All Chapters of Rejected By The Alpha, Desired By The Immortal King: Chapter 81 - Chapter 87

POV: KadeThe night is endless.It does not move like it should, hour to hour, shadow to dawn. It just hangs—heavy, stagnant—like a punishment that forgot the crime.The barracks smell of rust and mould. Stone sweats in the corners. A single lamp gutters in its hook, throwing broken light across the floor. Every time the wind breathes through the cracked window, the flame bends, struggling, then claws itself upright again. I envy it.I sit on the floor, back against the wall, staring at nothing. My wolf should be here. Pacing. Snarling. Pressing claws against my skin to make me move. But the cage inside me is empty. My ribs echo hollow.Wolfless.The word curdles in my mouth.I press my forehead against the cold wall until it hurts. The stone doesn’t shift, doesn’t care. I let the pain bloom. Pain is proof that something inside me still answers.I remember when my wolf first came—bright, violent, whole. Her howl cut through the marrow of my bones like a blade finding its sheath. She w

POV: AdiraThe hall smells of wax and iron.Torches spit against black stone, smoke curling toward a vaulted ceiling painted with wolves that never lived. A dais rises like a blade at the chamber’s heart, draped in crimson and silver. Runes crawl faintly along the floor — roots etched into stone, old words bent into obedience.They told me this was only a rehearsal.But rehearsals are prisons too.I move through the steps the priest drilled into me: bow of the head, lift of the hands, turn of the wrist to show the bond-mark. My body performs with perfect grace; I was raised to make performance indistinguishable from truth. Still, my pulse betrays me, drumming against the child inside me.The pack kneels in my imagination, though the hall is mostly empty. I see their bowed heads, their whispers: Luna. Luna. Luna. My name as triumph. My womb as proof.I place my palm on the swell of my belly. The child stirs faintly, a flutter like wings.Erik stirs with it.Mine, he whispers, silk thre

POV: AshmouthDarkness tastes different when it has been kept too long.New dark is nervous — it clings to corners, panics at the scrape of flint, waits for fire to name it. But old dark, the kind that learns patience, that moulds itself around stone, chains, and silence—this kind is thick enough to chew. I have chewed it for centuries.The Loom buried me here. Or claimed to.Above me, Solara hangs, a hollow crown of false light and false law. I feel it in the stone, in the air that drips through cracks like thin wine. Once, I stood there. Once, my voice cracked their table in two. Once, I burned their order to glass and ash.Then chains. Always chains.---The cavern is a cathedral of ruin.Iron columns spike down from the ceiling, hammered into bedrock. They are not decoration. They are links, each wider than a wolf’s back, each carved with the runes of gods afraid of their own shadows. They thread my limbs, my ribs, my throat. They drink my marrow and spit it back into the stone.A

POV: Araya The hall had not finished echoing when the shadow came. Not a door opening. Not a wolf stepping from the crowd. This was absence made flesh. A blade-shaped void cut through the silver rain still hanging in the rafters, and the air itself hissed as if a seam had been unstitched. My wolf bristled so hard it hurt my ribs. Nyxara hissed in my skull: Steel. Old steel. Then I saw him. He stood where no path led, bronze skin gleaming as if hammered straight from ore, eyes faceted obsidian, hair pulled tight into a knot that never moved. Armor wrapped his body in shifting light—blades folded over each other, edges reforming every time my focus tried to hold. A sword the size of a man’s height rode his back, silent, patient. A weapon, not a man. Nyxara’s tone was ice: The First Blade. The name dragged dust from the rafters. Even Selene’s silver shivered. He looked at me. No blink. No breath. “You are to be unmade.” --- He moved before the last syllable. Faster than wolv