Rejected By Him, Claimed By His Brother

Liora POV:

The moment I was out of the packhouse and swallowed by the shadows of the forest, the strength that had carried me through the confrontation abandoned me. The pain of the severed bond, a brutal, soul-deep wound, crashed over me in a tidal wave of agony. My legs gave out, and I collapsed to my knees on the damp earth.

Lyra’s howls of misery echoed in my mind, a keening sound of loss that was far worse than any physical pain. This was a spiritual amputation, and we were bleeding out.

My hands tore at the beautiful white dress, ripping the delicate silk jacket from my shoulders and throwing it into the mud. It was a lie, a costume for a life that no longer existed.

I knew they were watching. From the windows of the packhouse, curious and horrified eyes would be tracking my escape. I had to complete the performance. I was the jilted Omega, driven mad by grief.

Using the rough bark of an oak tree, I hauled myself to my feet. I stumbled deeper into the woods, a wounded animal seeking a place to die. But I wasn't looking for an end. I was looking for a new beginning.

Kade and Selena would have warriors out looking for me soon. Not to help, but to "manage" me, to contain the embarrassment. I had to go somewhere they would never think to look, somewhere a "fragile, heartbroken Omega" would never dare to venture.

One place came to mind. *The Howl*. A dingy, underground bar on the edge of neutral territory, a haven for rogues, exiles, and the packless.

My knowledge of it was a secret, gathered during my clandestine research into the wider werewolf world—the kind of strategic intelligence a future Alpha would gather, not an Omega. It was the perfect place to disappear.

Fueled by a fresh surge of adrenaline, I pushed through the pain, forcing my trembling legs to move. I found the northern trail and followed it, pushing my body to its limits until the orderly scents of my home pack faded, replaced by the wild, untamed smells of the neutral lands.

By the time I reached the entrance to The Howl—a dilapidated warehouse with a single, reinforced steel door—night had fallen completely. Two hulking rogues stood guard, their eyes immediately locking onto me. Their gazes were predatory, sizing me up as I stood there, shivering in a ruined dress, reeking of a high-ranking Alpha and the chaotic pheromones of a broken bond.

I let my shoulders slump, my eyes fall to the ground. I made myself the picture of a helpless victim.

"This ain't the place for you, little girl," one of them growled, stepping forward to block my path.

I looked up, making sure my eyes were shimmering with unshed tears. "My mate... he rejected me," I whispered, my voice cracking perfectly. "I have nowhere else to go. I just... I need a drink."

My beauty, my apparent vulnerability, and the irresistible story of a freshly discarded Omega worked their magic. It appealed to their basest instincts—a mix of predatory desire and a twisted sort of pity. After a moment, the guard grunted and stepped aside.

The inside of the bar hit me like a physical blow. A thick haze of smoke hung in the air, saturated with the smells of cheap whiskey, sweat, and the musky, territorial scents of dozens of unpaired wolves. It was a chaotic symphony of desperation and aggression.

Every head turned as I walked in. I was a lamb, clean and pure-smelling, who had just wandered into a den of starving wolves.

I ignored the hungry stares and made my way to the bar, slapping the last few crumpled bills I had in a hidden pocket onto the sticky wooden surface.

"The strongest thing you have," I told the bartender.

He slid a glass of amber liquid toward me. I tossed it back, the fiery liquor scorching a path down my throat. It was a welcome burn, a physical pain that momentarily silenced the screaming in my soul. Leaning against the bar, I closed my eyes, letting the alcohol-induced dizziness wash over me. But my senses were on high alert. I wasn't here to drown my sorrows. I was here to hunt.