All Chapters of REJECTED BY THE ALPHA, CLAIMED BY HIS ENEMY: Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

I didn’t make it far before my legs gave out. The moment I crossed the boundary of the ceremonial grounds, the pain I’d been holding back tore through me. I collapsed to my knees in the dirt, fingers clawing at the ground as another wave of agony ripped through my chest. The broken bond burned like acid in my veins. I had been rejected—but not released. My wolf whimpered inside me, curled tight and silent, as if she too was bleeding. “Get up.” The voice was sharp. Cold. I looked up through blurred vision to see Beta Marcus standing a few feet away, arms crossed, his expression stiff with discomfort rather than sympathy. “The Alpha wants you gone before sunrise,” he said. “You’re not to return to the pack house.” I let out a shaky laugh that tasted like blood. “Of course not.” Marcus shifted his weight. “An escort will take you to the outer border.” Escort. As if I were a criminal. As if I had done something wrong by existing. I forced myself to stand, swaying slightly. N

I still remembered the cold before I remembered the pain. Not the clean chill of night air—but the kind that seeped into bone, heavy and suffocating, dragging me down until even breathing felt like work. I had been walking for hours after crossing the border. Maybe days. Time had blurred into a haze of hunger, thirst, and the relentless ache in my chest where the bond had been torn but not severed. Every step felt borrowed. I remember stumbling near a stream, my reflection warped in the dark water. Pale. Hollow-eyed. A stranger wearing the ruin of a ceremonial dress. I remember thinking, So this is how it ends. My knees gave out shortly after. I hit the ground hard, breath knocked from my lungs, fingers digging weakly into damp earth. My wolf stirred faintly—too exhausted to shift, too wounded to protect me. Get up, I told myself. I didn’t. The pain surged again, sharper than before, ripping through me like punishment for daring to survive Lucien’s rejection. I cried out, th

Pain was no longer unfamiliar to me. It had become a constant companion—sharp in the mornings, dull and aching by nightfall, living beneath my skin like a reminder of everything I had lost and everything I still had to earn. The Nightfall training grounds were carved into the mountainside, stone worn smooth by years of combat and discipline. The air smelled of iron and pine, sweat and old blood. Wolves moved with purpose around me—some shifting in and out of human form, others sparring with weapons or fists, their movements precise and lethal. I stood at the center of it all, gripping a wooden staff with hands that were still healing. “You’re late.” Ronan’s voice cut cleanly through the noise. I turned to face him, shoulders squared despite the tension curling in my stomach. He stood several paces away, arms crossed, his expression unreadable as ever. He wore simple black training gear, the kind that didn’t restrict movement. There was no crown. No display of rank. He didn’t ne

The inner guard did not train at dawn. They trained before it. The sky was still ink-dark when I arrived at the lower training field, breath fogging in the cold air. Torches burned low along the stone walls, casting long shadows that shifted with every movement. This place felt different from the open grounds—older, heavier. Like it remembered blood. Five warriors waited inside the ring. Each of them radiated authority. Elite. I tightened the straps on my gloves and stepped forward anyway. “You’re late,” one of them said flatly. “No,” another replied, eyes narrowing. “She’s early. Just not early enough.” A ripple of restrained amusement passed through them. I said nothing. Ronan stood at the edge of the ring, hands clasped behind his back. He hadn’t spoken a word since I arrived. He didn’t need to. His presence alone kept the tension sharp. “Rules,” he said finally. One word. Calm. Absolute. “No killing,” one of the elites added. “Everything else is fair.” My pulse spike

The Nightfall archives were older than any building in the keep. Rows of carved shelves stretched into shadowed corners, the air heavy with the scent of aged parchment, dust, and something faintly metallic—like moonlight trapped in stone. Candles flickered along the walls, casting uneven light over texts bound in weathered leather. The High Elder moved with deliberate care, his fingers tracing the grooves of carvings as though they remembered secrets better than any mind could. “You shouldn’t be here,” he said, voice low but firm. I didn’t flinch. “I want to understand,” I said quietly, “what I am… and why the stone reacted.” Ronan had let me enter, silent as ever. His gaze swept the room like a sentinel. I could feel the weight of his eyes on me, but it wasn’t threatening—it was alert. Protective. Wary. The High Elder paused, then nodded once. “Perhaps you should know. But you must understand: the truth is dangerous.” I swallowed. “I’m not afraid.” He sighed, finally. “Few e