Page 19 of Rejected Alpha Mate

Does he get a kick out of knowing that he has the power to break me? That's what this is.

An ego-trip.

We pass by the Lunaris Pack members seated on log benches outside, making up the crowd gathered here for tonight's ceremony, so it can be seen as official. At the front of the crowd is my mother, who smiles proudly because her only daughter is about to enter a mate bond with an alpha. And beside her is Nicholas's father with his arms crossed, eyes square as if he's sitting in on a business meeting.

As Dominic places my hand in Nicholas’s, the air crackles—or maybe it's just me. The world narrows to the space where our skin touches, that old, treacherous awareness flooding my veins. It's the pull I swore I buried, the one I've been determined to ignore. My fingers twitch in his grasp, but he doesn’t let go or flinch, giving me reason to believe he's as daft and oblivious as he was a year ago.

His hand is warm, steady, too familiar, and my breath hitches despite my better judgment.

Nicholas’s eyes flit to mine, and for a split second, I see something flicker there. Regret, maybe longing, flashes through his eyes, but I smother the idea before I become consumed by it.

No.

I won’t fall for those eyes again, for that look in them. Not when it’s the same one he wore before telling me that what we had was just “fun.”

I force a smile for Dominic, for everyone watching, as my brother takes position behind the podium and begins reciting the words that will bind me to the man I hate. Each vow feels like a chain tightening around my heart, the words I speak in response winding around my throat.

“I, Donna Rivera, take you, Alpha Nicholas Bartalow, as my mate,” I say, blinking coldly.

When Nicholas repeats his part, his voice is low, rough with something unspoken, but I can feel it. My wolf stirs, restless under my skin, sensing the truth my pride refuses to acknowledge.

As his lips brush the back of my hand to seal the ritual, I make a silent oath internally.

You’ll regret rejecting me, Nicholas Bartalow…and this time, I’ll be the one to break you.

That's the only way I'll survive this without breaking apart again.

Chapter 6 - Nicholas

The drive back to Wells is quiet, the kind of silence that gnaws on your bones. The road hums beneath the tires, the forest rich as it stretches endlessly on either side, but inside the SUV, there’s only tension.

Thick. Heavy. Suffocating.

Donna sits beside me in the passenger seat, her gaze fixed out of the window. The silver moonlight flashes across her face every time we pass between the trees, painting her in different shades; one second, she’s soft and ethereal, the next, she’s hard and cold. Her hands are folded neatly on her lap, the gold band on her finger catching the light like a cruel reminder.

Donna Rivera is my wife now.

The words should mean something, but they don’t.

Not yet.

The gold band was my mother’s, while the dress she’s wearing belonged to hers. Everyone else seemed to be treating this like a real mating ceremony, a real marriage, but Donna’s cold indifference reminds me that it’s not the case.

Perhaps I’m being too ambitious to think that this could be real. I mean, it’s not. That’s not why she agreed to this. After all, I hurt her in the past, and that’s why she can’t even look my way.

But every time I glance at her, my wolf stirs, restless and guilty, but protective—that’s why I’m doing this. The air between us feels charged, alive with everything we’re not saying. If she’s angry, she hides it well, but her silence since she stormed off from that fire pit in Terramor says enough. Her walls are higher now than they’ve ever been, and I’m the reason they exist at all.

I should say something…anything…but words feel redundant right now. None of them can fix the damage I caused a year ago. No words can make her trust me again.

When we finally reach my house and pull into the driveway, Donna doesn’t wait for me to open her door. She steps out first, her chin tilted high, her movements precise and deliberate, like she’s performing for an invisible audience to prove that she’s unaffected.

If only she knew that every calculated step she takes unravels me a little more….

“Welcome home,” I murmur as I grab our bags from the back of the SUV.

She pauses at the foot of the stairs, glancing up at the porch and the house beyond it. The stone and cedar façade glows beneath the porch lights, the Crescent Moon insignia etched above the double doors.

“It looks different,” she remarks flatly, and I pause behind the SUV, watching how she barely moves, her breathing controlled.