Rejected Mate's Revenge

The morning air in the dense forest territory carried a deceptively sweet fragrance that made my skin crawl before I even recognized what it was. Peach blossoms. The scent hit me like a physical blow, sending my heart racing with the familiar spike of panic that came with every exposure.

I pressed my hand against the rough bark of an oak tree, trying to steady myself as the annual pack survival training continued around me. Other wolves moved through the underbrush with practiced ease, their forms shifting between human and wolf as they navigated the challenging terrain. But I remained stubbornly human, wolfless as always, relying on nothing but my own two feet and whatever supplies I'd packed.

The itching started first—a maddening sensation that began at my wrists and crept up my arms like fire ants marching beneath my skin. I scratched frantically, leaving angry red welts, but the relief lasted only seconds before the burning intensified. My breathing grew shallow, each inhale feeling like I was trying to suck air through a straw that kept getting smaller.

"Focus, Lilliana," I whispered to myself, the words coming out raspy and strained. "Just get to your supplies."

I stumbled toward my designated pack station, a small clearing where I'd left my emergency medical kit that morning. Dr. Elena Hartwell had insisted I carry extra epinephrine injectors and antihistamines after my last severe reaction three months ago. The memory of that terrifying episode—my throat closing, my vision going black—drove my shaking legs forward even as my chest tightened with each labored breath.

But when I reached my station, my heart plummeted. The familiar black medical pouch was gone.

Panic clawed at my throat, making the already difficult breathing nearly impossible. I dropped to my knees, frantically searching through the scattered leaves and debris, hoping I'd simply misplaced it. My hands shook violently as I overturned every stone, every fallen branch, but found nothing.

That's when I heard Cielo's melodic laugh echoing through the trees.

I forced myself to my feet, swaying dangerously as spots danced across my vision. Following the sound, I pushed through a thicket of brambles that tore at my already inflamed skin, each scratch feeling like liquid fire. The voices grew clearer as I approached a small meadow where the pack leadership had gathered.

"Oh, Alpha Weston, you're so thoughtful," Cielo's voice carried that sickeningly sweet tone she used whenever others were watching. "These supplies will help with my scratches so much."

I stumbled into the clearing just in time to see Alpha Weston Moreno—my fated mate who had rejected me for ten years—carefully placing my black medical pouch into Cielo's delicate hands. My stepsister examined the contents with theatrical concern, her perfectly manicured fingers handling my life-saving medication like it was a casual first-aid kit.

"No," I gasped, the word barely audible through my constricted throat. "Those are... those are mine."

Weston's steel-gray eyes fixed on me with that familiar look of cold irritation. Even as his