Semua Bab The Rejected Queen: Bab 1 - Bab 10

Rayna POVThe moon hangs low and swollen above the Moonclaw clearing, bathing the pack in silver light. Shadows twist across the firelit circle, dancing over cloaks and proud shoulders, but none of them matter. Not right now.All I can hear is my heartbeat. Loud. Relentless. Like a drum counting down to the moment everything changes.Tonight is the Choosing.I stand at the very edge of the gathering, wrapped in a borrowed cloak that smells faintly of rosemary and someone else’s home. I tug it tighter around my shoulders. The fabric scratches my skin, but I welcome the sting.I’m eighteen now. Old enough to find my mate. Old enough to finally belong and start new life.My wolf shifts restlessly beneath the surface, pacing just under my skin. "He’s close", she whispers. Her voice is quieter than usual, but there’s no mistaking the certainty.My chest tightens.I scan the sea of faces, the flames blurring my vision as nervous energy coils in my stomach. My fingers twitch at my sides. I’v

Rayna POVThe stream wasn't far.I heard it before I saw it - the gentle rush of water over smooth stones, the occasional splash as it tumbles across shallow dips. It cuts through the trees like a silver ribbon, catching the moonlight in quick, glimmering flashes.I drop to my knees at the bank, my legs weak, trembling. My fingers dip into the water and I hiss at the cold. But I don’t stop. I roll up the remains of my sleeves and splash my face, rinsing away blood, dirt, ash - all the pieces of tonight I can’t bear to carry a second longer.The icy sting jolts me fully awake.I scrub gently at the dried blood on my arm and across my collarbone, watching pale pink swirl into the current and disappear downstream. The scratches are already beginning to close, the bruises fading as my wolf’s healing kicks in. But I clean them anyway. Not because I need to.Because it makes me feel like I still have control over something.For a while, I just sit there, breathing, dripping, letting the sil

Rayna POVSomething inside me twists. My grip tightens again on the shovel, even though my arms ache. My throat feels tight, but I manage to speak.“So what? You want me to say thank you?”His gaze returns to mine. Steady. Unreadable. “No,” he says. “I didn’t do it for you.”The words land like a slap, and yet… somehow that’s easier to swallow than if he claimed some noble reason.I lift my chin. “Then what? Just happened to be out in the woods murdering people?”His lip curls, just a little. “They weren’t people. They were scavengers. Trained to track scent signatures like yours.”My blood runs cold. “Like mine?”“Freshly rejected. Weak. Glowing.” He moves closer, slow, deliberate. “You’re like blood in the water to creatures like that. They smell your pain and come running.”He’s in front of me now - not close enough to touch, but close enough to make my every nerve stand on edge.“I’m not weak,” I say, voice tight.He looks at the shovel. Then back at me. “No,” he agrees. “But you

Rayna POV We move through the trees without speaking.Damon walks a few steps ahead, not watching me, not slowing down - but never too far. He moves like he belongs here, like he’s memorized every branch, every root waiting to twist an ankle.I trail behind, my boots crunching softly over frostbitten leaves. The deeper we go, the quieter the woods become.Too quiet.No birdsong. No wind. Just the occasional snap of a twig beneath our feet, and the steady rhythm of my breathing, faster than I want it to be.I watch him.Not just because I don’t trust him - but because I’m looking for something. Weakness. Hesitation. A tell. Anything.But he’s maddeningly hard to read.He walks with the ease of a man who’s fought and won more times than he’s lost - and never lets his guard down. His coat is worn, scuffed leather stretched over broad shoulders. There are faint tears near the seams. A dark stain near his left bicep.A hit he didn’t dodge? Maybe.His boots are solid, quiet. His steps are

Rayna POV The door creaks softly as I step back into the main room.He’s at the hearth. Kneeling.The fire’s already built - low but steady, glowing amber against the stone. A cast-iron pan rests on a simple stand above it, the scent of herbs and meat hitting me like a punch to the gut. I hadn’t even realized I was starving until now.He doesn’t look up. Just stirs once, carefully, then sets the spoon aside.“You’re fast,” he says without turning.I cross my arms. “You timed me?”“I time everything.”I can’t tell if that’s supposed to be a joke. It doesn’t sound like one.My eyes scan the small space. There’s a plate already on the table. Bread. Dried fruit. A second cup sits next to his own - still steaming.I hesitate. “You cook now?”“I survive,” he replies, standing. He doesn’t offer the food.He waits. Like it’s my choice. Like it’s always my choice - with him, anyway. That unsettles me more than if he’d ordered me to eat.I move toward the table slowly, my stomach clenching wit