My Alpha Rejected Me Before the Finals, Then His Rival Smelled His Mate

The narrow hallway felt suffocating. Ronan’s scent—crushed pine, iron, and the sharp bite of impending storm—slammed against my shattered nerves, trying to weave into the cedar and frost radiating from my broken vial.

His grip on my arms tightened, pure Alpha dominance vibrating through his palms.

I shoved against his chest with both hands.

My palms hit hard, sweat-soaked padding and solid muscle beneath his Blackridge sweater. The sudden jolt made my head spin, but I forced my legs to hold my weight, stumbling back until my spine hit the damp concrete wall.

"Don't touch me," I said, my voice shaking with raw venom. "I don't want another Alpha telling me who I belong to."

Across the hallway, Jace stood motionless, his eyes flicking between my bare neck and Ronan’s rigid posture.

Ronan’s wolf was clawing at the surface. I could see the battle in his posture, the tight coil of his shoulders, the low, ragged breath pushing past his clenched teeth as his instincts demanded he step forward and claim what the universe had dropped into his arms.

He didn't move.

Slowly, Ronan lowered his gloved hands, curling them into tight fists at his sides.

"Good," Ronan said, his dark eyes never leaving mine. "I don't want the Moon Goddess making my decisions either."

Jace let out a sharp, mocking breath. "You're out of your mind, Cross. She's been taking suppressants for years because her biology is unstable. Whatever trick you're trying to pull to mess with my head after losing tonight, drop it."

"Shut up, Jace," I said without looking at him.

Jace stepped forward, his expression turning sharp. "Wren, get away from him. You're making a fool of yourself in an enemy corridor."

"She isn't coming with you," Ronan said, turning slightly to block Jace's line of sight. His voice dropped lower, steady and lethal. "Get back to your press conference, Mercer. Before I finish what we started in the third period."

Jace held Ronan’s gaze for three long seconds. The tension between them was thick enough to choke on, two rival Captains on the verge of tearing the concrete tunnel apart. Finally, Jace scoffed, adjusting the collar of his jersey.

"I'll see you in the medical bay, Wren," Jace said, backing away toward the arena lights. "Don't be late."

When Jace’s footsteps faded, the hallway fell dead silent.

I slid an inch down the wall, pressing the back of my head against the cold stone to stop the room from spinning. The rejection sickness was still pulsing through my veins like ice water.

Ronan took a single step back, giving me space, though his dark gaze stayed pinned to my face.

"We have a problem," he said bluntly.

"No," I said, wiping a line of cold sweat from my forehead. "You have an overactive wolf, and I have a broken scent blocker."

"You know damn well what that reaction was," Ronan countered, his tone flat. "And you know what happens if anyone outside this hall catches wind of it. Blackridge and Ironfang have up to seven championship games scheduled over the next three weeks. The league arranged it to squeeze every dollar out of this rivalry."

I closed my eyes. The media would turn it into a bloodbath. If the press found out the Captain of Blackridge was claiming the Omega who had just been publicly discarded by Ironfang’s Captain, the scandal would swallow both franchises whole.

"The Blackridge board would never allow it anyway," Ronan continued, leaning his shoulder against the opposite wall. "They’re old-school traditionalists. They won't accept an Omega who was just dropped on live television by Jace Mercer to stand anywhere near our leadership."

"I don't want to stand near your leadership," I snapped, opening my eyes to glare at him. "I don't want a bond. I don't want a pack. I just survived seven years of being an Alpha's stepping stone. I'm done."

"Then we're on the same page," Ronan said without hesitation. "No mark. No bond. No public acknowledgment. We keep our distance, keep our mouths shut, and once the championship series ends, we find a specialist to sever whatever biological glitch linked us together."

I stared at him, searching his scarred, angular face for any sign of deception. There was none. Just raw pragmatism and the same cold discipline he showed on the ice.

"Deal," I whispered.

I pushed off the wall and walked past him, heading toward the Ironfang locker rooms.

The team facility was mostly empty when I walked in. Most of the players were still out on the ice or in the main lounge celebrating with the trophy. I walked straight into the staff medical office, grabbed a cardboard storage box from under the exam table, and began clearing my shelves.

My ultrasound gels, my custom resistance bands, my specialized joint braces—everything I had bought with my own salary over the past four years went into the box.

The door swung open behind me.

Jace walked in, holding a fresh ice pack against his right shoulder. He had already changed into his tailored post-game suit, looking every bit the triumphant Alpha.

"You're late," Jace said, walking over to the main treatment table and sitting down. He tossed a laminated sheet onto the counter in front of me. "The strength coach revised my off-season shoulder protocol. I need you to prep the shockwave therapy machine for tomorrow morning at eight."

I didn't stop packing. I wrapped a box of sterile needles and placed them inside the carton.

"Did you hear me, Wren?" Jace's voice took on an edge of annoyance. "Our personal situation doesn't change your job. You're the head rehabilitation specialist for this team. You have a contract."

I picked up my clipboard, slid the metal clip open, and pulled my staff identification badge off my lanyard.

I turned around and set the plastic badge on top of his therapy sheet.

"You fired me as your future Luna," I said, looking him dead in the eye. "I'm resigning as the woman who keeps fixing everything you break."

Jace’s jaw tightened. He stared at the badge, then looked up at me with sudden anger. "Don't be childish. You're throwing away your entire career over wounded pride? Where else are you going to work? Who is going to hire an unbonded Omega who just walked out on a championship franchise?"

"That's none of your business anymore," I said.

I picked up the heavy box, tucked it under one arm, and walked out the door before he could say another word.

The cold night air hit my face as I stepped through the arena's private loading dock exit. The parking lot was filled with media vans and departing fans, red taillights cutting through the falling snow.

"Miss Lawson."

An older man in a charcoal overcoat stepped out from the shadows near a Blackridge team bus. It was Coach Marcus Vance, the veteran head coach of the Blackridge Wolves. Behind him, standing beside an idling black SUV, was Ronan.

"Coach Vance," I said, stopping on the slushy pavement.

"I'll make this quick," Vance said, his breath fogging in the freezing air. "Ronan’s chronic hip impingement and old labral tear flared up again during the second period tonight. Our regular physiotherapist just took emergency family leave, and you're the only person in this state who understands modern Alpha joint restoration well enough to keep him on the ice for the championship series."

He pulled a folded document and a tablet from his coat pocket.

"A six-week independent consulting contract. Full medical authority. Triple your Ironfang salary."

Before I could process the offer, the metal exit doors slammed open behind me.

Jace sprinted down the concrete ramp, his face dark with fury as he saw Vance and Ronan standing in front of me.

"Wren, step away from them right now!" Jace shouted, his voice echoing across the concrete loading bay. "Are you really this pathetic? You're going to crawl to our biggest enemy just to try and make me jealous?"

I looked at Jace. I looked at the man who had traded seven years of loyalty for television ratings and corporate funding without blinking.

I reached out, took the stylus from Coach Vance, and signed my name on the digital contract.

"I'm not trying to make you jealous, Jace," I said clearly. "I'm doing my job."

Ronan stepped forward, his towering frame cutting between me and Jace's furious glare. Without a word, he reached down and took the heavy cardboard box from my arms, his fingers briefly brushing against mine.

Ronan opened the passenger door of the SUV, placed my things inside, and turned to look down at me.

"Welcome to Blackridge."