HOWLER M.C.

Sandra 

The metallic taste of blood filled my mouth as I bit down hard, watching him mark her neck—my best friend's neck—right there in front of the entire pack gathering.

"I, Damon Cole, reject you, Sandra Hayes, as my mate." His voice carried across the clearing, cold and final, while his hand stayed possessively on Jenna's shoulder.

The bond snapped like a rubber band pulled too tight, pain lancing through my chest so sharp I gasped, and the faces around me blurred into a sea of pity and barely concealed satisfaction.

Jenna's eyes met mine for one horrible second, her smile apologetic but not quite reaching regret, and I knew, I fucking knew, she'd wanted this, she been working toward it for months.

"Sandra, I'm so sorry, but the heart wants what it wants, and Damon and I—" she started, her voice that same sweet tone she'd used when we were kids sharing secrets.

"Fuck you." I didn't wait for her to finish, didn't stay to watch Damon's teeth sink into her skin where mine should have been, I just turned and shoved through the crowd while whispers erupted like wildfire behind me.

Damon's sister grabbed my arm,, her face twisted with manufactured sympathy. "Sandra, wait, you can't just leave, the ceremony isn't over—"

I yanked my hand free, my wolf snarling beneath my skin, wanting blood and violence and anything to make the humiliation stop burning through my veins. "Touch me again and I'll break your fucking wrist."

She stumbled back, shock flashing across her features, and I ran.

The forest swallowed me whole, branches whipping my face as I sprinted deeper into the darkness, I let my wolf surge forward just enough to sharpen my senses without shifting completely.

Every breath tasted like failure, like the exact future my mother had warned me about.

I pushed harder, my feet pounding the trail I'd run a thousand times, the one that led to the training grounds where I'd been secretly meeting with Venn, he is one of the pack's retired combat trainer who didn't give a shit about my mother's rules.

The clearing opened up ahead, moonlight spilling across the practice weapons, and I grabbed a training staff, swinging it at the practice dummy with everything I had.

Wood cracked against wood, the impact jarring up my arms, but I swung again, and again, each strike punctuated with Damon's words, Jenna's betrayal.

"Harder!" I screamed at myself, at the universe, at the Goddess who'd decided I deserved this particular hell. 

"Come on, you fucking coward!"

The staff splintered on the next hit, shards exploding outward, and I threw the broken pieces aside, chest heaving, sweat mixing with tears I refused to acknowledge.

My phone buzzed, twelve missed calls from Mom, three from Jenna, one text from Damon that just said *I'm sorry*.

I hurled the phone at a tree, watching it shatter with savage satisfaction.

—---------------

The house was ablaze with lights when I finally dragged myself home two hours later, every muscle screaming from the impromptu training session I'd put myself through.

I slipped through the back door quiet as a ghost, hoping to make it to my room before–

"Where the fuck have you been?" My mother's voice cut through the kitchen like a whip crack.

She stood by the table, still in her clinic scrubs, but it wasn't worry on her face, it was pure, incandescent rage.

My training gear was laid out in front of her like evidence at a trial: the wraps I used for my hands, the spare clothes I kept hidden, the notebook where I'd been tracking my progress.

"Mom, I can explain–" I started, but she slammed her hand down on the table hard enough to make the gear jump.

"Explain what, Sandra? Explain how you've been lying to me for six months, sneaking off to play warrior while I specifically told you that path would get you killed?" Her voice shook, with anger and fear wrapped in fury.

I lifted my chin, that familiar defiance rising despite the night's earlier humiliation. "I wasn't playing anything, I've been training because I'm good at it, better than most of the males in the program, and I'm not going to waste my life healing paper cuts while everyone else gets to fight."

"Not going to–" She laughed, sharp and bitter. "You think this is about paper cuts? Your father thought he was invincible too, thought his warrior status made him untouchable, and I buried what was left of him in a box so small we had to–"

"Don't." The word came out strangled. "Don't use Dad against me."

She moved closer, and I saw the sleepless nights carved into her face, the gray threading her dark hair, the way her hands trembled slightly. "I found out tonight from Venn himself, he called me, told me he couldn't train you anymore because he discovered who your mother was and didn't want to go against my wishes."

The betrayal hit harder than Damon's rejection, stealing my breath. "He what?"

"He respected me enough to be honest, unlike my own daughter." Mom's voice cracked. "And then I come home to find out your mate rejected you tonight, publicly, and instead of coming to me, you went back to the one thing I explicitly forbade."

I hadn't thought she knew about Damon yet, and the fact that gossip had traveled that fast made my stomach turn. "It doesn't matter, none of it matters, I don't need a mate or your permission to live my own life."

"You're eighteen years old, you live under my roof, and your gift, your rare healing gift is being wasted because you're too stubborn to see past your own pride!" She grabbed my wrist, yanking it toward her, and I saw the fresh bruises there from tonight's brutal training. "Look at this, look at what you're doing to yourself, chasing some fantasy while people die because we don't have enough healers."

I ripped my arm away. "Then maybe they should die, maybe if enough warriors fall, people will realize we need fighters just as much as we need someone to patch them up after!"

The slap came fast, her palm connecting with my cheek with enough force to snap my head sideways.

We both froze, her hand still raised, my face stinging, the air between us crackling with something that felt irreversibly broken.

"Get out of my sight," she whispered, lowering her hand slowly. "Go to your room, and tomorrow we're going to have a very different conversation about your future."

I didn't move, my wolf howling inside me to fight back, to submit, to do anything but stand there bleeding from wounds nobody could see.

"I said GET OUT!" Her scream shattered the standoff.

I slammed the door so hard the frame rattled, my blood boiling. "I'm not your fucking puppet, Mom, you want a pack doctor, have another kid, because I was born to fight!"

Her eyes narrowed. "Your healing gift is rare, Sandra, warriors die young, and we can't lose you like we lost your father."

The words stabbed deep, but I refused to flinch. "Then let me live while I'm alive, I'm done being your perfect little healer."

I snatched my

keys and bolted into the night, the city lights blurring through angry tears.