Rejected By The Alpha, Claimed By The Lycan King

Ivy POV

The concrete hallway of the Omega Quarters smelled like damp mold and forgotten wolves. I hated it here. I hated that Elara, my best friend, was forced to live in this depressing shoebox while her sister paraded around in luxury.

I pounded my fist against the peeling paint of her door. "Elara! Open up!"

No answer. My inner wolf, a fiery red she-wolf, clawed frantically at my mind. Because Elara was wolfless, I couldn't just reach out to her through the Mind-Link. I had been calling her cheap cell phone all night, only to be met with voicemail.

I pressed my nose to the doorframe, inhaling deeply. Her faint scent—usually a soft, barely-there jasmine—was soured with the pungent, suffocating stench of absolute despair.

I didn't hesitate. Channeling my Warrior strength, I kicked the door right off its hinges.

The wood splintered with a loud crack. "Elara!"

She was curled on the bed, a shivering, broken doll wrapped in a thin blanket. The room was a mess, but I only had eyes for her. I rushed to her side, pulling the covers back. When I brushed her tangled hair away from her face, my blood turned to ice.

A massive, dark purple handprint marred her pale cheek. Lingering over her skin was the heavy, aggressive scent of an Alpha.

"Tell. Me. Who. Did. This." I growled, every syllable dripping with lethal intent.

She flinched, fresh tears spilling over her bruised cheek. She squeezed her eyes shut, her voice entirely hollow. "Rhys."

"That son of a bitch!" I roared, my claws instinctively elongating, tearing into the fabric of her mattress. "Because of Cadence? That venomous viper!" I spun toward the door, my Warrior instincts fully overriding my rational thought. "I'm going to rip his throat out!"

"No, Ivy, please!" Elara scrambled off the bed, her weak hands gripping my legs with surprising desperation. "Don't fight the Morrison Pack for me. Please. You'll get hurt."

I looked down at her, trembling on the floor. But then, she lifted her chin. Her eyes, usually so submissive, flashed with a spark of pure defiance. "I will not be his Mate! I will reject him!"

The dam broke. She didn't just cry about the slap; she poured out years of silent, agonizing torture. She told me how Rhys had publicly humiliated her at the Elders' Gathering, mocking her wolfless status when she stumbled over a sacred Moon Goddess prayer. She sobbed about the healing salve she’d spent weeks making for his inner wolf, only for him to throw it into the fire, sneering that Alpha power came from blood, not Omega tricks. She even confessed the truth about the Alpha's Feast—how he forced her to eat the raw stag's heart meant only for shifted wolves, laughing when her fragile human stomach violently rejected it in front of his allies.

My heart ached so fiercely I could barely breathe. "Did you tell your parents?" I demanded, kneeling to grip her shoulders. "You told your mother what he did last night?"

Elara let out a broken, humorless laugh. "She called me. She... ordered me to apologize to him, or I'd be a Rogue."

A red haze descended over my vision. "Of course!" I spat, disgusted to my very core. "They'd probably hand Cadence a silver dagger to finish the job if it meant securing the alliance! They don't see a daughter, Elara, they see a commodity!"

Elara flinched, but she didn't argue. The harsh truth settled in her eyes, finally extinguishing the last pathetic ember of hope she held for her family.

I pulled her up from the floor, my mind made up. I wasn't going to let her rot in this dark room, drowning in the scent of her own misery.

"You're done crying over them," I declared, marching straight toward her tiny closet and throwing the doors open. "If you're going to reject a future Alpha, you're not doing it looking like a victim. Get up, Elara. We are going out."