The Rejected White Wolf and Her Lycan King

Harper POV:

That evening, Bennet dragged me to "The Red Wolf," the pack's most exclusive restaurant. He wanted to parade his "recovering" wife.

I wore black. I felt like I was attending a wake.

Mid-appetizer, Bennet's phone rang. He hit speaker by accident.

"Alpha! Help me!"

Gianna's voice shrieked. The restaurant went silent.

"Rogues! They have me! They said... Harper paid them!"

Bennet froze. His eyes turned pitch black.

"Where are you?" he barked.

"The old mill! They have silver!"

The line went dead.

Bennet looked at me. The air charged with ozone and rage. His aura exploded outward, rattling the plates.

"You," he snarled. "You hired Rogues?"

"No," I gasped, the pressure crushing my lungs. "Bennet, think. I have no money. I have no contacts..."

"Don't lie to me!" He flipped the heavy oak table. Glass shattered. He grabbed me by the throat, lifting me off my feet.

"I knew you were jealous," he hissed. "But I didn't think you were a monster."

My feet dangled. I clawed at his hand.

"It's... a trap..." I choked.

He dropped me. I fell into the broken china, gasping.

"I'm getting her back," he announced to the room. "And when I return, you will wish you were dead."

He stormed out.

I scrambled up. The pack members looked at me with disgust. To them, I was the jealous, crippled Luna who put a hit on the mistress.

I ran. Not to the car, but into the night.

I reached the edge of town. My phone buzzed.

Application Update: Rogue Status Approved. Effective Immediately.

I was free. Legally.

But as I stepped into the shadows, a cloth pressed over my mouth.

Chloroform. And Wolfsbane.

"Got her," a rough voice grunted. "Alpha pays double for live cargo."

Harper POV:

I woke up in a nightmare.

A damp basement smelling of mold. Techno music thumped from above. A Rogue club.

I was tied to a metal chair. My head felt light. My hair was gone—hacked off into a jagged pixie cut. I looked down; I was in dirty leather, my scent masked with sulfur and whiskey.

The door burst open.

Bennet stood there, chest heaving. Gianna cowered behind him, fake tears streaming.

"There!" Gianna pointed. "That's the leader! She's the one who ordered them to cut me!"

Bennet's eyes were wild. He didn't recognize me. The hair, the clothes, the scent... and his own blind rage. He saw only an enemy.

"You dare touch what is mine?" Bennet growled.

He held a whip. Black leather, woven with silver filaments.

"No... Bennet..." I tried to speak, but the gag was spell-bound.

"I will teach you pain," he whispered.

Crack!

The silver whip sliced my back. Smoke rose instantly.

I screamed against the gag.

"That is for touching her," Bennet snarled.

Crack!

"That is for making her cry."

Crack!

With every blow, the Mate Bond shrieked. Usually, hurting a Mate causes feedback pain. But Bennet had rejected me so thoroughly in his heart, he felt nothing but satisfaction.

Crack!

Four.

My vision grayed. The silver poison raced for my heart.

Crack!

Five.

I slumped forward. My body shut down. My white wolf bloodline, dormant for years, triggered a survival coma. My heart rate dropped to near zero.

"She's out," Bennet panted, throwing the whip down. "Weak. Leave her for the boys. Break her until there's nothing left."

He grabbed Gianna. "Let's go home."

They left.

A Rogue stepped forward with a syringe. Heat Inducer.

"Open wide, sweetheart." He ripped the gag off.

I didn't beg. I summoned the last drop of adrenaline.

As he leaned in, I slammed my forehead into his nose.

Bone crunched. He dropped the syringe.

I saw a shard of glass on the floor. I kicked it to my hand. Bennet hadn't tied the knots; his minions had. They were sloppy.

I sawed the rope. It snapped.

I grabbed a heavy metal tray. As the Rogue lunged, I swung.

Clang!

He went down.

I didn't run for the door. I went for the high window. I dragged a crate over, smashed the glass with my elbow, and squeezed through.

I fell onto wet grass. Rain. Good. It masked the scent.

I ran.

My back was a map of fire. My legs were jelly. But I reached the highway. A truck idled at a stop sign. I climbed into the bed, hiding under a tarp.

My phone vibrated. Status: Rogue.

I pulled out the tracking ring. I pulled out the prosthetic glove.

I wrapped them in a piece of bloody cloth. I would mail them to him.

I closed my eyes as the truck sped away.

I, Harper Cline, reject you, Bennet Crosby.

The bond snapped. The heavy weight in my chest vanished, replaced by a hollow, bleeding silence.

I was alone. I was bleeding.

But I was free.