My Alpha Rejected Me and Gave Me to Rogues

The bucket tipped. Dirty water spread across the marble floor in a slow, deliberate wave, soaking the hem of my dress and pooling around my knees.

I didn't look up.

"Clumsy," someone muttered above me. A woman's voice, high-ranking by the silk rustle of her gown. Her shoes clicked past, careful to avoid the mess I was already kneeling in.

I reached for the bucket. My hands — scarred silver along the forearms, the skin puckered and shiny where it had healed wrong — closed around the handle. I righted it. Wrung out the rag. Started again.

The Shadowcrest pack house woke before dawn, and I woke before it did. That was the rule now. Omega labor. Scrubbing floors, emptying trash, polishing banisters that no one but me would ever touch. The work wasn't hard. The invisibility was.

I used to walk these halls as the pack's lead Healer. People stepped aside when they saw me coming. They asked my opinion. They remembered my name.

Now they kicked over my bucket and didn't break stride.

My wolf stirred faintly in the back of my mind, a tired, muted presence. She didn't speak much anymore. I didn't blame her. There wasn't much to say.

I scrubbed in silence, my knees aching against the cold stone. The sun hadn't risen yet. The pack house was still dim, lit only by the low glow of sconces along the walls. My reflection wavered in the wet marble — a pale, thin girl with dark circles under her eyes and hair pulled back in a braid that had come half undone.

I looked away.

Footsteps on the staircase. Light, measured, deliberate.

I knew who it was before I saw her.

Ariella Perkins descended the main staircase like she was walking onto a stage. Her dress was cream-colored, perfectly tailored, her hair swept up in an elaborate twist. She paused on the landing, one hand resting lightly on the banister, and looked down at me.

She didn't say anything. She didn't have to.

Her lips curved, just slightly. Satisfaction, quiet and cold.

I kept scrubbing.

She watched for another moment, then continued down the stairs, her heels clicking softly against the stone. She passed within three feet of me. I smelled her perfume — something floral and expensive, layered over the faint, bitter edge of her wolf.

She didn't acknowledge me. She never did, not directly. That was part of it. The cruelty wasn't loud. It was a slow, steady pressure, like a hand on the back of your neck that never quite pushed you under but never let you surface either.

I waited until she was gone. Then I sat back on my heels, rag dripping in my hand, and let myself breathe.

---

The medical ward smelled like antiseptic and dying things.

I pushed open the door to my father's room and found him asleep, his breathing shallow and uneven. The monitor beside his bed beeped softly, a rhythm I had memorized weeks ago. Too slow. Too weak.

I pulled a chair close and sat down, reaching for his hand. His fingers were cold.

"Eva."

I turned. Maren Cole stood in the doorway, a clipboard tucked under one arm. She was older than me by a decade, her hair streaked with gray, her face lined with the kind of exhaustion that came from years of watching people suffer and being unable to stop it.

She had been my mentor once. Now she barely looked at me.

"How is he?" I asked, though I already knew.

Maren hesitated. She glanced at my father, then back at me. "Without the wolfsbane compound, he won't last two weeks."

I nodded slowly. My throat felt tight.

"Has the Alpha approved the treatment?"

"No."

The word landed like a stone.

I looked down at my father's hand in mine. His skin was thin, almost translucent. I could see the veins beneath, blue and fragile.

"I'll talk to him," I said quietly.

Maren's expression flickered — something that might have been pity, or guilt, or both. "Eva—"

"I'll talk to him," I repeated.

She didn't argue. She just nodded and left.

I sat there for a long time, holding my father's hand, listening to the monitor beep. My wolf stirred again, restless and uneasy.

I didn't let myself think about what Hayes would ask for in return.

---

Hayes' office was on the third floor, at the end of a long corridor lined with portraits of former Alphas. I walked past them without looking up. Their painted eyes followed me anyway.

The door was open.

Hayes sat behind his desk, broad-shouldered and immovable, his dark hair swept back, his jaw set. He didn't look up when I entered. Rowan Voss stood beside him, arms crossed, his expression flat and unreadable.

I stopped a few feet from the desk and waited.

Hayes finished whatever he was reading. Then, slowly, he lifted his gaze.

His eyes were the color of smoke. Once, I had thought they were beautiful.

"Eva," he said. His voice was low, controlled, edged with something I couldn't name. "What do you want?"

I swallowed. My hands were shaking. I clasped them behind my back.

"My father needs the wolfsbane compound," I said. "Healer Cole says he won't survive without it. I'm formally petitioning for Alpha authorization."

Silence.

Hayes leaned back in his chair, his expression unreadable. Rowan shifted his weight slightly, watching me.

"You're petitioning," Hayes repeated softly.

"Yes."

He studied me for a long moment. Then he smiled, thin and cold.

"Ariella is experiencing complications with her pregnancy," he said. "Dangerous complications. She needs a full restorative healing ritual. You're still the most gifted healer this pack has, rank or no rank."

My stomach dropped.

"You want me to heal her," I said slowly.

"I want you to save her," Hayes corrected. "Do that, and I'll authorize your father's treatment."

I stared at him. My wolf snarled weakly in the back of my mind.

"And if I refuse?"

Hayes' smile didn't waver. "Then your father dies."

The room was very quiet.

I thought of my father's cold hand. The monitor's slow beep. The way Maren wouldn't meet my eyes.

I thought of Ariella's smile on the staircase.

"I'll do it," I whispered.

Hayes nodded, satisfied. "Rowan will escort you to Ariella's quarters this evening."

I turned and walked out before he could see my hands shake.

---

Ariella's quarters were on the second floor, in the east wing where the high-ranking wolves lived. The room smelled like lavender and expensive candles. She was reclining on a chaise near the window, one hand resting lightly on her abdomen, her expression serene.

She looked up when I entered and smiled.

"Eva," she said softly. "Thank you for coming."

I didn't answer. I crossed the room and knelt beside the chaise, my scarred hands hovering over her stomach.

"This will take some time," I said quietly.

"Take all the time you need," Ariella murmured.

I closed my eyes and let my gift rise. Heat spread through my palms, a slow, pulling sensation that always left me drained. I channeled it into her, feeling for the life inside.

There was something there. Faint. Fragile.

I worked in silence, sweat beading on my forehead. Ariella lay still, her breathing even, her gaze fixed on the ceiling.

When I finally pulled back, my hands were trembling. My vision swam.

"It's done," I whispered.

Ariella's smile widened, just slightly.

"Thank you, Eva," she said.

I stood, unsteady, and left without looking back.

I didn't see the servant slip into the medical supply room later that evening, a sealed vial in hand.

I didn't see Ariella's smile as she watched the door close behind me.

I didn't know, yet, what I had just traded my father's life for.