His Rejected Omega, The Cruel Alpha King's Mate

Seraphina POV

The heavy parchment felt like a tombstone in my trembling hands. The air in the Pack Healer's clinic was thick with the scent of dried wolfsbane and sterile antiseptic, but all I could smell was my own decaying future.

Terminal Soul Wither.

A rare, fatal deterioration of the soul caused by a severely neglected mate bond. Because I was wolfless-born without an inner wolf to anchor my spirit-the constant rejection from my Fated Mate was literally killing me. My womb was already barren. My life was ticking down to its final months.

Desperation clawed at my throat. I pulled out my human cell phone. Because I lacked a wolf, I couldn't access the pack's mind-link. I was forced to call the Alpha's office like an outsider.

"Alpha Blackwood is unavailable, Seraphina," his subordinate's voice sneered through the speaker, not even bothering to use my title.

"Please, it's an emergency. I just need two minutes-"

"He is busy."

Before the line disconnected, I heard it. Damien's voice in the background. It was that deep, rumbling Alpha timbre that usually sent shivers of instinctual submission down my spine, but right now, it was laced with a tender warmth I had never been allowed to hear.

"Do you like them, Isabelle?" Damien murmured.

The call went dead.

I walked numbly to the clinic window. Outside, the dark blue night sky over the Blackwood Pack territory suddenly erupted in blinding silver-blue light. The twenty-million-dollar Moonlight Fireworks.

Down on the street, pack members pointed at the sky, their excited voices drifting up to me.

"Alpha Damien really outdid himself for Isabelle's birthday!"

"She's the fiercest warrior we have. The perfect Luna. They are meant to be."

The parchment slipped from my numb fingers, fluttering to the cold linoleum floor. I was his Fated Mate, chosen by the Moon Goddess, yet I was a dirty secret kept hidden in the shadows, while his chosen female was celebrated as a queen.

Hours later, the living room of Crestfall Manor was pitch black and suffocatingly cold. I sat on the velvet sofa, staring into the darkness until the heavy oak doors swung open.

The crystal chandelier flicked on, blinding me for a second. Damien Blackwood stepped into the room. He was breathtakingly lethal, his broad shoulders filling the doorway, his sharp jawline set in its usual rigid lines. He shrugged off his tailored suit jacket, tossing it carelessly onto a chair.

Then, the scent hit me.

White musk and vanilla. Isabelle's scent. It clung to his skin, his clothes, his very aura. For a Fated Mate, smelling another female's arousal on your partner was a visceral, agonizing violation. My chest tightened so hard I couldn't breathe.

He didn't ask why I was sitting in the dark. He didn't ask about my visit to the Healer. He simply loosened his tie and looked at me with eyes as cold as winter ice.

"It's your ovulation window," Damien stated, his voice devoid of any emotion. "Let's get this