Page 32 of Rejected Alpha Mate

My knees buckle as the world dims, my breathing slowing just enough for me to stumble backward, away from Dominic and Hunter. I don’t know how far I run—maybe a mile, maybe more—but the trees blur into motion until I collapse near the creek that cuts through the far edge of my property.

I land on my knees beside a rock, but it’s no ordinary rock.

Our rock.

The one place I’ve been avoiding this past year. It’s the same place Donna and I used to sit last summer, when everything was simple, and we stargazed at night. When she’d talk about her dreams, and I’d pretend I wasn’t already falling for her.

I lean back against it now, whimpering in wolf form as I lower my muzzle to the rock, the voices finally dulling into silence. My head throbs, but I cling to the memory—her laughter, her hand brushing mine, the scent of her hair when the breeze blew by.

That’s what keeps me anchored.

That, and the memory of the day I let her go.

Closing my eyes, I lay my furry form on the smooth rock, my mind whisked away to a moment in time I wish I could go back to and change.

But some things can’t be changed, like this rock that’s cold beneath the soft cushions of my wolf’s paws.

It wasn’t always cold like this. Summer hasn’t fully bled out of the town yet, but the stone syphons heat from me anyway, like it remembers everything I’ve tried to forget, and it’s forcing me to remember. I press my forehead against its rough surface, breathing through my nose as my wolf paces restlessly beneath my skin.

This place used to feel like comfort; it used to be a place of peace. Now, it feels like a reckoning, a reminder of my crimes and the place I’m forced to face the demons of my past.

The voices inside my head have gone quiet for a moment, retreating like predators that know better than to strike when I’m still standing. But the darkness hasn’t left me. It coils low in my gut, heavy and patient, like it’s learned the heartbeat of my regret and decided to wait for the perfect moment to pounce on me. I’m not sure if the voices in my head are on my side or if they’re against me, but all I know is that I’m forced to recount the things my heart aches for.

I can still see her here.

Not just as a memory replaying itself in my head, but as a presence that never really left.

Donna used to sit on this rock with her legs tucked beneath her, chin tilted up toward the stars as if she could already see beyond this place. She talked about the future like it was something waiting for her, not something she had to claw her way toward. The city. Her studies. A life bigger than this valley.

And I was woven into that future, even if she didn’t say it out loud. Not until that day in the service closet…

I swallow hard, my wolf whimpering as moisture pools behind my furry eyelids.

I told myself I was protecting her back then, but that’s the lie I wrapped around my cowardice, and polished it until it almost sounded noble. I told myself I was choosing her future over my wants, her freedom over my instincts. That if I let her really believe in us, then I’d be the one stealing something from her.

But the truth sits uglier in my chest now.

I was afraid.

Afraid of claiming her and failing her. Afraid of becoming the alpha of Crescent Moon and turning into my father in all the ways that matter. Afraid that if I reached for something good, something pure, the darkness in me would rot it—rot her from the inside out.

So I let her go in the ugliest, cruelest way I could have.

I feel my claws scrape faintly against the stone as my paws curl into fists. The wounded, suppressed bond hums painfully in response, like it remembers the moment I shattered it better than I do.

“She deserved better,” my inner wolf murmurs to no one, its voice hoarse inside my head. This time, it’s not the demons speaking to me. It’s my inner wolf, who was hurt when I hurt Donna.

But even now, the words I speak internally sound redundant, because what Donna deserved was the truth. Not the hollow cruelty of pretending she didn’t know her own heart, like I was the sickest man on earth, gaslighting her into believing that what we had meant nothing.

I’m disgusted with myself, and the darkness stirs again, pleased.

It feeds on this part of me—the part that knows I broke something sacred and called it mercy. It whispers that I did the right thing, that love is weakness, that mates are liabilities. I bare my teeth in a silent snarl.

“No,” I growl, pressing my forehead harder into the stone. “You’re wrong!”

The rock hums faintly beneath my touch, as if it’s alive, as if something ancient responding to the tension vibrating through my bones. It’s like it remembers. Or maybe, I’m just remembering and chastising myself all over again, like a hell of my own conjuring. And memory, I’m learning, is far crueler than I thought.

It’s no wonder she hates me. I hate myself, too. If this rock could open up and swallow me whole, I wish it could.