Rejected by the Heir, Claimed by the Lycan King

Elinor POV

The decaying walls of my childhood bedroom smelled of rot and desperation. I stared into the spotted, antique mirror, the heavy white lace of my bridal gown hanging off my thin frame like a shroud. I looked like a ghost. Or worse—a sacrifice.

The door creaked open. My father, Alpha Joseph Thorne, stepped in. His face was the color of old ash, his posture screaming cowardice.

"The Blackwood escort is here," he muttered, refusing to meet my eyes. "Braden was delayed by urgent pack business. A common warrior will escort you to the ceremony."

Ice flooded my veins. In our world, an Alpha heir personally claiming his bride was a sacred tradition. Sending a warrior was the ultimate insult. It meant I wasn't a future Luna; I was just collateral being transferred. A *wolfless* Omega sold to save our bankrupt pack.

"I understand," I said, my voice deadened. I wouldn't let him see my humiliation.

An hour later, I stood at the entrance of the Great Hall of the Blackwood Pack. The massive sanctuary was carved from ancient black stone and timber, smelling of cedar, power, and impending doom. Sunlight bled through the stained glass, casting fractured shadows over the obsidian floor.

I walked down the aisle alone.

The pews were packed with the most powerful Alphas in North America. Their whispers hit me like physical blows. I could smell their pity. Their mockery.

Suddenly, a sharp pain pierced my temples. A voice burst into my mind, frantic and trembling. It was Faye Vance, my only friend.

*Elinor, he's gone!* Faye’s mind-link echoed in my head. *He's not coming! He took a human girl—a singer named Kacey—and boarded a private jet to California an hour ago!*

My breath hitched. My heart stopped.

Braden hadn't just abandoned me; he had run off with a human. A weak, scentless human. And the Blackwoods knew. The realization hit me with the force of a physical blow. They knew he was gone, yet they let me walk down this aisle to be the laughingstock of the entire werewolf world.

The crushing weight of despair vanished, instantly incinerated by a sudden, blinding fury. Deep within my soul, something ancient and dormant twitched. A spark of pure, white-hot pride.

I stopped dead in front of the glowing moonstone altar.

The whispers died down. The silence in the Great Hall became suffocating.

I reached up and tore the white laurel wreath from my hair. The symbol of purity and submission hit the obsidian floor with a soft thud. I turned my back to the altar and faced the front row, my eyes locking onto the matriarch, Genevieve Blackwood. She sat in the shadows, her face an unreadable mask of ancient authority.

"Where is your heir, Dowager Luna?" my voice rang out, surprisingly steady, slicing through the heavy silence.

Genevieve’s eyes narrowed. Her Alpha aura flared, a heavy pressure meant to force me to my knees. "Elinor. We will discuss this privately—"

"We will discuss it