Rejected By My Pack, Claimed By The Lycan King

Kaelen POV

The freezing rain hit my face the second I stepped out of the armored SUV, washing away the phantom heat of Damian Graves’s grip. My heart was hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs. I needed to leave. Now.

I turned toward the battered Lincoln, but a wall of solid muscle in black tactical gear blocked my path. Gamma Gunner Mathis.

His eyes glazed over for a fraction of a second—the unmistakable sign of a mind-link. When his focus snapped back to me, his expression was unyielding stone.

"Your itinerary has been acquired," Gunner rumbled, his deep voice cutting through the howling wind.

I glanced past his massive shoulder. Justin Frye was already being shoved into the back of another Graves SUV by two Warriors, his face pale with terror. My ride was gone.

"I have places to be," I said flatly, keeping my voice devoid of the panic threatening to spike in my chest.

"Your driver and vehicle are being secured," Gunner replied. He gestured toward the sleek Gulfstream G650 idling on the tarmac just beyond the highway barricade. "You are boarding the plane."

I weighed my options. Fighting a Gamma and a dozen elite Warriors right here would expose everything I had spent years hiding. I swallowed my pride, hunched my shoulders to shrink my frame, and walked up the airstairs into the belly of the beast.

The G650’s cabin was a jarring mix of billionaire luxury and sterile trauma ward. The scent of rich leather was entirely overpowered by rubbing alcohol and the lingering, acrid taint of silver.

As I squeezed into the narrow aisle beside the secured hospital bed, Dr. Sterling looked up from the heart monitor. Her eyes raked over my muddy boots and soaked tactical hoodie. She didn't recognize the clinical 'cleaner' from the dark SUV; she only saw a filthy, wolfless stray invading her pristine workspace.

"Stay away from my patient!" she snapped, her voice shrill with bruised ego. "Don't you dare breathe your filth on him. Go sit in the back."

I kept my eyes downcast, nodding meekly as I tried to slip past the bed.

Suddenly, Damian let out a low, guttural groan. His massive arm spasmed outward, striking the bedside table with brutal force. A plastic cup of ice water tipped over, splashing directly onto my boots.

"You clumsy idiot!" Dr. Sterling shrieked, lunging forward with a towel.

I crouched quickly to retrieve the cup. As I reached for the plastic rim, my fingertips brushed against Damian’s knuckles dangling off the edge of the mattress.

*Crack.*

A violent jolt of electricity shot up my arm, stealing the breath straight from my lungs. It wasn't just static; it was a terrifying, soul-deep resonance that made my blood sing and my vision blur. I froze, my eyes darting to the monitor above his head.

The erratic, stressed rhythm of his heart instantly smoothed into a slow, powerful, steady beat.

I looked at his face. His eyes were closed, his breathing deep and even, but the agonizing tension in his jaw was completely gone.

He had done it on purpose. He wasn't having a spasm. He was testing the connection, drawing whatever he needed from my touch to silence the storm inside him.

"Get out," Dr. Sterling hissed, snatching the cup from my hand and shoving me back.

I didn't argue. I retreated to the dimly lit rear of the cabin, sinking into a cream-colored leather seat. I pulled my noise-canceling headphones over my ears, leaving them powered off.

Over the low hum of the jet engines spooling up, Dr. Sterling’s bewildered whisper drifted back to me.

"His vitals... they're completely stable," she muttered to Gunner, the absolute shock evident in her tone. "He's asleep. Without any sedatives, he's actually asleep."

I pulled my mother’s old photograph from my pocket, my thumb tracing her faded smile in the dim light. I had boarded this plane as a captive, but the sleeping Lycan in the front cabin had just tied an invisible, unbreakable leash around my neck. We were airborne, heading straight into the heart of the Graves Dominion.