A Brutal Rejection

SIENNA

A shrill, piercing noise tears through the haze of my deep slumber. My eyes refuse to open, weighed down by an invisible anchor, while a relentless hammer pounds against my skull. A vicious hangover courses through my veins, making my blood feel like battery acid. My hand blindly pats the mattress, searching for the source of the mechanical screech. The sheets beneath my fingers are soft, tangled, and foreign.

My fingers finally brush against the cold metal of my phone. I swipe the screen and press the device to my ear, bracing for the noise.

"Sienna Vance, where the fuck are you?" Nadia’s voice blares through the tiny speaker, loud enough to make my eardrums throb.

My eyes snap open. The harsh morning light filtering through the heavy curtains blinds me for a fraction of a second. I try to speak, but my tongue feels like sandpaper. I sit up, the heavy blanket pooling at my waist, and the moment the cold air hits my skin, a wave of profound horror washes over me.

I look down. My chest is bare. Dark, aggressive purple bruises and red bite marks paint my breasts, my collarbones, and my ribs. My skin is a canvas of reckless claims. I blink, my breathing turning shallow. My mind refuses to process the sight in front of me.

"Hello?" Nadia shouts, the sound sharp in the quiet room. "Hello? Why are you not saying anything? Did you create some mess I need to sort out?"

"It’s not a mess," I cringe, my voice a dry, rasping croak. I turn my head to the left, ignoring the sharp protest in my neck.

The other side of the king-sized bed is empty, the pillows indented. My gaze drops to the center of the mattress. There, stark against the pristine white sheets, are undeniable smears of dried blood. The physical evidence stares back at me, cementing the reality of my ruined state. A deep, hollow ache radiates from between my thighs, pulsing with every heartbeat.

"I lost my virginity," I whisper into the receiver.

Silence stretches over the line, heavy and expectant, before a sudden, booming laughter erupts from Nadia. The sound is wicked, mocking the very foundation of my panic. "Good job."

"Not the time to play the villain," I whisper-yell, my fingers gripping the phone until my knuckles turn white. "Please come pick me up from this stupid place where you left me."

"I am already on my way there. I thought you were dead, so I had to come check up on you." She whistles, the sound cutting through my rising panic.

I hang up, dropping the phone onto the mattress. My trembling fingers reach out, hovering over the dried blood on the sheets. True, visceral horror etches into my features, pulling my skin taut over my bones.

What did I do?

When did I do it?

My memory is a fractured, blurred haze of neon lights and burning liquor. But as I sit there, paralyzed by my own actions, the unmistakable sound of running water echoes from the adjoining bathroom. He is still here. The stranger is still in the room.

I scramble to my feet, wincing as a sharp pain shoots up my legs. My muscles scream in protest, feeling as though they have been subjected to a brutal, hours-long workout. I limp toward the side table, and as I move, a fragmented memory crashes into my mind, stealing the breath from my lungs.

A deep, commanding voice echoes in the quiet space of my head.

*Look how good you take me, Mon Lapin.*

The image flashes behind my eyes with terrifying clarity. I was on my back, slick with sweat. My legs were pushed wide open, stretched to the absolute breaking point to accommodate the sheer size of him. I remember the raw, burning stretch as he buried his thick, rigid cock deep inside my wet core, tearing through my barrier without hesitation.

"Hard... Harder," my own voice begged in the memory, breathless and desperate.

I remember the hard, relentless pounding. The harsh slapping of skin against skin. The heavy weight of his balls crashing against me with every brutal, deep thrust. My nails dragged down his muscular back, breaking the skin and drawing blood. His large, calloused hands clamped down on my hips, bruising the flesh, pinning me to the mattress as he let out wild, guttural grunts, filling me with a scorching, overwhelming release.

Embarrassment flushes my cheeks, turning my skin hot and prickling. I tear my gaze away from the bathroom door and frantically scan the floor. I find my torn dress discarded in the corner, the fabric shredded beyond repair. I stare at it with wide, panicked eyes.

The shower continues to run in the distance. The steady rush of water provides a tiny sliver of calm, a countdown timer keeping me from passing out from the equal parts fear and humiliation suffocating me.

Dropping the ruined dress, I drop to my knees and scour the floor for my underwear. My black panties and bra lie in a tangled heap near the foot of the bed. I snatch them up, my hands shaking as I slip them on. Next to them lies a heavy, black button-down shirt and my purse.

I grab the shirt, throwing it over my shoulders. The fabric is thick, soft, and reeks of wealth and power. It engulfs my frame, falling midway down my thighs. I fumble with the buttons, my fingers clumsy in my haste. I snatch my purse off the floor, unzipping it to pull out a wad of crisp bills. It is my hard-earned savings, the money I foolishly brought to the expensive club yesterday to drink away my shattered heart. I never spent it on drinks. Someone else clearly bought them.

I drop the bills onto the bedside table. A desperate, pathetic form of payment for the ruined sheets, the expensive shirt, and the irreversible mistake I made. I cannot face this man. I cannot look into the eyes of the stranger who owned my body just hours ago.

Operating on pure adrenaline, I turn and sprint out of the room. The hallway greets me with buzzing neon lights—harsh reds, deep blues, and electric purples. The colors blur together as I dash barefoot down the carpeted staircase, bypassing the elevators. My heart slams against my ribs, threatening to crack the bone. My palms sweat, and I frantically wipe them on the soft fabric of the stranger's shirt.

I burst through the heavy front doors of the club, the cool morning air hitting my flushed face. In the distance, idling in the empty parking lot, sits Nadia’s black SUV. She spots me running toward her, a massive grin spreading across her face.

I rip the passenger door open, throw myself inside, and slam it shut. "Let’s leave. Now."

"We need to talk about your night first," Nadia claps her hands, her green eyes wide with morbid excitement.

"No, N. We are not talking about it here," I whisper, my eyes darting to the side mirror, watching the entrance of the club. I pray he takes the money. I pray he does not come storming out of those doors looking for his shirt. The fabric feels like a second skin, carrying a scent so potent it makes my wolf-less senses dizzy. It is worth far more than the meager bills I left behind.

"No, Sia. You need to tell me—"

I lunge forward, slapping my hand over her mouth. I glare at her, my chest heaving. "Drive out of here, and I will tell you everything. Just drive."

Her eyes round with realization. She nods her head, her dark hair bouncing against her shoulders. I slowly remove my hand, sinking back into the leather seat. She shifts the car into gear, and the SUV speeds out of the parking lot, leaving my nightmare in the rearview mirror.

"Now, tell me everything from the moment you two kissed to the moment you climaxed," Nadia giggles wickedly, keeping her eyes on the road.

"Too bad for you," I shake my head, pressing my fingers to my throbbing temples. "I don’t even remember what he looks like. I don't remember when we kissed or how I got that drunk. I only remember sitting in the corner, watching the rich crowd with big, pathetic, I-am-poor eyes. Everything after that is blank."

"You popped your cherry, and you don’t remember what it felt like?" She gasps, her foot pressing harder on the gas pedal.

"I don’t even remember the initial pain," I squeeze my eyes shut, humiliation burning my throat. "But I saw the blood on the sheets."

"That’s how you take revenge on Cole? You sleep with a random guy, and you don’t even know if he was hot? How are you going to bluff to Cole about this when you have zero details?" Nadia clicks her tongue in disapproval.

"I don’t know, N," I drag my tongue over my dry lips, instantly tasting the sharp, intoxicating, masculine flavor of mint. The ghost of his mouth still lingers on mine. "I remember changing my mind when I walked into the club. I planned to people-watch, sober up, and call you to take me home. I have no idea how I ended up in that bed with him."

*Him.* The stranger is not weak. My hazy memory of his broad, scarred chest and the sheer, unyielding power of his hips driving into mine confirm that much. My lower body throbs in agreement, stretched and aching from his relentless stamina.

The scenery outside the window shifts. The towering concrete buildings of the city fade, replaced by dense, looming pine trees. We are approaching the pack borders. The adrenaline in my veins evaporates in an instant, replaced by a suffocating, paralyzing dread.

"Alpha will be angry," Nadia whispers, the humor draining from her face as the imposing wooden gates of the territory come into view.

I swallow hard, my throat clicking. "When is he not angry with me?"

"I am sorry," she murmurs, staring straight ahead, her grip on the steering wheel tightening.

I fall silent, sinking deeper into the seat. The reality of my existence crashes down on me, crushing the brief, reckless rebellion of last night. I crossed a line. I pretended to be a free woman, forgetting the brutal truth of what I am.

I am Sienna Vance. The wolfless daughter of the murdered Gamma couple. A burden. A stain on the pack. A mere slave relegated to scrubbing floors and taking beatings.

Yesterday was the day of the pack hunt. The sacred day when wolves shift, run under the moon, and find their destined mates. I had zero expectations. I am defective, mateless, a ghost in the pack house kitchen. But then Cole, the Alpha’s son and my primary tormentor for the past two years, stumbled into the kitchen. He looked at me with dazed, gold-flecked eyes, inhaling my scent. He whispered the word *mate*.

In that fleeting second, the bond swept me off my feet. The invisible tether pulled taut, and I dropped my paring knife, rushing forward, desperate for salvation. I forgot the two years of hell. I forgot how he starved me. I forgot the time he cornered me in the cellar, trying to rip my clothes off before his father intervened. I thought the Moon Goddess had finally shown me mercy.

I was wrong.

The haze in his eyes cleared, replaced by pure, unadulterated disgust. He rejected me on the spot, severing the bond with words that felt like a blade twisting in my gut. And then, he beat me. He struck me until I tasted copper, until my vision blurred. Before he could do worse, his girlfriend, Jenna, walked in.

Jenna, the Beta’s daughter. My former best friend turned sadist. She played the angel in public, holding Cole back when others were watching. But when the doors closed, she was a monster. Yesterday, she grabbed me by the hair, dragged me to the industrial sink, and held my head underwater. She watched with dead eyes as my lungs burned, forcing me to inhale soapy water until I hovered on the edge of consciousness.

They left me on the cold tiles, bleeding, choking, and worthless. My decision to sneak out, to go to the club, to give my body to a stranger—it was my final act of defiance. A desperate attempt to own something before they broke me entirely.

But now, the consequences wait.

Nadia parks the SUV outside the massive, double-story pack house. The dark wood and stone structure looms over me like a gravestone. I stare at the heavy oak doors, my pulse pounding in my ears.

"I wish I could—" Nadia starts, her voice cracking.

I open the passenger door and slip out into the cold air. I don't want to hear her apologize. She cannot help me. She is bound by a blood oath to the Alpha. Defying him means execution. Or worse, exile. Being stripped of the pack bond turns a wolf into a rogue, condemned to a slow, agonizing descent into madness. I will not drag her down with me.

"Thanks, N," I offer a weak, fractured smile.

She tries to return it, her lips trembling, but fails. I shut the door, peel my eyes away from her sympathetic gaze, and force my bare feet to walk up the stone steps.

I push the heavy oak door open, stepping into the grand sitting area. The air in the room is suffocating, thick with predatory tension. I freeze.

Cole stands in the center of the room.

My hands begin to tremble. Our eyes meet, and the brown irises I know so well are gone, replaced by a furious, burning gold light. It is the sign of instant rage. His wolf is clawing at the surface, feral and begging for blood.

"Where the fuck were you?" He hisses, his voice distorted, layered with the growl of his beast. He stalks toward me, his heavy boots thudding against the hardwood floor.

My breath hitches. I take a step back, but my legs feel like lead. I have no wolf. I have no enhanced strength, no speed, no defense. I am prey standing before an apex predator.

"Answer me!" He lunges, his large hand clamping around my jaw. His thick fingers dig into the soft flesh of my cheeks, squashing my bones together with crushing force.

Pain explodes in my skull, blurring my vision. I gasp, my hands flying up to claw at his thick wrists. I dig my short nails into his skin, but it is like trying to scratch solid rock. He applies harsher pressure, lifting me slightly onto my toes.

"Leave me," I shriek, the sound muffled by his grip.

Cole inhales sharply, his chest expanding. His golden eyes widen for a fraction of a second before narrowing into deadly slits.

"You smell like another fucker," he growls, the vibration of his voice rattling my bones. The scent of sex, of mint, of the stranger's shirt masking my own—it pushes him over the edge.

"Leave me, Cole," I thrash wildly, kicking my bare feet, trying to push against his solid chest.

"Leave you?" He seethes, spit flying from his lips.

He twists his waist and hurls me backward with monstrous force. I fly through the air, my spine colliding with the solid brick wall. The impact knocks the wind from my lungs in a harsh rush. I slide down the rough surface, and my left side crashes hard into the wooden floor.

A sickening, loud crack echoes through the sitting area. The sound of my own bone fracturing makes my stomach heave. Screams erupt from my throat, raw and tearing, one after another.

Cole does not stop. He closes the distance in a blur of motion. I lose count of the strikes. His heavy fists slam into my face, splitting my lip and bruising my cheekbones. His steel-toed boots kick my stomach, my thighs, my back. Every impact sends shockwaves of blinding agony through my nervous system.

I roll onto my stomach, coughing up blood. I dig my fingers into the grooves of the hardwood floor, dragging my broken body forward. I crawl on my hands and knees, sobbing, begging him to spare me. My fingernails snag on the wood, tearing backward from the roots. Blood smears across the polished floorboards as I drag myself an inch further.

Cole steps in front of me, blocking my path. He draws his leg back and delivers one final, merciless kick directly to my ribs.

Another shattering noise echoes in the room. The pain is so absolute, so consuming, that my vision goes completely black for a second. I collapse onto the floor, gasping for air that refuses to fill my lungs.

Cole stands over me, his chest heaving, his golden eyes blazing with twisted satisfaction. He hawks and spits directly onto my bloodied face.

"Attempt to fuck with me again, and you are done, slut," he sneers, his voice dripping with venom.

He turns on his heel and walks away, his heavy footsteps fading down the hallway, leaving me in the deafening silence of the sitting area.

I lie there, my cheek pressed against the cold wood, tasting my own blood. My body is a shattered vessel, barely clinging to life. This is my reality. I know the routine. I will lose consciousness soon. When I wake up, I will still be on this floor. I will have to drag my broken bones to the supply closet, steal bandages, and tend to my own wounds. I will cry in the dark, swallowed by the shadows, entirely alone.