Chapter 3

She was draped across one of the high stools like she owned the place. Her long, Barbie blonde hair hung down her back like a goddamn shampoo commercial, and her red lips curved into a smirk the moment her gaze found mine.

Of course she showed up.

Of course she was wearing white.

"Wow," she said loud enough for half the bar to hear. "I didn't know this place hired feral strays. Or do they just let you hang around because of pity?"

I didn’t answer. I hung my apron behind the bar, rolled my sleeves up, and ignored the way my jaw clenched.

She slid off her stool with all the grace of a panther. The way the men stared at her like she was the full moon incarnate made my stomach twist.

“I wanted to see what a broken mate looks like up close,” she said, heels clicking as she approached. “And now I see it’s worse than I imagined. You poor thing. Still clinging to scraps of dignity in this dump.”

I should’ve walked away. Should’ve told Ike, the bar owner to take my shift. But I didn’t.

Because the rage in my chest was white-hot and feral, and it had been building all damn week.

“You’ve got five seconds to leave,” I said, folding a bar rag slowly in my hands. “Or I make you.”

She leaned in close, the smell of her expensive perfume curling in my nose like poison. “You’re going to be alone forever, Ashlyn. John’s seen you for what you are now. A jealous, possessive, washed-up bully. Even your wolf knows it.”

That did it.

One second I was behind the bar.

The next, I was across it.

I lunged, fist flying, and cracked her right across her cheekbone. The sound was delicious—a clean, satisfying smack that echoed through the stunned pub. Desiree stumbled back, more shocked than hurt, and then her eyes flashed gold.

“Bitch,” she snarled.

And then she shifted.

Clothes tore, bones cracked, and within seconds her human body exploded into silver-white fur, her fangs bared, tail bristled, claws digging into the wooden floor.

My wolf didn’t wait for permission.

The change ripped through me like wildfire, my skin splitting, spine reshaping, eyes glowing gold. The pain of shifting used to cripple me. Now, it was fuel.

My paws hit the ground hard. My black-furred form stood nearly half a foot taller than her. I heard gasps, glasses shattering, chairs scraping against the floor as patrons scrambled out of the way. But all I saw was her.

She was fast. Slippery.

She darted in and sank her teeth into my shoulder. I howled, whipped around, and pinned her with a brutal slam to the ground. Fur tore. Blood sprayed.

We rolled across the floor like thunderclouds, all teeth and rage. I didn’t hold back. My claws raked down her flank, scoring red through silver. Her jaws snapped at my throat. I ducked, bit down on her leg, and twisted.

Desiree screamed.

Somewhere in the background, I heard voices yelling, someone calling for John, someone else threatening to call the elders.

I didn’t care.

I had her on her back now, snarling, fangs centimeters from her neck. One more bite and it would be over. One more.

"Ashlyn!"

The word rang like a bell through the haze of red.

Haden

I turned just enough to see him—standing in the broken doorway, fury and disbelief warring on his face. He looked tired. Like disappointment had aged him a decade.

“Ashlyn, get off her.”

I didn’t move.

“She came here to start this,” I growled through clenched teeth.

“You’re going to kill her!”

“Maybe I should.”

“Ashlyn, enough!”

His voice cracked with Alpha authority, and my wolf flinched.

Slowly, reluctantly, I stepped back, growling low in my throat. Desiree whimpered, dragging her torn form behind him as John rushed to her side.

John didn’t look at me when he said it. He didn’t even give me a small glimpse as Haden glared at me. The other Alpha blood. My wolf stirred but obeyed.

“I reject you, Ashlyn.”

The words hit harder than any blow.

I stood frozen, still half-wolf, panting, bleeding, body shaking from the fight. My claws scraped the wooden floor as I tried to step forward, to ask him if he meant it. But I saw it in Johns face. The truth. The finality

John Brook had chosen her.

Not just physically. Not just temporarily.

He had chosen her.

Over me.

Over the girl who took him in, who patched up his wounds, who fought tooth and claw beside him for years.

I shifted back slowly, the cold of the air biting my bare skin. My clothes were gone, shredded in the transformation. Someone tossed me a blanket Ike, I think. I barely registered it.

John was still cradling her. Her fake, pretty sobs filled the air.

“She would’ve killed me,” Desiree cried, pressing her bloody cheek into John’s neck. “I only came here to talk to her.”

Liar my wolf spat inside me.

John finally looked at me. But it wasn’t love in his eyes. Or sadness. It was contempt.

“She’s right, you know. You are a bully. You always were.”

I couldn’t speak. My throat was full of glass.

“You think everyone has to suffer just because you did,” he continued, standing now. “You can’t love anyone, Ash. You just use people until they’re too scared or too tired to keep trying.”

Desiree clung to his side like a trophy.

“I never wanted to hurt you,” he said.

I laughed, broken and raw. “Well. You did a great job for someone who didn’t want to. Because in the next twenty four hours it’s all I will feel.”

He turned without another word, leading her out of the bar. Every eye was on me, but no one spoke. No one defended me.

I stood there in the wreckage of my pride, my home, my mate bond—naked and furious, with blood drying on my skin and bite marks stinging down my side.

Ike came over, jaw tight. “You need to go, Ashlyn. I’ve got elders sniffing around, and I can’t protect you from pack law if she presses charges.”

I nodded.

I didn’t argue.

I left.

The walk back to my caravan felt longer than usual. The trees whispered things I didn’t want to hear, and the wind howled with judgment. I could still taste blood in my mouth. My body ached, but it was nothing compared to what throbbed in my chest.

Inside my home, the wind chimes were still swaying gently.

The herbs still hung like guardians from the ceiling. My bed was still unmade, tangled in warmth I used to share. It was all still mine—but now it felt empty. Hollowed.

I looked in the mirror and saw the wolf in my eyes.

I wasn’t soft. I wasn’t delicate. And maybe I wasn’t kind.

But I had loved him.

And he had burned me for it.

I sank into the hammock, blanket clutched around my shoulders, staring at the ceiling while my thoughts roared louder than any bar fight.

Alone forever?

Maybe.

But I’d rather be alone than be someone like her.

And I’d rather be hated for being real than loved for a lie.

Let them whisper.

Let John hate me.

Let the pack pretend I’m the villain.

At least I’ll never be her.