Rejected Mate Rising as Lycan Queen

After a decade-long mate bond, I found myself drained and feverish from planning a celebration that had been a dream for years. Kobe, the Alpha of the Silverfang Pack, nonchalantly handed me a glass of whiskey and pushed some pills into my mouth, his Alpha tone sharp with impatience. “You’re not seriously ill. Do I really need to come back and take care of you?”

My head was spinning, the meds stuck in my throat, and the liquid burned my mouth instead of calming me. Instinctively, I gagged, but the pills wouldn’t budge. Panic set in as I struggled to breathe, yet he hurried off, glued to his phone.

Later, as I was taken away in an ambulance, I saw him tenderly supporting his young Omega, Greta Scott. “Poor thing,” he murmured, his voice softer than I’d heard in years. “A nosebleed’s no small matter. I couldn’t relax without bringing you to the hospital.”

The absurdity of it all hit me like a wave. Before slipping into unconsciousness, I called off the bond I’d been holding onto for ten years.

---

When I awoke in the hospital, it was to the sound of Kobe’s mind link buzzing in my head: “Where are you now? The den is empty. Cook extra tonight; I’m inviting the pack over.”

“And don’t forget the caramelized apple tart,” he added before abruptly cutting the link. The post-stomach-pump pain overwhelmed me, my head splitting from the agony. He hadn’t even noticed I’d severed our bond, nor had he acknowledged the hospital admission text I’d sent him.

How ridiculous. Out of all the ways I could reach him, mind link, text, or call, I rarely managed to get his attention. Yet, Greta’s favorite dessert was something he remembered perfectly.

Thinking about it made my heart ache, tears slipping down my cheeks onto the pillow. I refused to stay hospitalized, forcing myself to return to the den alone.

The mess in the living room greeted me, littered with decorations and props from the last pack gathering. “Greta always says our den looks stylish. With the next full moon approaching, she took some pictures here,” Kobe remarked from behind me, as if justifying the chaos. Maybe he felt a little guilty because he awkwardly handed me a garish red velvet gown, saying, “Try it on and I’ll take some photos. We’ll display them at the next pack celebration.”

“These photos turn out great,” he added. The sight of the disheveled, misshaped outfit made my stomach churn. I shook my head gently, longing to escape to the bedroom.

But he grabbed my wrist, his Alpha tone laced with annoyance. “Are you really upset over something so trivial? What’s the harm in helping a young Omega take a few photos? There wasn’t anything inappropriate going on.”

“And you? Out all night. Who knows where you’ve been messing around?”

Instantly, the memory of swallowing those pills with whiskey and the near-fatal distress flashed through my mind. Tears welled in my eyes as