
Rejected By The Alpha; Mate Born Wolf-less
Adrian Blackwood , billionaire CEO of Blackwood Holdings, Alpha of the Blackwood Pack... Mated to a weak, broken and wolfless female?!! No way! This is impossible, this must a sick prank by the moon goddess and fate.
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Chapter 6
LENA's POV
The adrenaline was a dying fire, leaving nothing but the cold, hollow ache of exhaustion in its wake.
Adrian's private quarters on the penthouse floor didn't feel like a home; they felt like a sanctuary built of black marble, velvet, and secrets. The air here was thinner, quieter, but the scent of him-smoke, cedar, and the metallic tang of the blood he'd spilled for me...was everywhere.
I sat on the edge of a bed that felt large enough to host a small pack, my hands still trembling. I looked down at them, half-expecting to see silver sparks dancing between my fingers.
A Siphon.
The word felt like a death sentence. For ten years, I had lived as a "Dull," a girl with a broken spirit and a quiet life. In one afternoon, Adrian had ripped that veil away and shown me to the world-and to the Northern Pack.
The door clicked open.
I didn't need to look up to know it was him. The atmosphere in the room changed instantly, the air growing heavy and charged, like the moments before a lightning strike. Adrian had showered, but he hadn't fully dressed. He wore only a pair of dark grey lounge pants, his chest bare and still mapped with the fading red marks of Silas Vane's claws.
He looked less like a CEO and more like the apex predator he was.
"The archives are a mess," he said, his voice a low rumble that vibrated in my very bones. "Marcus is running the security footage. They didn't just take files, Lena. They took the physical samples my father had stored-blood vials, marrow maps. Everything related to the 'Hush' ritual."
I looked up, meeting his molten gold eyes. "They didn't want me to work for them, Adrian. They wanted the blueprints to make more of me. Or to unmake me."
He crossed the room with that silent, predatory grace that usually terrified me. But tonight, it made my skin itch with a different kind of heat. He stopped inches away, his shadow looming over me.
"They won't get the chance," he vowed. He reached out, his fingers hovering just above my shoulder before he settled them against the back of my neck.
The contact was electric.
It wasn't just the Siphon in me reacting; it was the woman. My breath hitched, and a slow, syrupy warmth began to spread from where his skin touched mine. The "Bond" Marcus talked about wasn't a myth. It was a physical tether, a golden wire pulled taut between our hearts.
"You're glowing again," he whispered, his eyes dropping to my collarbone.
I looked down. Faint, ethereal silver veins were pulsing beneath my skin, reacting to his proximity. "I can't stop it. The more you touch me, the more it wants to come out."
"Then let it," Adrian growled. He sat beside me on the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. He didn't pull away. Instead, he moved his hand to my jaw, his thumb tracing the line of my lower lip. "All my life, I've been told that a mate is a partner. A match. I thought that meant someone who could fight beside me. I didn't realize it meant someone who could complete the storm."
"I'm dangerous to you, Adrian," I whispered, even as I leaned into his palm. "I'm a Siphon. If I lose control, I don't just take the light from the moon. I take it from the wolves around me. I could drain you dry."
"Let me worry about my own strength," he murmured.
He leaned in, his face so close I could feel the heat of his breath. The tension was a living thing now, a coiled spring ready to snap. When he finally kissed me, it wasn't the soft, tentative kiss of a billionaire suitor. It was the claim of an Alpha.
It tasted of salt and possessiveness. It felt like a riot.
My hands found his chest, my fingers curling into the hard muscle. The silver light beneath my skin flared, blindingly bright, as my power recognized his. It was like two halves of a shattered star trying to weld themselves back together. I felt his wolf purring against my senses, a deep, rhythmic vibration that resonated in my chest.
Adrian groaned into my mouth, his hands sliding down to my waist, pulling me flush against him. The friction was maddening. Every place we touched, the silver light grew more intense, swirling around us like a halo of ghost-fire.
"Lena," he rasped against my neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin right above my mark. "You have no idea what you're doing to me. My wolf is ready to tear the walls down just to keep you here."
"Then don't let me go," I breathed, my head falling back as his lips traced the hollow of my throat.
For a moment, the fear of the Northern Pack, the stolen archives, and my mother's fading mind vanished. There was only the weight of him, the heat of the bond, and the intoxicating sensation of finally..finally...being seen.
But as he moved to pull my sweater over my head, his hand paused. His body went rigid.
"Adrian?" I asked, my voice small.
He pulled back, his eyes narrowing as he stared at the wall. The gold in his gaze was replaced by a sharp, icy grey.
"Someone is in the penthouse," he whispered.
The romantic haze shattered like glass. I scrambled back, pulling my clothes tight. Adrian was on his feet in a second, his claws extending with a sharp shink of sound.
"Stay behind me," he commanded.
The lights in the bedroom didn't flicker this time-they died completely. Not because of my power, but because the power to the floor had been cut. In the darkness, I could see the silver glow of my own skin, making me a perfect target.
"Adrian, I can't hide," I whispered, looking at my shimmering arms. "I'm a literal beacon."
"Then use it," he said, turning to look at me, a feral grin touching his lips. "If you're a battery, Lena, it's time to show them what happens when you short-circuit."
The double doors to the suite didn't open; they were blown off their hinges.
Three figures stepped through the smoke. They weren't shifters. They were tall, lean, and wore silver-mesh armor that glinted in the light of my skin. They carried long, obsidian-edged blades-Siphon-slayers.
"The Council's Inquisitors," Adrian spat, stepping between me and the intruders. "You're out of your jurisdiction, hunters."
"The girl is a Class-A anomaly," the lead Inquisitor said, his voice distorted by a mechanical mask. "She is to be neutralized or contained. Step aside, Alpha, or the Blackwood Pack will be declared an enemy of the Great Council."
"I've always preferred enemies to boring allies," Adrian retorted.
He lunged.
The fight was a blur of silver and shadow. The Inquisitors moved with a preternatural speed, their armor absorbing the shock of Adrian's blows. They weren't trying to kill him-they were trying to get to me.
One of them circled around, his obsidian blade whistling through the air. I ducked behind a marble pillar, my heart hammering. I felt the power inside me clawing at my throat, desperate to be released.
"Hide the spark," my mother's voice echoed.
No, I thought, watching Adrian take a shoulder wound to keep another hunter from reaching me. No more hiding.
I stepped out from behind the pillar.
"You want the Siphon?" I screamed, the words vibrating with a power that wasn't mine.
I reached out, not with my hands, but with my mind. I found the connection-the thin, invisible thread that tied me to the moon hanging outside the window. I grabbed it and pulled.
The room exploded in white light.
It wasn't a flash; it was a physical force. The Inquisitors were thrown back, their silver armor glowing red-hot as it tried to process the sheer volume of energy I was dumping into the room. Adrian dropped to one knee, shielding his eyes.
I felt the "Hush" on my soul snap.
The silver light didn't just come from my skin; it poured from my eyes and mouth. I felt the heat of a thousand suns, the weight of the tides, and the scream of the stars. I wasn't Lena anymore. I was a conduit.
The Inquisitors crumbled, their weapons melting into puddles of black glass.
Then, as quickly as it had begun, the light vanished.
I fell.
I didn't hit the floor. Adrian caught me, his arms shaking as he held me against his chest. The room was scorched, the marble blackened, and the Inquisitors were gone-nothing but ash and twisted silver left behind.
I looked up at him, my vision blurring. The silver veins were gone, replaced by a deathly pallor.
"Adrian," I wheezed.
"I've got you," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "I've got you, Lena."
But as I slipped into unconsciousness, I saw the look on his face. It wasn't just protection. It was realization.
I wasn't just his mate. I was the greatest threat the shifter world had ever seen.
It And now, everyone knew it.
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7.6
When Christine Woods collapses into a hospital bed from unbearable pain, her husband's response is colder than the IV dripping into her veins: "Stop pretending to be sick."
That same night, a single social media post shatters her marriage--Neil Caffery, intimate with the first love he once claimed was dead.
Three years of marriage. Three years of neglect, indifference, and quiet self-deception.
In that moment, Christine finally understands the truth: she was never a wife--only a substitute.
Not wanting to live as a substitute any longer, she divorced her husband.
After divorce, Christine started her new life, achieving success both in career and love.
Seeing her so radiant and successful, her scumbag husband beg her to come back.
"Hazel, I know I was wrong. Please come back."
However, before Christine could respond, the country's richest man kicked him and held Christine's waist, "Who are you? Stop pestering my wife!"
His voice was cold, his presence imposing.
Christine looked at him and snorted, "When did I agree to marry you?"
"Baby, are you still angry about last night? I promise, I will be gentle next time." The man said, looking at her playfully.
Christine hit his chest playfully, her face turning red.

9.2
I realized my husband did not love me the moment he stepped over my broken heart to answer a text from his mistress.
Caleb was the "Architect," a feared Capo in New York, but he forgot that I was the one who funded his rise from the gutter with my inheritance.
He brought his assistant, Kimberly, into our private penthouse. She wore my silk robe, mocked my past trauma, and snapped my dead mother’s rosary right in front of my eyes.
When I lashed out in grief, Caleb didn't defend me.
He pinned me against the wall, comforting her while calling me "unstable" and "violent."
He gaslighted me, claiming I would be eaten alive without his protection. He thought I was just a fragile princess who would crumble without him.
He truly believed he was the king, forgetting that I was the one who built the castle.
I didn't cry. I simply wiped the blood from my arm and walked out the door.
He didn't know that I owned thirty percent of his laundering front and the land beneath his precious casino.
I picked up the phone and dialed the number of his deadliest rival, the Irish mob.
"The bank is closed, Caleb. I’m selling my shares to the enemy."

7.1
After the one-night stand with a man who refused to tell her his name, Charlotte would figure out on TV that the man she had s*x with the previous night was the heir to a billionaire empire.
At the same time, Jace Norman-the infamous playboy heir-faces a public scandal that threatens his inheritance. To protect the family empire, his ruthless father forces him into an immediate contract marriage.
And just like that Charlotte would get married to the spoiled, reckless son of the most powerful billionaire in the city.
That One night, Room 55 and Five thousand dollars she desperately needed would change her life forever.
Weeks later, Charlotte discovers she's pregnant.
But before she can process the truth, her manipulative boyfriend claims the child is his and begins blackmailing her.
As their fake marriage becomes dangerously possessive, secrets begin to spiral. An ex-boyfriend demanding money. Jace's jealous college lover is determined to destroy Charlotte. Charlotte's sister is hiding betrayal behind sweet smiles. And a billionaire father who will eliminate anyone to protect the Norman name.
When a forged DNA test claims the baby isn't Jace's, the empire turns on Charlotte.
But the truth is far darker than any of them realize.
Because someone has been orchestrating every lie from the beginning.
And when Jace finally discovers the baby is his...
He will have to choose between his father's empire-
Or the woman carrying his heir.

9.0
Grace's engagement to Dillan Hayes was nothing but a cold business transaction to secure funding for her family's company.
But when Dillan violently shoved her into a marble bar over his ex-girlfriend, leaving her bleeding, Grace didn't hesitate.
She called 911, had her fiancé arrested on the spot, and broke off the engagement.
Returning to the Albert estate, she expected chaos, but not absolute betrayal.
Her family didn't care that she had just been physically assaulted.
They were in a sheer panic because her cousin Ashly had just fled the country, abandoning a terrifying arranged marriage.
The groom was Hudson Turner, a man known across Manhattan as a disgraced, violent psychopath, paralyzed from the waist down in a severe crash.
To save themselves from the Turner family's wrath and financial ruin, Grace's aunt and father ordered her to take Ashly's place.
"You eat from this family, you live in this house! It is time you paid us back!"
Her father even threatened to freeze her bank accounts and faked a heart attack to force her compliance.
For three years, Grace had single-handedly kept the family business afloat while they squandered the profits.
Now, they were throwing her to a monster without a second thought, expecting her to rot as a crippled man's miserable nursemaid.
But they picked the wrong sacrifice.
Grace ruthlessly extorted a legal severance from her family, taking her shares and cutting all ties forever.
She walked straight into Hudson Turner's private gallery to propose a mutually beneficial, cutthroat business marriage.
However, when the prenuptial was signed, the "paralyzed" billionaire placed his hands on his wheelchair.
Slowly, deliberately, Hudson stood up to his full, imposing height of six-foot-three.
"The wheelchair is a necessary illusion for my enemies," Hudson stated calmly. "But it will never be an illusion between you and me."

8.3
My five-year-old daughter was turning blue in my arms, her body rigid with a 104-degree fever. I called my billionaire husband, Clifton, dozens of times as I rushed to the hospital, but he declined every single call.
While I was screaming at doctors and fighting to save our child’s life, a news alert flashed on my phone. Clifton was at the Met Gala, looking devastatingly handsome as he intimately draped his tuxedo jacket over the shoulders of his mistress, Eleanora.
The nightmare didn't end at the hospital. Clifton used a secret clause in our prenup to snatch Lily from her bed and move her to a private facility without my consent. When I finally found her, my own daughter shrank away from me in terror. "Go away, bad Mommy!" she sobbed, while the mistress fed her oatmeal and whispered that I was the one who made the doctors hurt her.
Clifton stood by and watched, telling me I was too "hysterical" to be a mother. But then I discovered the real reason they were hiding her. My husband was illegally using my late mother’s rare bone marrow samples to treat Eleanora’s secret blood disorder. Now that those samples are failing, he is taking Lily to a secluded castle in Germany to harvest our daughter’s marrow for his mistress.
I sat in the dark, watching them play happy family with the child they plan to sacrifice. I realized then that my marriage wasn't just a lie—it was a biological harvest. They think I’m just a broken trophy wife who doesn't understand the science they are using to destroy me.
They have no idea that I am "Ghost," the anonymous medical genius behind the very research they are trying to steal. As we board the private jet to Germany, I’ve stopped crying and started calculating. If they want to play with life and death, I’ll show them exactly what happens when a mother stops being a victim and starts being a predator.

7.2
Dr. Kylee Mcdonald was a brilliant medical examiner whose life was defined by cold, mechanical precision.
But that perfect control shattered when her phone rang in the middle of an autopsy.
It was her best friend, Dana, whispering their old college distress code.
"Curtain call."
By the time Kylee and Detective Justice kicked down Dana's door, she lay dead on her couch, her skin a horrifying cherry-red from cyanide.
The crime scene was clumsily staged to frame a billionaire suitor, but soon, every single suspect linked to Dana turned up violently dead.
Internal Affairs pointed the finger at Kylee, accusing her of using her medical expertise to become a vigilante serial killer.
But the encrypted truth Kylee uncovered was far more chilling.
Dana had been severely abused by her boyfriend, and driven to the edge, she manipulated him into murdering their tormentors before executing him and taking her own life.
To avoid a public scandal, the police chief buried Dana's brilliant, terrifying manifesto.
Kylee's flawless mind short-circuited. She was a genius at reading the dead, so why had she been completely blind to the living hell her best friend endured right in front of her?
Three days later, while attending a formal gala to numb her grief, a nearby apartment building exploded in flames.
As Kylee examined the charred bodies pulled from the rubble, she realized the male victim was strangled long before the fire started.
She looked at the surviving mother, whose baby had just died in the blast, but the woman's eyes were completely, terrifyingly empty.
The alarm bells in Kylee's meticulously ordered brain began to chime, signaling that a new, deadly script had just begun.