The Alpha's Rejected Vessel

Lia woke up dead.

At least, that's what her body thought. Skin branded with enemy marks. Blood that wouldn't clot. A scent screaming Silver Creek loud enough to get her throat slit before breakfast.

The only problem? She was still breathing.

Pain slammed into her—white-hot, everywhere. Her body felt flayed, every nerve raw and screaming. She forced her eyes open. One barely cracked. The other swollen shut, throbbing with each heartbeat.

Dawn light crept through the grimy window, gray and sickly. Wrong. Everything was wrong.

The smell hit first. Sharp. Metallic. Invasive. Enemy wolf scent coating her skin like oil. Not Black Rock. Not her pack.

Silver Creek.

Her throat closed. Silver Creek wolves had marked her—territorial claims scratched deep into flesh. She could feel the raised welts across her shoulders, ribs, thighs. Branding her like livestock.

Lia tried to sit up. Her arms buckled. Pain exploded through her skull, and she tasted copper—split lip bleeding again. In the cracked mirror across the room, a stranger stared back. Face mottled purple and black. Cheekbone slashed to bone. Eye swollen grotesque.

A pure-blood would heal within hours. Her half-human blood meant these wounds would linger for days.

But something felt off. Not the wounds—something else. Something warm coiled deep in her chest, pulsing faintly with each breath. Like embers buried under ash.

She pressed a hand to her sternum. The warmth flared, just for a heartbeat, then settled back to a quiet hum.

Footsteps thundered outside. The door slammed open. Elder Morna burst in, silver-streaked hair pulled tight. Pack members crowded behind her, disgust radiating in waves.

"The council demands your presence." Morna's lip curled as she tossed a threadbare cloak at Lia's feet. "Now."

The walk to the central clearing felt like a death march. Each step sent jolts of pain up her leg, but she forced herself forward. The thin cloak did nothing to hide the enemy scent.

Whispers erupted before she reached the gathering.

"...reeks of Silver Creek..."

"...marked like a common whore..."

"...tainted blood finally showing..."

Lia kept her chin up. Five years she'd lived here. Five years of swallowing their contempt, believing she could earn acceptance through silence.

All of it built on one man's protection.

Jason.

She could see him now, standing near the stone platform. Tall. Strong. The Alpha's son who'd found her half-dead at the border five years ago and convinced his father to let her stay.

"I'll always protect you," he'd whispered just last week, arms tight around her. "You're mine, Lia."

She'd believed him.

Jason stood with his back to her, refusing to look.

"Lia Dorman." Elder Morna's voice sliced through the murmurs. "You were found unconscious beyond our territory, bearing enemy marks. Explain yourself."

"I don't—" Lia's voice cracked. She swallowed blood. "I don't remember. I was gathering herbs, and then..." Nothing. A black gap where memory should be.

"How convenient." Morna's smile was poisonous. She turned to Jason. "As her intended mate, what say you about these marks?"

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