INICIAR SESIÓNTimothy Blackthorn has it all. Alpha heir to the most powerful pack, hockey captain with a god-tier body, and a reputation for breaking hearts as easily as he breaks records. When the Moon Goddess reveals quiet, overlooked Penelope Hale as his destined mate, Timothy does the unthinkable: he rejects her. Publicly. Brutally. In front of thousands. Big mistake. Exiled and humiliated, Penelope finds refuge with the rival Bloodfang Pack, where she discovers two things that will change everything: she's a hockey prodigy with a killer instinct, and her "lowly" bloodline hides noble secrets that could topple kingdoms. Now she's back on the ice, leading Bloodfang to victory after victory, while Timothy's perfect life crumbles around him. His wolf is going feral without their mate. His team is losing. And the girl he threw away? She's become the most dangerous player in the league. But when pack politics turn deadly and silver daggers flash in the moonlight, Timothy and Penelope must face the truth: some bonds can't be broken, even by pride. Some love is worth fighting for. And sometimes, the mate you reject is the only one who can save you.
Ver másPenelope's POV
I shouldn't be here. The thought echoes in my mind as I huddle deeper into my worn jacket, pressing myself against the cold brick wall outside the Frostfang Ice Stadium. My physics textbook digs into my ribs where I clutch it, but nothing can protect me from what I'm about to witness. "Just a quick peek," I whisper to myself, the same lie I've been telling for months. "Just to see him skate." Lyra, my wolf, whimpers softly in my mind. This isn't healthy, Penelope. You're torturing yourself. But I can't stop. Timothy Blackthorn is like staring at the sun; he is dangerous, impossible, and utterly irresistible. For three years, I've watched him from the shadows of lecture halls and cafeteria corners, memorizing the way he moves, the sound of his laugh, the casual confidence that radiates from him. The service entrance I've been using to sneak peeks at practice sessions is slightly ajar tonight. Through the gap, I can see into the equipment room where players sometimes change before heading home. My heart hammers against my ribs as I lean closer, knowing I should leave, knowing this is wrong, but unable to resist. That's when I see them. Timothy has Madison Sawyer pressed against the equipment lockers, her perfectly manicured hands tangled in his dark hair. She's everything I'm not: is tall, confident, from a respected Beta family. Her designer clothes are scattered across the floor. "You're so good to me, Timothy," Madison purrs, her voice breathy with desire. "Better than any of those other boys could ever be." He chuckles, low and rough. "You know exactly what you're doing, don't you?" My stomach plummets to my feet. I should look away. I should run. But I'm frozen, watching the boy I've secretly loved for years worship another girl's body like she's a goddess. "Tell me I'm the only one," Madison demands, arching against him. "Tell me I'm special." Timothy's response is muffled against her neck, but I catch enough. "You're incredible, Madison. Absolutely incredible." The textbook slips from my numb fingers, hitting the concrete with a sharp crack that echoes through the tunnel. Both heads snap toward the sound, and for one horrifying second, Timothy's storm-blue eyes meet mine through the crack in the door. Recognition flashes across his features, not the kind I've dreamed about, but the cold awareness that the weird Omega girl has been watching him. His expression shifts from surprise to something worse: pity mixed with disgust. I run. My sneakers slap against the pavement as I flee through the back parking lot, tears already burning my eyes. Behind me, I hear Madison's tinkling laugh and Timothy's mumbled explanation probably calling me a stalker or a freak. The words I imagine he's saying cut deeper than any object could. Pathetic little Omega. Delusional nobody. As if someone like her could ever interest me. By the time I reach the bus stop, I'm sobbing so hard I can barely see. The other passengers give me a wide berth—nobody wants to deal with a crying Omega having a breakdown. My phone buzzes with a text from Mom asking when I'll be home, and I realize I forgot my textbook. Twelve hours of work shifts to afford that stupid book, and now it's abandoned in a tunnel where Timothy Blackthorn just crushed my heart into powder. The bus ride home stretches endlessly through Frost Haven's darkened streets. Through the fogged windows, I watch the glowing mansions of the Alpha district give way to the cramped apartments of the lower ranks. My reflection stares back ordinary brown hair, unremarkable hazel eyes, skin too pale from spending all my free time studying instead of socializing. No wonder he looked at me with such disdain. Lyra tries to comfort me. You're worthy of love, Penelope. Someday. Someday what? I snap internally. Someday a prince will notice the nobody Omega? This isn't a fairy tale. When I finally stumble through our apartment door, Mom looks up from her mountain of paperwork. She works three jobs to keep us afloat since Dad's disgrace, and the exhaustion shows in every line of her face. "Sweetheart, you look upset," she says, setting down her pen. "What happened?" I can't tell her the truth that I've been secretly stalking the Alpha heir like some lovesick puppy, that I witnessed him with another girl, that my heart feels like it's been fed through a wood chipper. Instead, I mumble something about a difficult test and escape to my tiny bedroom. The walls are covered with newspaper clippings of Timothy's hockey victories, carefully cut from sports sections and arranged like shrines to my own stupidity. His face grins down at me from dozens of photos scoring goals, lifting trophies, celebrating with teammates who actually matter. I should tear them down. Should grow up, accept reality, focus on my studies instead of impossible dreams. But my hands shake as I trace the edge of one photo, remembering the way his eyes looked right through me tonight. "I'm such an idiot," I whisper to my reflection in the dark window. "Such a pathetic, invisible idiot." My phone buzzes with a notification someone tagged me in a social media post. My blood turns to ice as I open the app and see what awaits me. It's a video from tonight, shot by someone in the stadium tunnel. The caption reads: "Creepy Omega stalker caught spying on hockey gods! #StalklerAlert #OmegaProblems #Pathetic" The footage is grainy but clear enough. There I am, pressed against the wall like a lovesick fool, watching Timothy and Madison through that crack in the door. The camera captures my devastated expression when they notice me, my clumsy flight, even the textbook I dropped in my panic. The comments are already pouring in: "OMG so embarrassing!" "Someone needs to teach Omegas their place." "Timothy should get a restraining order." "Second-hand cringe! Poor girl has no clue." My phone slips from my trembling fingers as the full horror hits me. By tomorrow morning, the entire pack will know. They'll know I've been watching him, that I'm the pathetic Omega with delusions of grandeur. They'll laugh about the girl who thought she had a chance with their golden boy. "Penelope?" Mom's voice calls through my door. "I heard crying. Are you." She stops speaking when she sees my phone screen, still displaying the cruel video. Her face crumples with secondhand embarrassment. "Oh, sweetheart," she whispers, sinking onto my bed. "What have you done?" The disappointment in her voice cuts deeper than any online comment. "I'm sorry, Mom. I'm so sorry." "We can't afford this kind of attention," she says quietly, running tired hands through her graying hair. "Not with our family's reputation already destroyed. This will make things worse for all of us." I curl up on my narrow bed, pulling my pillow over my head as if it can muffle the shame burning through my veins. Three years of careful invisibility, ruined in one moment of weakness. Three years of protecting my secret, destroyed by a dropped textbook and someone's cruel phone camera. But even as shame consumes me, a terrible hope blooms in my chest. Maybe the video will force Timothy to notice me. Maybe he'll realize we're meant to be together. Maybe this is the Moon Goddess's way of bringing us closer. Lyra whimpers in my mind, trying to offer comfort, but even my wolf feels the crushing weight of our humiliation. Still, deep down, she whispers dangerous things about destiny and bonds that can't be broken. Outside my window, snow begins to fall. Tomorrow I'll have to face school, face the stares and whispers and pointed fingers. Tomorrow I'll have to pretend I don't care that my deepest secret has become everyone's entertainment. But tonight, I let myself break. Tonight, I cry for the girl who believed in fairy tales and the woman who's learning that some dreams are just elaborate forms of self-torture. The worst part isn't the embarrassment or even the public humiliation waiting for me tomorrow. The worst part is that even after everything after seeing him with Madison, after being exposed as a stalker, after becoming the pack's latest joke I still believe he might choose me. And that delusion makes me the most pathetic creature in the entire territory.Timothy's POVLiam called me on a Tuesday morning, which was unusual. We usually communicated through Ethan or formal pack channels; a direct call meant something was different."I need to tell you something before it gets out another way," he said.I leaned back in my chair. "Go ahead.""I asked Isla to marry me," he said. "Last night, she said yes."I stared at the ceiling for a moment, thinking about how impossible this would have felt a few years ago. Now, it just felt like something I should have seen coming."Congratulations," I said."I know how it sounds," Liam replied."It sounds like two people who figured things out."There was a pause. "Isla should be the one to tell Penelope," he said. "I just wanted to tell you first, out of respect."Knowing the weight of our history, I appreciated the gesture. "I think you’re a better man than you used to be," I told him."I'm trying," he said."We all are."Isla told Penelope that afternoon while Jasmine napped. From my office, I hear
Timothy's POVAround nine that night, a storm rolled off the mountains, turning the sky a bruised green-gray and rattling the window frames. Penelope had been restless all day, her movements careful and constant as she tried to find a comfortable position that didn't exist. By seven, the book in her lap was just a prop; by eight, her focus had shifted entirely to the timer on her phone, tracking the rhythm of a storm of her own."Contractions," she said, when I asked."How far apart?" I asked."Eight minutes," she said. "It's fine, we have time.""We're going now," I said."They said to wait until""Penelope," I said.She looked at me for a moment, then looked at the rain sheeting down the back window, then looked back at me. "Fine," she said. "Get the bag."The hospital was a fifteen-minute drive, but I made it in ten—a move Penelope later teased me for, though I have no regrets. The staff were ready for us, moving her through intake and the initial exams with practiced speed. The mi
Penelope's POVNobody warned me that the first trimester would feel like being slowly poisoned.I’d read the books and talked to my mother, who called pregnancy "uncomfortable but manageable." I now suspected that was a lie told by survivors. I was nauseous all morning, exhausted by the afternoon, and hit by intense, specific cravings by evening.In week seven, I wanted pickles and cream cheese on toast. By week nine, it was plain cold rice. At week eleven, I sent Timothy out for a specific orange juice; when he returned with a different brand because mine was discontinued, I just stared at the bottle and cried."I know," he said carefully, setting the juice on the counter. "I'm sorry, I tried four stores.""It's fine," I said, crying."Okay," "It's not fine, that juice is terrible and nothing tastes right and I'm exhausted and I don't know why I'm crying," I said, still crying."I know," he said again. He hugged me and let me cry for a few minutes about the orange juice and the she
Timothy's POV Our third anniversary fell on a Thursday, which meant Penelope had a council subcommittee meeting in the morning and I had two territory calls in the afternoon, and we'd agreed a week earlier to do the actual celebration on Saturday when neither of us would be busy. That morning, I woke up early and watched the light filter through the curtains—a habit I’d kept since the second year. There was no crisis; I just wanted to appreciate the peace. She slept facing me, looking younger than her years. I got up quietly, made coffee, and checked the morning report. Twelve territories were now using the democratic model, three more were discussing it, and trade revenue was climbing. Even the hockey franchise had a new deal that I knew would make Penelope happy. Soon, I heard her moving around.She came out in sweatpants and one of my old Frostfang practice shirts that she'd claimed months ago and never given back. "Coffee," she said. "Counter," I said. She poured a cup and
Timothy pov "Son of a bitch," I breathe, taking the report from her. The evidence is right there in black and white—forged signatures, planted evidence, paid witnesses. "He destroyed all those families?""Systematically," Mr Hale says, his voice hard. "Over fifteen years. We weren't the first and
Liam's POVThe whiskey tastes terrible but I pour another glass anyway, sitting alone in my apartment while the pack house buzzes with activity below. Someone's throwing a party, celebrating our latest hockey win. I should be down there, leading the celebration like a good Alpha heir.Instead, I'm
Penelope's POVThe Reed family's house is bigger than I expected, a sprawling ranch-style home on the outskirts of Frostfang territory. Cars fill the driveway when Timothy and I arrive—we're the last ones here."Are you ready for this?" Timothy asks, cutting the engine."Not really," I admit. "Meet
Liam pov "It's not," Isla says. "It's just hard, it requires actually examining your motives, admitting your flaws, changing your behavior. Most people aren't willing to do that work.""Are you?" I ask, curious despite my misery."I'm working on it," Isla says honestly. "I enabled a lot of your be






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