Rejected Mate, New Destiny

I first heard the whispers during morning training. My body still ached from the eighteen wounds that had nearly claimed my life, but I'd insisted on returning to light exercises. The pack needed to see me recovering, needed to know their warrior was still standing.

"The Pack Honor Medal ceremony is next week," a young Delta whispered to her companion as they passed me.

I paused mid-stretch, my attention caught. The Pack Honor Medal—our highest decoration for bravery and sacrifice. My heart quickened. After what I'd endured, after nearly dying to bring back crucial intelligence that would protect our territory...

"Alpha Marcus will present it during the full moon gathering," another voice added. "It's been years since anyone earned it."

I smiled to myself, continuing my exercises with renewed vigor. The medal would be a fitting acknowledgment of what I'd sacrificed. My wolf stirred weakly within me, the first movement I'd felt from her in weeks.

Later that day, I overheard two senior warriors talking near the pack house.

"Nyomi deserves it," one said, his voice carrying through the open window. "The intelligence support she provided was crucial."

"Keaton said her bravery during the rogue mission was exceptional," the other replied. "Took real courage to step up like that."

I froze mid-step. Nyomi? Nyomi Torres? The junior warrior I barely knew?

"That's not..." I whispered, but they'd already moved away.

I hurried toward the training grounds, my still-healing body protesting the sudden movement. There, surrounded by admiring pack members, stood Nyomi—wearing the gleaming silver medal that should have been mine.

"Congratulations," someone was saying. "Your contributions to the rogue mission were invaluable."

Nyomi smiled, her hand resting protectively on the medal. "I just did what was needed for the pack."

I stood rooted to the spot, unable to process what I was seeing. Nyomi hadn't been anywhere near rogue territory. She hadn't fought for her life for hours against impossible odds. She hadn't nearly bled out on the border.

"Excuse me," I said, my voice sounding strange even to my own ears. "I think there's been a mistake."

The crowd parted, faces turning toward me with expressions ranging from pity to discomfort.

"Eleanora," Nyomi said, her smile faltering slightly. "You should be resting."

"This medal," I said, gesturing toward her chest. "It's for the rogue mission."

"Keaton explained everything," she replied, her hand still covering the medal. "My intelligence support made the mission possible."

I stared at her, then at the others. No one would meet my eyes.

---

I found Keaton in his office later that afternoon.

"The Pack Honor Medal," I said without preamble. "It's being given to Nyomi."

He looked up from his paperwork, his expression carefully neutral. "Yes."

"That's... wrong," I said, struggling to keep my voice steady. "I nearly died bringing back that intelligence."

Keaton sighed, setting down his pen. "The pack needed a morale boost after the... incident."

"Incident?" I echoed incredulously. "I was abandoned during a critical mission!"

"Your extraction was delayed," he corrected coldly. "Nyomi's contributions were significant in ways you don't understand."

"What contributions?" I demanded. "She wasn't even there!"

His eyes narrowed. "This isn't about you, Eleanora. Sometimes the pack's needs come first."

"My needs?" I stepped closer, anger building. "I fought alone for over an hour! I have eighteen wounds to prove it!"

"Perhaps if you'd followed protocol more closely," he said, his voice taking on a sharp edge, "you wouldn't have needed extraction at all."

The implication hit me like a physical blow. "You're saying this was my fault?"

"Your failure to extract cleanly," he said, emphasizing each word, "reflected poorly on the mission overall."

"I almost died!" My voice cracked. "Because you—"

"That's enough." Keaton's voice dropped into the Beta tone, the command vibrating through my bones. "This discussion is over. Accept the decision and move on."

---

Days passed in a haze of confusion and growing suspicion. My wolf stirred more frequently now, her senses sharper than before.

"Your hearing seems better," Garrett remarked during a training session. "And your sense of smell."

I nodded absently, my attention drawn to Keaton across the grounds. He was speaking with Nyomi again, their heads bent close together. Something about their posture—the intimacy of it—sent a chill down my spine.

That night, I caught a trace of unfamiliar floral perfume on Keaton's jacket when he returned home.

"You're back late," I said, trying to keep my voice casual.

"Pack business," he replied dismissively.

I nodded, but my wolf growled within me. *Lies*, she whispered. *He carries her scent.*

The next day, I mentioned to a fellow warrior how often Keaton seemed to be with Nyomi lately.

He looked uncomfortable, shifting his weight. "You know how it is. Nyomi's... popular."

"Popular enough to wear my medal," I said flatly.

His eyes widened slightly before he looked away. "I should get back to patrol."

As he hurried off, I realized with growing horror that everyone knew something I didn't. And whatever it was, it explained everything—the stolen medal, Keaton's coldness, the whispers that followed me.

My wolf stirred again, stronger this time. *Find out*, she urged. *Before it's too late.*