Rejected, Then Reclaimed

The mind-link message hit me like ice water at exactly 3:47 PM, just as I was preparing for our scheduled marking session. Bradley's voice echoed coldly through our mental connection: *Pack business requires my immediate attention. Session postponed indefinitely.*

My wolf whimpered at the familiar rejection, but something sharper than disappointment twisted in my chest. This was the third time this month. The third cancellation in what should have been our final weeks together before the trial period ended.

I set down the ceremonial oils I'd been warming, my hands trembling not from sadness but from a growing rage I'd been suppressing for two years. The contract clearly stated mandatory marking sessions twice weekly. Bradley had been meticulous about fulfilling every obligation—all 344 times over our arrangement—until now.

My bare feet made no sound as I padded through the Moonridge Pack house corridors toward his office. The scent hit me before I reached the door—Bradley's pine and earth, but twisted with something floral and cloying. Jasmine. Kelsey's scent.

I pressed my ear to the heavy oak door, my wolf's enhanced hearing picking up sounds that made my stomach churn. A soft gasp. The creak of his desk. Bradley's low growl of satisfaction.

"You taste better than any contract obligation," his voice carried through the wood, rough with desire I'd never heard directed at me.

Kelsey's breathless laugh followed. "She's so pathetic, Brad. Waiting in your room like a good little pet. Does she even know you're planning to reject her?"

"Two more weeks," Bradley murmured, and I could picture him pressing closer to her. "Then I'll be free of that arrangement and we can make this official."

The words hit me like physical blows. I stumbled backward, my wolf howling in anguish, but something else rose to meet the pain—fury. Pure, crystalline rage that cleared my vision and steadied my hands.

I pushed open the door without knocking.

They sprang apart like guilty children. Kelsey's warrior uniform was disheveled, her lips swollen and her jasmine scent thick in the air. Bradley's shirt hung open, his hair mussed, and for a moment neither of them spoke.

Then Bradley's expression hardened into the cold mask I knew so well. "Margaret. I sent a mind-link. Pack business—"

"Pack business?" I stepped into the room, letting the door swing shut behind me. "Is that what we're calling it?"

Kelsey smirked, making no effort to fix her appearance. "Some of us contribute more to this pack than just lying on our backs twice a week."

The casual cruelty in her voice should have hurt. Instead, it felt like the final piece clicking into place. "You're right, Kelsey. Some of us do contribute more." I turned to Bradley, whose jaw was set in that familiar stubborn line. "But apparently honoring contracts isn't one of your contributions."

"Don't lecture me about contracts." Bradley's voice carried his Alpha authority, the tone that usually made pack members submit. "The agreement doesn't specify exclusivity during my personal time. You're overstepping