Rejected by the Alpha on Midwinter Night

1

This year, my mate claimed he had territory negotiations and couldn't return to the den for Midwinter Turning Night.

He insisted I go celebrate with my birth pack instead.

But a blizzard sealed all the mountain passes.

So I turned back toward the Nightclaw central den, planning to surprise them for the holiday.

When I approached the great longhouse with my arms full of offerings, I heard laughter and the clink of bone cups from inside—a full celebration in progress.

"Daughter of our pack, eat more! Your pack-mother prepared this whole feast just for you."

Then I heard my mate's voice: "Mother and Father have been waiting all year for you to come home."

My body went stiff. My paws—my hands—turned to ice. My mind went empty.

I couldn't stop myself—I kicked the heavy oak door open.

And there was my mate, the one supposedly away on pack business, with his arms wrapped around a young Omega.

They looked comfortable together. Close. Like bonded wolves who'd shared a den for years.

——

The air left my lungs. The scene before me was claws tearing through my chest.

For a long moment, I couldn't breathe.

Then I forced it all down. Forced myself to stay calm.

"Mother, Father, Ronan—I'm home."

I glanced around the firelit hall with practiced ease. "Oh, we have a guest?"

My eyes landed on the Omega tucked against my mate's side, and I smiled. "Isn't this Raven Ashthorne?"

I slipped off my fur-lined cloak and sat down at the feasting table like nothing was wrong.

Inside, I was bleeding out. The pain was more than I could bear.

But my pride—my dignity—demanded composure.

I picked up my eating knife, took a bite of roasted elk, and gave my pack-mother an appreciative nod.

"Mother, this herb-crusted elk is my absolute favorite. Thank you for the wonderful surprise."

I lifted a cup of warmed honey mead and let it burn down my throat.

Then I turned a bright smile toward my pack-father.

"I do love a good strong mead. This is excellent—thank you for warming it, Father."

The drink hit my stomach, and warmth spread through my veins.

I wasn't cold anymore. Feeling returned to my fingers and toes. And the tension in the longhouse? I'd wound it tight as a wolf ready to spring.

Ronan Nightclaw finally cracked. A muscle in his jaw twitched, and I caught the faint glow of his Alpha eyes.

"Lyra Nightclaw, weren't you supposed to be at your birth pack's den?"

I met his cold stare with a smile.

"The mountain passes closed."

His expression darkened. I pretended not to notice.

"Everyone, please—eat, drink. Raven, it's been ages since we've crossed paths. I had no idea you'd be here in my den. Tomorrow's the first day of the new moon cycle—how perfect that we can all celebrate together."

The silence that followed was heavy as snowfall. You could've heard a pine needle drop.

Every bite of food turned to ash in my mouth, but I kept eating. I stuffed myself until my stomach ached.

They couldn't take it anymore.

Ronan grabbed my wrist and yanked me up from my seat.

"Fine. Yes. It's exactly what it looks like."

His voice turned sharp. "Lyra, if you have something to say, just say it. Stop with the passive-aggressive act—you're making Raven uncomfortable."

He stepped in front of her, shielding her with his broad shoulders. As if I were the threat.

I hadn't done anything. I'd just eaten dinner.

I looked at my pack-parents. They shifted awkwardly but positioned themselves protectively around Raven too.

Like she was pack.

Like they were the real family here.

My mind replayed what I'd heard before I walked in. They'd called her daughter of the pack.

My throat tightened, but I kept my smile fixed in place as I swept my gaze across all of them.

"Making her uncomfortable? How?"

"I heard Father call her 'daughter of our pack' before I even opened the door. I thought I must have misheard."

"But I didn't, did I? I've been sitting here all this time, and not one of you has said it was a joke."

The older wolves' faces flushed with shame.

Ronan guided Raven to the cushioned bench by the fire, tucking a soft pelt behind her lower back with careful hands.

Then he poured her a steaming cup of chamomile tisane and placed it gently in her palms.

In all our years of bonding, Ronan had never once treated me like that.