After He Rejected Me, I Became the Lycan Prince’s Mate

I felt it the moment Jayce set down the territorial report.

Not through sound. Not through sight. Through the bond-link, the one that had replaced the scar Elijah left behind. It was a warmth that spread from the mark at my neck down through my chest, a question without words. *Are you all right?*

I was standing in the clinic corridor, staring at the space where Elijah had been moments before. My hand had drifted to my throat without my permission, fingers brushing the high collar that hid both marks — the new one that glowed silver in the dark, and the old one beneath it that had never fully closed.

I sent back what I could. Not words. Just the feeling. Steady. Guarded. The particular kind of tension that came when ghosts walked too close.

Jayce didn't come down immediately. He trusted me to handle what I could handle. That was the difference. Elijah had never trusted me with anything, not even my own strength. Jayce trusted me with everything, including the choice of when to ask for help.

But I felt Dax move. Jayce's guard captain shifted position somewhere above me, quiet as a shadow, placing himself where he could see the corridor if needed. The knowledge settled something in my chest. I wasn't alone. I would never be alone again.

I took a breath and walked back toward the examination room to collect my things.

*

That evening, in the private guest quarters the Silverpine clinic kept for Lycan visitors, I sat on the edge of the bed and tried to decide how to say it.

Jayce was across the room, standing by the window with his back to me. He hadn't asked. He was waiting. Always waiting, with a patience I still didn't fully understand.

My hand drifted to my neck again. The scar. The old one. It didn't hurt anymore, most days. But today it ached, a phantom pain that had nothing to do with the physical wound and everything to do with the man who'd left it there.

"Elijah was here," I said quietly.

Jayce went still. Not tense. Just still, the way a predator goes still before it moves. He didn't turn around.

"He didn't recognize me," I continued. "He thought I was a rogue. Offered me charity herbs."

Jayce's hands, resting on the windowsill, didn't move. But through the bond-link I felt something shift. A slow, controlled burn, like a fire banked low and waiting.

I kept talking. I didn't know why. Maybe because I'd carried it alone for five years, and I was tired of carrying it. Maybe because he'd asked me once, years ago, to tell him when the ghosts got too loud.

"The Mate Ceremony was supposed to be a celebration," I said. My voice stayed steady. I'd practiced this, in my head, a thousand times. "He marked me that morning. Told me I was his forever. That night, in front of the entire pack, he spoke the rejection vow."

I traced the scar through the fabric of my collar. "The bond didn't just break. It tore. I felt it rip through my chest like claws. I hit the stone floor and couldn't get up."

Jayce turned then. Slowly. His face was calm, but his eyes were gold, his wolf pressing forward.

I met his gaze and kept going. "Celine stepped forward. She'd been waiting for it. She pulled a blade from her sleeve. Wolfsbane on the edge. She said she'd saved it just for me."

My hand moved from my neck to my side, where the scar from the blade still sat beneath my ribs. "She drove it in here. I felt my wolf go silent. And then I felt something else break. Lower."

I swallowed. "The twins. I'd told him that morning. He said we'd announce it after the ceremony. But he didn't even look at me when I said their names. He just walked away. Celine went with him. And the pack let them drag me off the territory and leave me in the rain."

The room was silent. Jayce hadn't moved. His hands were perfectly still at his sides, but through the bond-link I could feel it — the volcanic fury he'd held quietly for five years, the rage he'd never let me see because he knew I needed healing more than I needed his vengeance.

"I thought I was going to die," I said softly. "I wanted to. And then you found me."

Jayce crossed the room in three strides. He knelt in front of me, his hands coming to rest on either side of my knees, careful not to crowd me, careful even now.

His voice came through the bond-link, low and absolute. *You are the strongest wolf I have ever known. And you will never stand in front of him alone again.*

I reached out and touched his face. He leaned into my palm, eyes closing briefly.

"I know," I whispered.

He stayed there, kneeling, until the ache in my chest finally eased.

*

The next morning, I was in the clinic's main atrium collecting my final prescriptions when the scent hit me.

Expensive perfume. Floral, cloying, trying too hard. Underneath it, something brittle and sour.

I looked up.

Celine Porter stood at the reception desk, her back to me, her voice carrying across the polished stone floor. "I need the specialized healing salves. For the Ironclaw Luna. They were supposed to be ready yesterday."

The receptionist murmured something apologetic. Celine's shoulders tightened.

I should have left. Should have turned and walked away before she saw me. But something held me there, rooted, watching.

She turned. Her gaze swept the atrium, dismissive, bored. Then it landed on me.

She didn't recognize me. Not consciously. But I watched something flicker across her face — a snag, a thorn, the way jealousy moves before the mind catches up. Her eyes traced my face, my posture, the quiet dignity I'd rebuilt piece by piece over five years.

Her expression soured.

I met her gaze and felt nothing. No fear. No rage. Just a cold, patient stillness.

She looked away first.

I collected my prescriptions and walked toward the door. Behind me, I heard her voice rise, sharp and brittle, snapping at the receptionist over something small.

I stepped into the morning light and let the door close behind me.