All Chapters of The Rejected Omega's Bastard Heir: Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

POV: Trishelle The stink hit her first, same as always. James Black had a way of announcing himself that crawled up your nose before you even saw his sorry ass. Cedar, always that damn cedar, then something colder underneath, like frost creeping over a tombstone. That smell used to make her panties wet in a way that made her hate herself. Eighteen years later, her body still hadn't learned its lesson about poison. Don't. Don't you dare let him get to you again. "Well," he drawled from the doorway, voice like gravel and whiskey in a way that made her back straighten before her brain could tell it not to. He let the silence hang there, thick and heavy, like he always did when he knew it cost her something, savoring the way she stiffened without even having to look at her. "Was hoping for coffee this morning. Instead all I smell is Trash." Heat crawled up her neck like a damn rash, spreading into her ears until they burned. She kept her eyes glued to the eggs in the pan, because l

POV: James James headed for the training grounds, hands shoved in his pockets, jaw still tight from the kitchen. Jack fell into step beside him a few seconds later, already running his mouth about something one of the younger warriors had said at breakfast. "You should've seen his face when Marcus told him the bacon was gone." Jack grinned ear to ear like it was the funniest thing he'd seen all week. "Man looked like someone kicked his dog." "Should've woken up earlier." James wasn't really listening. His head hadn't left the kitchen at all. He kept replaying the way Trash's head had dropped the second he walked in. Quick. Automatic. Like a reflex she didn't even have to think about anymore. Years of training had done that to her. He tried not to think too hard about who'd done the training. He remembered the way she'd flinched when he said something about her smell, how her shoulders had curled in like she was bracing for a hit that never came. Not that it was true. He almos

POV: Trishelle Something changed that day in the kitchen. Trishelle didn't know what, exactly, but it had been eating at her ever since. She kept replaying the moment, hunting for the misstep, the wrong word, some careless look that set all this in motion. She found nothing. And that blank space where an answer should be scared her worse than any explanation could. It started small. A shadow lingering too long by the garden gate. Footsteps outside the shed while she counted tools, pausing just long enough to make her heart stutter before moving on. She told herself she was imagining it, that exhaustion was screwing with her head. Then it stopped being small. A week now, and Alpha James kept turning up wherever she went, like stalking her chores had become his second job. Kitchen. Garden. The tool shed out back. She couldn't scrub a pot or weed a row of carrots without feeling those pale eyes crawl over her skin, patient, unblinking, like he had all the time in the world to wait her

POV: TrishelleTrishelle dragged herself down the basement stairs, bone tired in the way that came from days that never let up. James had backed off, at least. No more shadows in the garden, no more footsteps outside the shed. Whatever twisted thing had crawled into him seemed to have burned itself out, and she sure as hell wasn't going to poke at it and find out why. She'd learned a long time ago that peace in this house came in scraps, little windows that slammed shut as fast as they cracked open. The only smart move was to climb through while she still could.She shook out her thin blanket, and the old irritation came roaring back anyway. The fabric smelled like the basement, damp stone and dust, and she wrinkled her nose before spreading it over the mattress.Bark at me to bake cookies in a rush, vanish for a day, then strut back in reeking of sex and God knows how many she-wolves, and have the balls to demand a fresh batch like I've got an endless supply hiding up my sleeve.Good

POV: The PackSomething had happened to the Alpha of Bloodmoon pack. Everyone felt it, the way one feels a storm coming before the sky even changes color, a pressure in the air that settled over the pack house and refused to lift.He moped around like a kicked dog. He sighed like the world had personally handed him its problems to carry, shoulders bowed under some invisible weight he refused to name. He skipped training more than he showed up, choosing instead to brood alone somewhere nobody dared follow, disappearing for hours at a stretch and returning with the same hollow look in his eyes. Even his closest warriors kept their distance, trading uneasy looks whenever his name came up, like saying it too loud might call down whatever darkness had wrapped itself around him. A few of the younger wolves whispered that he'd been cursed. The older ones just shook their heads and said nothing, which somehow felt worse. Nobody knew exactly what had shifted in the last few days. Just that it