All Chapters of Rise of the Alpha's King Rejected Mate : Chapter 41 - Chapter 50

Fractures and Fire The camp was already stirring when Lyra returned, though her body ached as if she had marched for days. Every nerve felt raw, her mind weighed down by the keeper’s words. She longed for silence, a moment to breathe, but fate had no intention of granting her that mercy. Darius was waiting. He stood at the center of the clearing, speaking quietly with Rafe—though the moment his eyes found her, the world seemed to stop. His jaw tightened, his posture shifting from command to something sharper, hungrier. Lyra’s stomach twisted. The bond pulsed between them, raw and undeniable. She had hoped the walk back would dull it, but instead it throbbed stronger than ever, as if the woods themselves had stripped away her defenses. “Where were you?” Darius’s voice cut across the camp, low but carrying authority that left no room for escape. Lyra kept walking, ignoring the heat of his gaze. “That isn’t your concern.” “Everything you do is my concern,” he snapped, stepping into

The Weight of TruthThe council chamber was a storm. Voices clashed like thunder, sharp and unyielding. The great wooden table that stretched across the center of the hall shook as fists slammed down in anger. The air itself was heavy, the tension so thick Lyra felt it pressing against her chest as she stood at the far end of the room.She wasn’t supposed to be here. Rogues—her rogues—didn’t walk into the sacred chamber of the united packs. Yet here she stood, silver eyes gleaming under the torchlight, daring them to deny her presence.At her side, Marcus shifted uncomfortably, his jaw tight. He wasn’t used to this kind of scrutiny; none of them were. Dozens of elders, alphas, and betas from across the territories sat glaring at her, their gazes dripping with disdain. To them, she wasn’t a leader. She was a rejected mate, an orphan, a rogue who should have stayed buried in the mud where she’d been left.And yet…they couldn’t ignore her anymore. Not with whispers of the “Silver Queen”

Whispers in the DarkThe dungeon of Blood Moon Pack was carved deep into the earth, damp stone walls slick with condensation, the air heavy with mildew and old blood. Torches burned low in iron sconces, their flames guttering with every shift of stale air. It wasn’t a place meant for comfort—it was meant to break spirits, to remind prisoners that even the ground itself pressed against them.Rafe sat shackled in the innermost cell, chains bolted to the wall behind him, iron cuffs digging into his wrists. His head lolled against the cold stone, sweat darkening his hairline. From the outside, he looked spent, almost broken. But Lyra didn’t trust appearances not with him.She stood with Darius and two guards at the bars, watching him in silence. The only sounds were the drip-drip of water and the faint clinking of his chains whenever he shifted.“You’ve been quiet,” Darius said at last, his voice carrying the weight of command. “Too quiet for a man who was so quick to gloat.”Rafe’s lips

The Gathering StormThe night air was cool against Lyra’s skin as she stepped out onto the balcony of the Alpha’s mansion. Below, the Blood Moon packlands stretched wide, lanterns glowing faintly along the paths like constellations scattered across the ground. Wolves moved quietly, but there was tension in their steps, a tautness that hadn’t been there weeks ago. Whispers of Lucian’s growing power had spread faster than fire in a dry forest, and though Darius tried to project certainty, fear had seeped into the bones of his people.Lyra leaned against the stone railing, drawing in a deep breath. The council meeting still lingered in her mind—every doubt, every sneer, every hesitant nod of support. They had gained some ground, but not nearly enough. Lucian’s shadow was rising, and the packs were far from united.A presence stirred behind her, warm and familiar. She didn’t turn. “You walk too quietly for someone your size.”Darius’s low chuckle reached her. “And you brood too loudly for

Trial by FangThe hall had gone still. The air was thick with the heat of wolves holding back their growls, the faint rasp of claws dragging over stone as warriors circled to form a ring. In the center stood Garran, Crescent Ridge’s champion, a mountain of muscle and scars. His smirk was not one of arrogance, but of certainty.No one had ever beaten him.Lyra stepped forward, her boots echoing softly against the stone floor. Every eye followed her, some with fear, others with anticipation. Her wolf stirred under her skin, restless, her silver fire whispering to be released.“You don’t belong here,” Garran growled, cracking his neck as his body began to ripple with the change. “This hall isn’t meant for the cursed.”“You’re right,” Lyra replied, her voice low but steady. “It’s meant for the strong. Let’s see which of us the goddess favors.”Gasps fluttered through the crowd at her boldness.Garran snarled and shifted. Bones cracked, flesh tore, and in moments a massive wolf stood befor