Lahat ng Kabanata ng Rejected By The Alpha, Desired By The Immortal King: Kabanata 1 - Kabanata 10

POV: PRIESTESS ILLARA, UNNAMED PRIESTESS, NOVICE GUARD, THE MOTHER The moon hung heavy over the Alpha’s Hall — swollen, silver, watching. The Blessing Moon. The night when every expectant she-wolf stood before Selene’s altar, her belly touched, catalogued, whispered over. Power dressed as piety. Fertility traded like a coin. I knelt at the altar, sleeves scented with lavender and moonflower, fingers slick with sacred oil. Three years in service, and I’d seen them all — proud matrons with eyes like victory, shamed brides trying not to cry. I thought nothing could surprise me. I was wrong. She stepped from the shadows at the end of the line. No silks. No jewels. No escort. Just a plain cloak, hair loose, face half-hidden in torchlight. But the way she held her belly — as though cradling the last flame in the world—made my hand falter. She wasn’t on the registry. The High Priestess gave the smallest nod. Better to bless and dismiss than cause a scandal. I stepped forward, my voic

Girl POV: Araya Sometimes, when I caught my reflection, I wondered if the mirror was lying. The girl staring back didn’t look entirely human. Skin too pale from lack of sun. Cracked lips. Eyes holding no light. Not empty — hollow. As if something inside me had curled up long ago and never woken. Maybe that was why they hated me. Maybe they saw what I was before I did. Or maybe cruelty was simply easier than compassion. --- I rarely spoke. Only when I had to. The last time I screamed was at twelve — shielding a pup from the others’ cruelty. I had thrown myself between them, trembling, hands already bloodied. They broke three ribs for it. The pup left for another pack the next day. I was left behind. The Alpha hadn’t cared about the fight — only that I had forgotten my place. Stay small. Stay unseen. Stay silent. Not because I was numb. Numb would’ve been easier. --- They used me for training — to test blades, arrows, and pain. Once, a warrior poured boiling wa

POV: ARAYA Then— Splash. A goblet of wine crashed at my feet, the dark red liquid splattering my hem like spilt blood. Gasps swept through the hall — not from pity, but from delight. Then came the laughter. Low. Cruel. “Careful,” someone drawled. “The mutt might think it’s a toast.” The wine soaked into my handmade dress, cold and sharp against my skin. I stood frozen, hands trembling, face burning. No one stopped it. No one looked away. “Wait… she was his mate?” “Not a chance.” “Oh my Goddess, that’s revolting.” “I’d reject her twice.” “A wolfless Luna? That’s a joke.” “She’s not cursed. She is the curse.” A second goblet shattered behind me, splintering against marble. Laughter swelled like a storm. A priestess near the altar clutched her moon-pendant and whispered low, but not low enough: “May the Moon forgive such a bond.” And in that moment, I knew. I wasn’t just unwanted. I was an error — even in the eyes of the divine. Kade turned

POV: ARAYA They pulled me past statues of the Goddess with glassy eyes, marble faces gleaming in the moonlight, and into a round chamber thick with incense and ritual fire. The priestesses sat in a crescent, silver robes pooling at their feet, sacred ink curling up their throats like vines. In firelight, the ink seemed alive. At the centre stood High Priestess Irelia—pale as moon-bleached bone, blind white eyes that saw more than the living ever could. Behind her, an obsidian altar rose, etched in runes that pulsed faintly. Upon it lay a silver dagger glimmering like frost under moonlight. “You are here,” Irelia said evenly, “because something unusual happened at last night’s mating ball.” I said nothing. “You were mated… and then rejected. Not because of what you did. Because of what you are.” Whispers rippled among the priestesses. Irelia tilted her head. “You do not smell of wolves. You never have. And yet…” She circled me slowly. “…one of our own claims they felt a mating

POV: Adira Of course, she smiled the whole time. She smiled when the council praised her composure. She smiled when the warriors congratulated her on her strength. She smiled in the mirror when she pinned her hair into gold spirals, smoothed the silk over her hips, and practised the kind of serene gaze a Luna should wear. Too refined to rage. Too disciplined to weep. Too clever to confront Kade head-on. A direct fight never works when the enemy is in someone’s blood. So she focused on something else. Not on the man who now lay in her bed but barely touched her. Not on the way his eyes slipped toward shadows when he thought she wasn’t looking. Not even on the growing hollowness between them, as if the rejection ceremony had burned away more than it sealed. No—Adira fixed her gaze on the problem’s root. The ghost. The scent trail that would not fade from the training grounds. The claw marks gouged into Kade’s bedpost he swore he didn’t remember making. The name Araya was