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The Unborn Tithe
Last Updated:
2025-08-26 03:58:39
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Rejected By The Alpha, Desired By The Immortal King HUNGER IN THE DARK
POV: DorianThe forest wasn’t sleeping tonight.It was holding its breath.Even in the stillness, I felt the pulse beneath the earth—the subtle pressure that says predators are moving. Not prey. Not an accident. Purpose.For days, the signs had been bleeding through the borders:Branches snapped at the wrong angles.Pawprints too deep for deer, too light for bears.The metallic tang of copper and old blood carried on the wind.Rogues. The kind that don’t just attack. The kind that watch, learn, and wait for you to slip.Tonight, someone had given them that moment.I caught her scent halfway to the north watchtower.Sandalwood smouldered low, like a hearth fire burning through the night. Honeyed embers, sweet enough to draw you close. Wild moonflower, fleeting and untamed.And that last note. That dangerous, divine edge that made my wolf bristle because it didn’t belong to this plane at all.Araya.She wasn’t on patrol. I’d checked. Which meant she wasn’t supposed to be anywhere near t
Rejected By The Alpha, Desired By The Immortal King EMBERS BETWEEN BLADES
POV: ArayaThe echo of Fate’s voice still lingered in my bones.Even hours later, it felt like carrying the aftershock of a storm through my marrow—every breath sharp, every heartbeat too loud. The Hollowflame inside me was restless, snapping against my ribs like it wanted to burn through skin.So I did the only thing I knew.I trained.The courtyard stones were slick from morning rain, cold beneath my bare feet. Dawn hadn’t broken fully yet; the horizon was a smear of indigo and violet, the kind of light that makes shadows feel closer than they should.Dorian was already there.Sword in hand. Coat discarded. The faint sheen of sweat on his throat told me he’d been at it long before I woke.He didn’t greet me.Just tossed me a practice blade, steel ringing against my palm.“Again,” he said.We moved.Not the careful drills of yesterday. Sharper. Faster. The kind of pace meant to strip you bare and see what you’re made of. His strikes bit at me, forcing me to bend, twist, and feel the
Rejected By The Alpha, Desired By The Immortal King THE SKY THAT BREAKS
POV: Araya The morning air was knife-sharp and silvered with frost, but it never touched me. Dorian’s shadow cut through the clearing in measured arcs, the bone-forged blade in his hand catching stray shards of sunlight. He moved like the weapon wasn’t just his — it was an extension of him, bone and steel fused in purpose.“Again,” he said, voice low and steady, carrying that unshakable authority that made my pulse misbehave.I lunged. Fire snapped in my palm, Hollowflame curling like a serpent around my fingers as I aimed for his unguarded side—Steel kissed my throat before the flame could land.“You’re too obvious,” he murmured.The words should have irritated me, but paired with the heat of his body so close, they made my heart stumble.Nyxara’s voice was velvet and fangs in my skull: “He’s not wrong. You telegraph every intent. Want to win? Change the game. Distract him.”I didn’t ask what she meant. I already knew.I feinted left, spun right, and stepped in closer than I ever h
Rejected By The Alpha, Desired By The Immortal King The Unborn Tithe
POV: ERIKThe dark here was not absence.It lived.It pressed against me in greedy waves, thick with the perfume of ancient rot—old enough to choke a mortal in a single breath. The roots around me flexed like muscle, their runes glowing faintly in the black: a cage that pulsed with my hunger, learned my pulse, and beat in time with me.I let the Black Root breathe with me.Inhale.Exhale.Each heartbeat stolen from the world above.The gods thought they had buried me in a prison.They buried me in a throne.---War was near. Not the small, blood-warm kind of packs and petty gods. The great kind—the kind that erases calendars and remakes ages.I tasted it in the soil, in the faint bleed of Hollowflame seeping through the crust.She was moving.The child they hid from me.Nyxara.The name burned my tongue like iron and honey.---I stood. The roots shifted back. My palm pressed to the ceiling of my cage.The lines between realms thinned—I felt the Harbinger’s descent, the gods’ panic, t
Rejected By The Alpha, Desired By The Immortal King BREATH THAT BURNS
POV: ArayaThe clearing still smelled of yesterday’s rain — damp earth, pine, and the faint metallic tang of steel left too long in the weather. My bare feet sank into the soil, grounding me before the first strike came.Dorian was already waiting. No shirt. No armour. Just loose training trousers that made it far too easy to follow the way his muscles shifted beneath skin. The bone-forged blade from the altar rested against a stump, but today he was unarmed.“You’re slower today,” he said, stepping into the circle without preamble. “Distracted.”“I’m fine,” I lied.He began to circle me. Not like a wolf — no sound, no wasted movement. Older. Sharper. As if the forest itself was holding its breath for me to make the wrong step.You’re staring at his hands again, Nyxara purred in the back of my mind, voice thick with amusement. Imagine what else they could hold.Heat crept into my cheeks. Shut up.Dorian moved first. A low feint toward my ribs. I blocked, but his other hand caught my w
Rejected By The Alpha, Desired By The Immortal King ASH QUEEN ’S WHISPER
POV: The Last Surviving RogueWe huddled close to the fire. Not for warmth—the night wasn’t cold. But because the dark beyond it felt like it had teeth.The embers snapped now and then, little cracks that sounded like memory. None of us spoke. Every time one of us tried, the words turned to smoke before leaving the mouth.It wasn’t the battle that silenced us. Rogues die every week. Packs fall. Alphas are replaced.It was her.“They called her wolfless,” someone muttered at last, eyes fixed on the flames. “Said she wouldn’t last a week without a pack.”“That was before,” another rasped.Before the clearing. Before the fire.I remember the smell first. Not burning wood. Not flesh. Something older—like the world’s first hearth, the one the gods themselves warmed their hands over before they decided mortals were worth creating.Then I saw her. Barefoot. Ash streaking her legs like warpaint. Hair moving as though the wind belonged only to her. No armour. No weapon. Just fire at her heels—
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