch to the gut. Kieran went rigid.

He remembered everything—her scent, her eyes, the hope in her smile. The exact second he shattered it all.

“I rejected her,” he whispered, as if saying it twice would change something.

His Beta didn’t let up. “You humiliated her, too.”

Kieran’s jaw clenched. “I gave her a way out,” he growled. “Did what I had to, for the pack.”

The Beta, brave or maybe just done with his crap, shrugged. “Funny, though. The rogues? They actually came together for her. More than you ever pulled off with the border packs.”

Kieran whipped around. “What’s your point?”

No flinching. “Just saying… maybe the Moon Goddess got it right. Maybe you’re the one who screwed up.”

Silence crashed in. Heavy, suffocating.

Kieran stared out the window, listening to the distant howls—those rogues, her pack now.

A storm was building out there.

And for the first time, he wondered if he’d survive it.