Rejection

“Get out!” Damon yelled.

“Oh? What is she talking about, Damon?” Benita asked lazily, pulling the sheet around herself. She seemed completely confused by the words she had just heard from Amara.

“Get out!” Damon yelled again, and Benita flinched as her eyes widened.

“Damon, you are—” she started, confused.

“Now, Benita, get out,” Damon demanded, his tone dangerously low.

Consumed with fear, Benita got down from the bed, put on her dress, and picked up her things from the floor before staring at Damon, and then at Amara. She was still unable to believe what she had just heard.

“You two are mates?” Benita asked, wanting an answer.

“Get out! I said get out—now!” Damon yelled, spelling out his words, his anger reaching its peak. She swallowed in fear and tried approaching the door, but Damon called her back.

“Any word about this to anyone, then consider yourself in my bad book. I believe you know what that means,” Damon warned, his words so icy they sent chills down Benita’s spine.

She knew exactly what Damon, the son of the Alpha of the pack, was capable of. Unable to stay in the room any longer, she dashed out, closing the door behind her.

“What are you waiting for, Damon? Start the rejection process,” Amara snapped through her tears.

Damon turned to look her way. His wolf pleaded with him.

Don’t do it.

But Damon shook his head, battling against the desperate cries of his wolf. Despite the overwhelming urge to pull Amara into his arms—to pour out the emotions he had buried deep in him for the past ten years—he could only say one word.

“All right,” Damon agreed with a slight nod.

To Amara, for a brief moment, it shattered her. She had hoped he would refuse.

Damon shed the cloth covering himself, displaying his nakedness to Amara, who had to swallow hard and awkwardly look away.

“Don’t do it,” her wolf pleaded.

But Amara shook her head, tears streaming down her cheeks. “It’s for the best, Olivia, trust me. We will be fine,” Amara assured her wolf, who whimpered in discomfort.

“You can turn around,” Damon said, prompting Amara to turn and see him wearing just jeans, his bare chest still exposed. Her eyes trailed over his bare chest—a chest she had fantasized about, imagining running her fingers all over it, feeling his warmth through her touch.

“Are you ready?” Damon asked, his voice cold.

She lifted her gaze, holding his once again, wondering why he hated her so much and wasn’t having second thoughts about the rejection. Sucking in a deep breath, Amara braced herself and nodded.

“Yes.”

Damon’s heart clenched, but he did a good job hiding it, maintaining a straight posture and a blank expression.

“I, Damon Richardson, reject you, Amara Dennis, as my mate.”

Damon declared.

“Ah!” Amara let out a low growl of pain. It felt like a blade had pierced through her heart, and it was unbearable. She tried to stand upright, but her legs felt weak, and she struggled to hold back the sobs that threatened to consume her.

The pain threatened to destroy her entire being, and for a moment, she felt like she was going to die.

Damon’s expression remained blank, but the agony in his eyes betrayed his true feelings. He had always been good at hiding his emotions, but Amara could see through the flicker of regret and sorrow behind his façade.

It was almost as if he were punishing himself more than her.

Amara’s vision blurred with tears, and she could barely make out Damon’s form as he moved to the side, giving her space. She wanted to scream, to demand answers, but the pain was too overwhelming.

She took a shaky breath, trying to steady herself as the searing pain began to subside.

Damon inhaled deeply, his face still unreadable. “It’s done,” he said softly, though his voice was tinged with a barely perceptible hint of sadness.

“Reject me,” he demanded.

Taking a trembling breath, Amara met his gaze once again, her voice thick with anguish. She had hoped for a miracle—for him to take back his words. But there was no going back now.

She whistled out a long, held-up breath.

“I, Amara Dennis, reject you, Damon Richardson, as my mate,” she choked, her voice breaking.

The moment the words left her lips, the bond between them shattered, leaving a gaping wound in her soul. It was unbearable—like losing a part of herself she could never recover.

Damon staggered slightly, the rejection hitting him like a tidal wave. His pain mirrored hers, and though he tried to maintain his composure, his hands trembled, betraying the depth of his feelings.

Pain gnawed at his being, but he managed to keep his composure and not stumble to the ground.

“I hate you, Damon,” she whispered, her voice filled with raw emotion. “I hate you for what you’ve done to me—for what you’re still doing.”

Unable to bear it any longer, Amara turned away, tears blinding her as she stumbled toward the door. Each step felt like a thousand knives stabbing into her heart, but she forced herself to keep moving.

She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing her break down completely.

Reaching the door, she paused, her hand trembling as she grasped the handle. Without looking back, she whispered, “This stays between us, Damon.” She warned him.

And with the last ounce of her strength, she pulled the door open and walked out.

She thought of going back to her room but decided instead to leave the mansion—at least to take a walk. The cold evening breeze hit her teary face as she stepped outside, causing her to sigh in relief.

For several minutes, she wandered through the streets of the pack until she spotted a bar and decided to go in. Amara had never tasted alcohol before, but she believed it was the right remedy for her pain at that moment.

She had heard that it could do wonders in making you feel better when you were low.

“Three bottles of beer, please,” she gestured to the server, who nodded and within a few minutes served her order.

Taking a sip of the first bottle, a frown appeared on her face at the bitter and harsh taste. An ice cream may have been a better remedy, she thought, but that didn’t stop her.

She kept taking more and more sips until she had licked the last bottle dry.

“Two more, please,” she requested, her speech starting to slur. The alcohol had started to take effect, making her feel slightly tipsy.

Just then, she noticed someone standing before her. Could it be Damon? No, he had just rejected her.

She struggled to see with blurred vision but soon realized that it was Austin, the Beta’s son, standing before her.

“Who do we have here?” he muttered, his grin widening. “The bird has left her nest.”