Rejected Mate: Rise of the Lycan Princess

Cora's POV:

I didn’t move for hours.

The sobs shook me until my chest ached, tears soaking the pillow beneath my face. My room was too quiet, too small, too suffocating. The moonlight streamed through the window, pale and cold, casting long shadows across my walls, but I barely saw it. All I could feel was him—Cain—and the way he’d turned away, leaving the bond to scream through me in agony.

A knock at the door made me flinch.

“Seriously?” Aurora’s voice snapped before I could answer. She pushed the door open and leaned against the frame, arms crossed, eyes sharp. “You’re still crying?”

I swallowed hard, voice barely a whisper. “I… I can’t help it.”

She rolled her eyes. “Cry all you want. Doesn’t change anything. Cain’s not yours, and he never will be. So maybe get over it.”

I blinked at her, stunned. “That’s it?”

“That’s it.” She shrugged, casual and cruel. “I mean… come on. He’s my boyfriend. He belongs with me. You? You’re just… dramatic.” She smirked and left the room, the door clicking shut behind her, leaving me raw, furious, and completely hollow.

My mother knocked softly. “Sweetheart… I’m sorry,” she murmured, stepping inside. Her eyes were kind, but distant, as if she didn’t quite know how to comfort me. She rested her hand on my shoulder briefly, then left, leaving the warmth behind her like a memory.

Father didn’t come. I wasn’t surprised.

He, too, seemed to have already decided that Cain belonged with Aurora—that their union was better for the pack. The Beta’s house, the pack, even my own family—it all felt like it was against me now.

I lay there on the bed, heart pounding, wolf whining in my chest, desperate and angry. The bond burned hot, pain twisting through me, sharp and relentless, like a brand that refused to fade. I clenched the sheets, sobbing, wishing I could disappear.

I made a decision.

If this place wouldn’t accept me… if this pack, my family, the Alpha… if even Cain couldn’t see me… then I didn’t belong here. Not anymore.

I waited until the house was silent, until the rhythmic snores of my parents and sister told me they were asleep. I packed what I could carry—some clothes, a little food—and slung it over my shoulder. My wolf hummed, anxious but alert, ready to go.

I slipped out the back door. The night wrapped around me like a cloak. The familiar lights of Lincoln Pack faded behind me as I ran, paws pounding the earth, muscles straining, heart lurching with every step toward freedom.

For the first time in years, I felt… unrestrained.

And then I crossed the pack borders.

The woods changed. The scent of the familiar gave way to something raw, something alive, and very, very dangerous. I froze, ears pricking, senses screaming. Movement in the shadows—low, silent, predatory.

Five figures stepped out from the darkness, their eyes glinting in the moonlight, bodies tense and coiled. Human at first glance—but wrong. Too tall, too wide, too quiet. My heart hammered.

“You’re far from home, little wolf,” one of them said, voice rough and amused. “I like that. Brave, or stupid… we’ll see which.”

“Running alone?” another hissed, stepping closer. “Should’ve waited for backup. But maybe you’re tasty enough on your own.”

I swallowed, gripping the strap of my pack tighter, instincts screaming, wolf growling beneath my skin. “Stay back,” I warned, voice shaking more from fear than courage.

“Careful with that tone,” the first one snarled. “It’ll cost you.”

And then, as if on cue, all five shifted—muscles rippling, bones lengthening, fur sprouting over their limbs, eyes glowing feral. Wolves. Predators. Rogue wolves.

My wolf surged beneath my skin, claws itching to tear at the earth, teeth bared, instincts screaming: fight or die.

They lunged at me together. I twisted, narrowly dodging the first, teeth snapping inches from my shoulder.

Another slashed at my leg, claws digging into the dirt, and I felt a shock of pain spike up my spine. My wolf roared inside me, claws digging into the ground as I launched myself at one of the attackers, teeth bared, heart hammering with adrenaline and terror.

The other wolves circled, relentless. My chest burned, my lungs screamed, but I couldn’t stop. Every second was a fight for survival—every strike, every dodge, every leap mattered. I barely recognized myself, caught between human fear and wolf strength, my heartbeat pounding as I slashed and snapped, desperate to stay alive.

The night air was filled with snarls and the sound of claws tearing at earth. My wolf whimpered inside me, wild and furious, echoing the panic in my chest, and I realized that this—running, fighting, surviving—was what it really meant to be alone.

I had no pack here, no protection, no one to save me. Just me. My wolf. And five predators who didn’t care whether I lived or died.