After My Mate Chose Her, His Enemy Claimed Me

The cold stone floor beneath me was the only constant in my world. Days had passed since the rejection ceremony, each one blurring into the next as I lay in the darkness of the dungeon. The only light came from a small barred window near the ceiling, casting pale strips across the damp floor.

I couldn't remember when they'd last brought food. My stomach had stopped growling hours ago. Or was it days?

"Juliet?" A soft voice broke through the silence. Mira, the pack's young healer apprentice, slipped inside with a small basket covered in cloth. "I brought you something to eat."

I tried to sit up, but my body betrayed me, trembling with the effort. "Thank you," I whispered, my voice cracking from disuse.

Mira helped me to a sitting position, her eyes wide with concern. "Your wolf is fading," she said softly, pressing her palm to my forehead. "I can barely sense her anymore."

I nodded weakly. Inside me, where my wolf once howled with life, there was now only emptiness—a void that grew larger with each passing hour.

"She's dying," I murmured. "We both are."

"Don't say that," Mira protested, but the fear in her eyes told me she believed it too.

The dungeon door creaked open again, and Mira quickly retreated to the shadows as heavy footsteps approached. The pack Healer's weathered face appeared in the dim light.

"Leave us," he commanded Mira, who scurried away with one last sympathetic glance at me.

The Healer crouched beside me, his ancient hands pressing against my chest, then my forehead. His eyes closed in concentration as he assessed my condition.

"Her wolf is retreating," he finally said to someone I couldn't see. "The rejection has damaged her spirit beyond repair."

"Will she die?" Lance's voice came from the doorway, cold and distant.

"It's possible," the Healer replied. "The treaty stipulates that the Silver Moon Pack cannot be seen killing their former Alpha's daughter, even if she is rejected."

I heard Lance curse under his breath. "Find a solution," he ordered before walking away.

---

Three days later, I was dragged from the dungeon. My legs could barely support me as two Delta wolves hauled me up the stone steps. The sudden brightness of daylight made me squint painfully.

"Stand her up," Lance commanded from his position at the center of the great hall.

I swayed on my feet, my vision blurring. Through the haze, I saw Derek, Lance's Beta, standing with a grim expression.

"Alpha Harrison," Derek said formally, "the Northern Lycan Pack has sent their terms."

Lance's jaw tightened. "Speak them."

"They demand tribute in exchange for not expanding their territory south," Derek replied. "They've specifically requested a breeder."

A ripple of whispers spread through the assembled pack members. My heart stuttered in my chest as realization dawned.

"You can't be serious," someone murmured.

Lance's eyes found mine, cold and calculating. "We have a breeder right here."

"No," Derek protested quietly. "She's weak. She might not survive the journey."

"She's dying anyway," Lance replied dismissively. "This way, we satisfy the Northern Pack without blood on our hands."

I tried to speak, but my voice failed me. My wolf, once so vibrant within me, now barely stirred.

"Prepare her for transport," Lance ordered. "The Northern emissaries will arrive at sundown."

---

The sun was setting when they brought me to the pack borders. Two massive wolves in human form waited beside a black SUV, their eyes glowing with the power of their Lycan blood.

"Is this the offering?" one of them asked, his voice deep and accented.

"This is Juliet Russell," Lance replied formally. "Former daughter of the Silver Moon Pack, now rejected and offered as tribute to your Alpha."

The Northern emissary's eyes widened slightly as he scented the air. "She carries the blood of an Alpha."

"Once," Lance corrected him. "Now she carries nothing but weakness."

I stood trembling between them, my pack markings stripped from my skin, leaving raw, bleeding welts. The pain was nothing compared to the hollow ache in my chest where my wolf used to be.

"By the Rite of Exile," Lance intoned formally, "I cast you out from these lands and these people. No pack shall claim you. No wolf shall aid you."

As the words left his lips, something shifted inside me—the last thread of my connection to this place severing completely.

The Northern emissaries moved forward, taking my arms gently but firmly.

"Time to go, little wolf," one murmured.

As they guided me toward the waiting vehicle, I caught one last glimpse of Lance standing tall and proud. For just a moment—so brief I might have imagined it—I saw something flicker across his face as he watched me leave.

A hollow pain. A phantom sensation.

Then it was gone, replaced by cold indifference as he turned away.

The car door closed behind me with a final thud, and I was driven away from everything I'd ever known, toward a fate unknown with an Alpha whose name alone inspired terror throughout the packs.