Rejected by the Beta, Claimed by the King

Elara’s POVThey say the mate bond is the closest a wolf can get to heaven. The Elders tell us it feels like the missing piece of your soul finally clicking into place, a warm, golden tether that binds you to your other half forever.They lied.For me, the mate bond didn't feel like heaven. It felt like a serrated knife twisting in my gut.I stood in the center of the Silver Moon Pack’s grand ballroom, my hands clutching the skirt of my dress. It was a silver polyester thing I had bought from a thrift store three towns over. It was too tight in the chest and itched against my skin, but it was the only thing I could afford.I scrubbed floors for six months just to save the twenty dollars for it.Tonight, I told myself, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs. Tonight everything changes.The grandfather clock in the corner began to chime. Dong. Dong.Midnight. My eighteenth birthday.And then, it hit me.The scent. It washed over me like a tidal wave, drowning out the s

Damon’s POVI closed the bathroom door behind me, and the moment the latch clicked, I lost control.My knees hit the floor. A low, guttural growl ripped through my chest, shaking the walls of the master suite. My claws lengthened, punching through the expensive tips of my dress shoes, gouging deep grooves into the black marble floor.MATE. MATE. CLAIM. MARK.My wolf, shadow-dark and ancient, was thrashing against the cage of my mind. He wanted to break down that door. He wanted to tear that cheap, bloody dress off her body. He wanted to sink his teeth into the soft curve of her neck and bind her to us so permanently that even death couldn't separate us."No," I gritted out, sweat beading on my forehead. I dug my fingers into the stone floor, fighting the transformation. "Not yet."SHE IS OURS, my wolf roared, flooding my senses with her scent vanilla, rain, and the underlying metallic tang of her fear. SHE IS HURT. WE MUST HEAL. WE MUST KILL WHO HURT HER."We will," I promised, fo

I stopped at the edge of a table, holding tightly to the back of a velvet chair.Face-to-face with him, Damon was overwhelming; he smelled dangerous, hot, and consuming. His sheer size made the massive dining table look small. He didn't sit; he waited for me to come. "Sit," he murmured, pulling out the chair for me. I sat down, and he pushed the chair in, his body brushing against my shoulder. The heat radiating off him made my skin prickle. I expected him to go to the end of the longer table, just like the Alpha of the Silver Moon pack sat miles away from his family just to show dominance, but he didn't; he pulled his chair right next to mine, scraping the wood against the floor so close that our knees almost touched."Eat," he commanded, pointing at the food. My stomach growled loudly in the quiet room. I felt embarrassed and looked down at the plate. There were pancakes, eggs, bacon, fruits, and pastries. It was more food than I usually saw in a whole week at the pack house."I...

Liam’s POVThe whiskey tasted like ash.It truly should not have. The single malt was thirty years old. My dad only drank these kinds of drinks on special occasions, like when he signed treaties or won a pack. It should have tasted like smoke, wood, and accomplishment.Instead, it tasted like mud.I glanced at the clear glass and the golden liquid that was spinning inside it. My hand was shaking. It was just a shake. I could not stop the mild vibration in my fingers no matter how tightly I gripped my fist.She is not there anymore.I did not have that idea. It came from the beast that lives deep inside me. He was on foot. It hurts to scratch the back of my ribcage. Whining. "Shut up," I hissed. I tossed the crystal glass across the room.It shattered against the far wall of my bedroom. Shards of crystal fell down onto the hardwood floor. The brown liquid spilled over the pricey silk wallpaper, producing a mark that looked like dried blood. The noise was fantastic. For a few seco

Elara"s POVThe following two days passed in a whirlwind of fear, setting up, and enchantment of silk. Damon was totally serious about the dress.Almost immediately after I consented to join the Summit, the count was five people appearing at the penthouse. That woman came not only with stylists but also beauty peddlers.They took my sizing finger by finger. They engaged in animated discussions about which colors to use, just like two commanders hash out tactics before battle.They pampered my sort of rough skin as if it belonged to some pampered lady of leisure who is only used to getting her hands massaged with splendid jasmine, scented oils.So, it was the night of the Summit. I looked at my reflection in the mirror of the dressing room. The stylists have already withdrawn from the scene, smiling and catching their breath after the effort."Open your eyes, honey, " the chief stylist, a very flamboyant man named Paolo, said in a whisper. "This is the actual Elara you are meeting."I