Chapter 6
The night before the ceremony, I didn't sleep. I stood at my window in the dark, watching the Pack House grounds fill with arriving delegations.
Black SUVs. Luxury sedans. The nine Alpha pairs and their entourages, settling into guest wings and reserved lodges.
Each arrival was a witness I was adding to my jury.
At midnight, my burner buzzed.
Cain: *In position. North tree line. Thirty wolves.*
Thirty wolves from Ironridge, hidden in the forest a half-mile from the ceremony grounds. Not an invasion force—a contingency.
I typed back: *Don't move unless I signal. This has to play out publicly. I need their confessions, their arrogance, on full display.*
Cain: *Understood. But Sera—if he touches you, I'm coming in. Signal or not.*
Something warm bloomed in my chest—a feeling I'd forgotten existed. Someone who would fight for me, not because of a contract, but because they couldn't stand the thought of my pain.
*He won't touch me. Not this time.*
Dawn came grey and cold. October 31st. The day I was supposed to die.
The ceremonial clearing was dressed for the occasion—torches in a wide circle, the pack's ancient stone altar at the center, carved with runes older than the pack itself. Seating for three hundred. A raised platform for the Alphas.
They'd even set up a sound system. Professional. Thorough. Like planning a wedding, if the wedding ended in murder.
I dressed with care—not in the demure, washed-out gown laid out for me by Vivienne's omega assistants, but in my own choice. A sleek black dress. My mother's sapphire necklace—retrieved from my jewelry box before Vivienne could claim it. Hair down. No veil. No bowed head.
I looked like a woman attending a funeral.
I was. Theirs.
The clearing was packed by nine. Three hundred wolves, give or take. Every major Alpha pair in the eastern territories. The pack elders. The omega staff, lining the back rows like silent witnesses to history.
And on the platform: Kane. Golden. Magnificent in his ceremonial leathers. The Alpha's mask of authority and benevolence.
Beside him: Vivienne. Glowing in white, one hand on her belly, the other clutching a bouquet of lilies. The picture of the wronged, patient beloved, finally about to be crowned.
And behind them both, seated like a king granting permission: my father, Alpha Gerald of Silverpine. Grey-haired. Dignified. The architect of my destruction.
I walked down the center aisle alone. Every eye turned.
I felt the whispers like a physical wave—*wolfless, barren, broken, pathetic.* They'd been told what I was. They expected a beaten dog crawling to its own execution.
I kept my spine straight. My chin high. My wolf was a furnace behind my ribs, and I let just enough of her heat into my eyes to make the wolves closest to the aisle flinch.
Something's different about her, their instincts whispered. Something's wrong.
But they dismissed it. Because they'd been told I was nothing.
Kane's nostrils flared as I ascended the platform. His brow creased—the faintest flicker of confusion. He scented something different about me, but three years of believing his own lie made him dismiss it.
"Sera," he said, his voice projected by the microphone. Warm. Regretful. The consummate performer. "Thank you for facing this with dignity."
I said nothing. I stood at the mark they'd designated for me and waited.
He turned to the crowd, spreading his arms. "Brothers and sisters of the allied packs, we gather today to witness a solemn act..."
His speech was a masterpiece of manipulation. The reluctant Alpha, forced by duty and biology to reject his mate. The tragedy of a wolfless Luna—no fault of hers, of course. The "natural" choice to accept a new bond with a she-wolf who could bear heirs and strengthen the pack.
Vivienne dabbed at her eyes. My father nodded sagely.
The crowd murmured with appropriate sympathy. Some women actually looked at me with pity.
I waited.
"—and so, with heavy heart, I formally invoke the Rite of Rejection before these witnesses."
Kane turned to me. His golden eyes were steady, cold.
"Sera Ashford of Silverpine, I, Alpha Kane Blackmoor, reject you as my mate and Luna."
The bond—that thin, poisoned thread I'd felt weakening for months—snapped.
It should have dropped me to my knees. In my past life, it had. The pain had been blinding, crippling, and he'd used that moment of weakness to drive the blade home.
This time, I'd been severing it myself, thread by thread, for weeks. Cain's new bond, still fresh but growing stronger daily, had been replacing it like healthy tissue over a wound.
The snap was a sting. Nothing more.
I stayed standing. My eyes stayed open.
Kane blinked. The crowd shifted uneasily.
"Sera... do you accept the rejection?" His voice carried a new edge—the first crack in his performance.
I reached for the microphone.
"No," I said. "But not because I want you. Because I have something to say first."
And every screen behind the platform—the ones set up to display the ceremony to overflow crowds—flickered to life with my evidence.
Black SUVs. Luxury sedans. The nine Alpha pairs and their entourages, settling into guest wings and reserved lodges.
Each arrival was a witness I was adding to my jury.
At midnight, my burner buzzed.
Cain: *In position. North tree line. Thirty wolves.*
Thirty wolves from Ironridge, hidden in the forest a half-mile from the ceremony grounds. Not an invasion force—a contingency.
I typed back: *Don't move unless I signal. This has to play out publicly. I need their confessions, their arrogance, on full display.*
Cain: *Understood. But Sera—if he touches you, I'm coming in. Signal or not.*
Something warm bloomed in my chest—a feeling I'd forgotten existed. Someone who would fight for me, not because of a contract, but because they couldn't stand the thought of my pain.
*He won't touch me. Not this time.*
Dawn came grey and cold. October 31st. The day I was supposed to die.
The ceremonial clearing was dressed for the occasion—torches in a wide circle, the pack's ancient stone altar at the center, carved with runes older than the pack itself. Seating for three hundred. A raised platform for the Alphas.
They'd even set up a sound system. Professional. Thorough. Like planning a wedding, if the wedding ended in murder.
I dressed with care—not in the demure, washed-out gown laid out for me by Vivienne's omega assistants, but in my own choice. A sleek black dress. My mother's sapphire necklace—retrieved from my jewelry box before Vivienne could claim it. Hair down. No veil. No bowed head.
I looked like a woman attending a funeral.
I was. Theirs.
The clearing was packed by nine. Three hundred wolves, give or take. Every major Alpha pair in the eastern territories. The pack elders. The omega staff, lining the back rows like silent witnesses to history.
And on the platform: Kane. Golden. Magnificent in his ceremonial leathers. The Alpha's mask of authority and benevolence.
Beside him: Vivienne. Glowing in white, one hand on her belly, the other clutching a bouquet of lilies. The picture of the wronged, patient beloved, finally about to be crowned.
And behind them both, seated like a king granting permission: my father, Alpha Gerald of Silverpine. Grey-haired. Dignified. The architect of my destruction.
I walked down the center aisle alone. Every eye turned.
I felt the whispers like a physical wave—*wolfless, barren, broken, pathetic.* They'd been told what I was. They expected a beaten dog crawling to its own execution.
I kept my spine straight. My chin high. My wolf was a furnace behind my ribs, and I let just enough of her heat into my eyes to make the wolves closest to the aisle flinch.
Something's different about her, their instincts whispered. Something's wrong.
But they dismissed it. Because they'd been told I was nothing.
Kane's nostrils flared as I ascended the platform. His brow creased—the faintest flicker of confusion. He scented something different about me, but three years of believing his own lie made him dismiss it.
"Sera," he said, his voice projected by the microphone. Warm. Regretful. The consummate performer. "Thank you for facing this with dignity."
I said nothing. I stood at the mark they'd designated for me and waited.
He turned to the crowd, spreading his arms. "Brothers and sisters of the allied packs, we gather today to witness a solemn act..."
His speech was a masterpiece of manipulation. The reluctant Alpha, forced by duty and biology to reject his mate. The tragedy of a wolfless Luna—no fault of hers, of course. The "natural" choice to accept a new bond with a she-wolf who could bear heirs and strengthen the pack.
Vivienne dabbed at her eyes. My father nodded sagely.
The crowd murmured with appropriate sympathy. Some women actually looked at me with pity.
I waited.
"—and so, with heavy heart, I formally invoke the Rite of Rejection before these witnesses."
Kane turned to me. His golden eyes were steady, cold.
"Sera Ashford of Silverpine, I, Alpha Kane Blackmoor, reject you as my mate and Luna."
The bond—that thin, poisoned thread I'd felt weakening for months—snapped.
It should have dropped me to my knees. In my past life, it had. The pain had been blinding, crippling, and he'd used that moment of weakness to drive the blade home.
This time, I'd been severing it myself, thread by thread, for weeks. Cain's new bond, still fresh but growing stronger daily, had been replacing it like healthy tissue over a wound.
The snap was a sting. Nothing more.
I stayed standing. My eyes stayed open.
Kane blinked. The crowd shifted uneasily.
"Sera... do you accept the rejection?" His voice carried a new edge—the first crack in his performance.
I reached for the microphone.
"No," I said. "But not because I want you. Because I have something to say first."
And every screen behind the platform—the ones set up to display the ceremony to overflow crowds—flickered to life with my evidence.