All Chapters of Rejected By The Alpha, Desired By The Immortal King: Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

POV: Araya He found me just before dawn. A lone rogue — thin, twisted, scarred from battles he didn’t win but somehow survived. One eye is cloudy. The other yellow, bright with hunger that came from too many moons without a pack. No sigil. No rank. Just dirt, blood, and the smell of rot deep enough to taste. He grinned when he saw me. I stayed slumped against the black oak, my limbs dead weight, my dress hanging in shredded strips. My thighs and neck bloomed with bruises. Every breath scraped my ribs. “They said you’re broken,” he said, stepping closer. “Didn’t think they meant wrapped up like a gift.” I didn’t move. Couldn’t. My body had stopped answering hours ago. My throat burned. The brand on my back throbbed— not in pain, but like something knocking from the inside. A warning in a language older than the Moon. I couldn’t yell. Couldn’t beg. But my eyes… my eyes stayed open. He crouched in front of me, his shadow cutting me in half. His filthy hands forced m

POV: ARAYA The forest does not forget. It swallows. Not with hunger, but with cold — a silence that rots in your bones, the kind no fire can thaw. Even the moonlight won’t come down here. The trees are tall and crooked, their branches like claws, their shadows older than any path I’ve ever walked. I don’t look back as the last trace of my pack’s land disappears behind me. My body is a ruin — bruises blooming black along my ribs, shallow cuts bleeding down my arms. My bare feet are raw, blistered, split open in places, but they keep moving. If I stop, I’ll fall apart. The cold bites in strips, each gust slicing another piece away. But it’s still kinder than the eyes that watched me burn in silence. Kinder than the laughter when I tripped. Kinder than the rocks they threw when no one was looking. Kinder than Kade’s voice when he rejected me — smooth as a blade sliding between my ribs. No wolf. No family. Not pretty. Slave. Runt. The names hum in my skull like a lullab

POV: ARAYA The forest wasn’t silent anymore. It pulsed. With hunger. With intent. With breath. Each step thudded up through my bones, echoing like I was walking on hollow graves. My body ached, but fear had dulled into something colder—small enough to hold in my palm, like the last ember of a dying fire. The rune on my shoulder still throbbed. Not painful now. A pull. Like the forest itself pressing its hand over my mouth. Not soothing me. Taming me. --- The trees loomed like watchers, roots flexing under the soil. Bark peeled in curling strips where my shadow touched. Moss grew in purple patches, the colour of old bruises. No birdcalls. No wings. Only the hum beneath the ground. Watching. Waiting. --- A flicker ahead—a deer. Small. Trembling. Its eyes locked on mine. Then it dropped dead. No blood. No struggle. As if death had been whispered into its ear. I didn’t flinch. The forest was folding me in. Claiming me. --- My feet dragged heavier, like the earth

POV: ARAYA The forest knows me now. It doesn’t just look. It bends. Moves. Opens. Branches creak softly—not to warn, but to welcome. The moss beneath my bare feet throbs faintly, beating in time with my heart. The trees part at my approach, their twisted limbs drawing aside like courtiers bowing to a queen they cannot name. Roots slither around my ankles—not to bind, but to guide. Their pale silver veins pulse, pointing me deeper into the Hollow. The ground trembles beneath me. Not in fear—recognition. I walk barefoot on bones and rot, cursed earth and forgotten prayers. Nothing touches me. Not the wind. Not the shadows. Not even the gods. The pack beat me, chained me, left me for dead. I am no longer that girl. Under their boots, I was a mutt. Now— I am hungry wrapped in flesh. Ash bound in bone. A wound the gods failed to cauterise. And the Hollow—ancient, feral—is no longer asleep. It is awake. And it follows. I move slowly. Deliberately. There’s no limp now

POV: KAELITH They call me the Seer who does not sleep. They are wrong. I sleep—but never for long enough to escape what hunts me in dreams. For over thirty years, I have known no more than three hours of rest at a time. The old moon cracked in my visions long ago, and since then I have lived between waking and something else—something raw, holy, and cursed. I have seen Alpha kings rise and crumble like dust at dawn. Packs bleed themselves into extinction beneath banners they once swore sacred. Bloodlines turn from legend to whispers. Still, I remain—a pillar of pale serenity in the temple built upon the bones of the first wolves, where even the gods once knelt. My hair has long since turned silver, woven into ceremonial braids with wolf fang, bone chips, and crystal fragments that glow faintly under moonlight. My robes shimmer not from thread, but from spells woven in moonlight and blood—rites passed from seer to seer. Lunar ink runs down my sleeves in the shapes of moons and co