My Alpha Publicly Rejected Me for Another Woman

I drank the tea.

Not because I trusted it. Because refusing would've told them I knew, and knowing was the only advantage I had left.

Christina watched me swallow. Her expression didn't change, but her shoulders relaxed just slightly. Zoey smirked from the doorway.

"Rest," Christina said, her voice soft and almost motherly. "The tribunal is in three days. You'll need your strength."

They left. The door locked behind them with a heavy click.

I set the empty mug on the floor and waited.

The fever hit around midnight.

It started as a slow burn in my stomach, then spread outward like fire crawling under my skin. My hands started shaking first—small tremors I couldn't control. Then my whole body followed. I pressed my palms flat against the stone floor, trying to ground myself, but the cold didn't help. Nothing helped.

Sweat soaked through my shirt. My vision blurred at the edges. The rejection scar on my neck throbbed in time with my heartbeat, each pulse sending a fresh wave of ice-cold pain down my spine.

I thought I was dying.

Maybe I was.

I curled onto my side on the narrow bed, knees pulled to my chest, and tried to breathe through it. In. Out. In. Out. But my lungs felt too small, like they were collapsing inward.

Then the real pain started.

It detonated in the center of my chest—sharp, blinding, like something inside me was trying to claw its way out. I bit down on my sleeve to keep from screaming. The stone walls were thin. If they heard me, they'd know the poison was working. They'd know I was breaking.

I wouldn't give them that.

The pain came in waves. Each one worse than the last. My body convulsed. My spine arched off the bed. Somewhere in the back of my mind, a small voice whispered that this wasn't normal. This wasn't just wolfsbane shutting down a dormant wolf. This was—

A fight.

Something inside me was fighting back.

I pressed my forehead against the mattress and whispered into the silence where my wolf should be.

"If you're there… I need you now."

Nothing answered in words.

But deep within—underneath the fever, underneath the poison burning through my veins—something vibrated. A second heartbeat. Separate from my own. Steady. Strong. Furious.

It wasn't a voice. It was a presence. A pulse.

And it was alive.

---

The next two days blurred together.

I drifted in and out of consciousness. The fever never broke. My hands never stopped shaking. But the second heartbeat stayed. Constant. Waiting.

I heard voices outside my door sometimes. Whispers. Footsteps. Once, I thought I heard Kennedy's voice—sharp, angry, arguing with someone—but it faded before I could make out the words.

No one came inside except to leave a tray of food I didn't touch.

On the second night, Zoey came back.

She didn't knock. Just opened the door and stepped inside like she owned the place. Maybe she thought she did now.

She wore a different dress this time—midnight blue, cut low enough to show the mark on her neck. She wanted me to see it. She tilted her head just so, letting her hair fall away from the bite.

I looked.

The mark was there. Preston's teeth had left a clear impression, the skin still faintly bruised around the edges. But it was dull. Lifeless. No golden glow. No warmth. Just a scar that looked like it had been there for years instead of days.

Zoey leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, studying me like I was something pitiful.

"You look terrible," she said.

I didn't answer. My throat was too dry.

She smiled. "Preston's already drafted the exile papers. You'll be escorted to the border in chains. The whole pack will watch." She paused, letting that sink in. "They'll forget your name within a week."

I pushed myself up on one elbow. It took more effort than it should have.

"Your mark isn't glowing, Zoey," I said quietly.

Her smile tightened. Just for a second. Just long enough for me to see the fear flash behind her eyes.

"You don't know what you're talking about," she said.

"I invoked the Accord," I said. My voice was hoarse, but steady. "Preston forfeited the right to carry a true Luna bond. That mark on your neck? It's empty. You'll never have a Luna's aura. The pack already knows. They're just too afraid to say it."

Zoey's jaw clenched. Her hands curled into fists at her sides.

"You're a liar," she hissed. "You're wolfless. You're nothing. And in three days, the tribunal will prove it."

She turned and left. The door slammed behind her.

But I'd seen it. The crack in her armor. The fear.

She knew I was right.

---

The tribunal was set for dawn on the third day.

I didn't sleep the night before. The fever had settled into a low, constant burn. The second heartbeat pulsed stronger now, almost loud enough to drown out my own.

I sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the locked door.

Somewhere in this pack house, Preston and Christina and Zoey were preparing their case. Fabricating evidence. Rehearsing lies. They'd already planted the patrol schedule among my things—Kennedy had tried to warn me through the mind-link before it went silent, her voice frantic and broken: *Ella, they're framing you. Don't—*

Then nothing.

I pressed my palm against my chest, feeling the double rhythm beneath my ribs.

"I don't know if you can hear me," I whispered. "But if you're real… if you're really there… I need you to fight."

The heartbeat answered.

One heavy, deliberate thud.

Like a war drum.