Rejection Under the Harvest Moon E-Book

Laura Dutton

• Herausgeber: BookRix
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025

Beschreibung

Tomorrow night, under the Harvest Moon, she’s set to be rejected in front of the whole school pack tradition turned into public humiliation. The night before, a text drags her behind the gym to hear a “truth” she’s not sure will save her… or bury her.

When her mate rejects her anyway, the crowd eats it up and the pack elders call it “finished,” like she isn’t even a person. She runs, bleeds, and learns how to survive with rogues who don’t do pity, only hard rules and harder choices. And when her heat hits at the worst possible time, the dangerous crew leader called Ghost is the only one who moves like he won’t let her get taken.

Now she’s done being the girl they laughed at. She’s going back under their moon to start the fight they thought she’d never survive.

Leseprobe

Rejection Under the Harvest Moon

Laura Dutton

Copyright © 2025 by Laura Dutton

All rights reserved

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.

The information in this ebook is true and complete to the best of our knowledge. All recommendation are made without guarantee on the part of author or publisher. The author and publisher disclaim any liability in connection with the use of this information.

Table of Contents

Laura Dutton

Table of Contents

PROLOGUE

Last Bell, Bad Blood

Harvest Moon Flyer Season

You Not My Problem

Bathroom Tears & Bloody Knuckles

Runaway With a Backpack

Rogues Don’t Do Pity

The Block Pack Rules

No Cap, I’m Built Different

Fight Night Behind the Warehouse

Heat Tried It

Soft Ain’t Safe

Old Pack, New Lies

The Pull That Won’t Die

Slide Back to Campus

Eyes on Me, Haters Quiet

He Tried to Claim What He Broke

New Crew, New Crown

Rumors Hit Like Bullets

Blood in the Parking Lot

The Harvest Moon Ain’t Done

A Kiss That Started a War

Loyalty Tested, Love Bleeding

He Begged, I Laughed

When the Bond Snaps Back

The Night I Chose Violence

Undercover in My Own Pack

Betrayal in the Gym Lights

The Alpha Fell First

Rejected, But Never Broken

Moonlit Runaway Finale

Rejection Under the Harvest Moon

EPILOGUE

PROLOGUE

The first time I felt the bond, it didn’t feel like love.

It felt like a hand closing around my throat.

It hit me in the cafeteria, right after the bell, when the room was loud and reckless. Trays sliding, people yelling, somebody laughing like they had no home training. I was doing what I always do—head down, shoulders tight, trying to eat in peace.

Then my chest locked up.

A pull, hot and rude, yanked deep in me, like my body just got claimed by something it didn’t ask for. The skin on my neck prickled. My wolf inside me lifted her head like she’d been asleep and somebody slapped her awake.

I looked up.

He was staring at me.

Everybody knows him. He walks like the rules are for other people. His boys sit around him like backup, acting tough because they’re close to power.

My hand shook on the fork. I hated that.

Mate.

The word hit me so hard I almost choked.

I didn’t want it to be him. I’d seen the way he treated people outside his circle—like they were furniture.

He stood up.

The bond pull got worse, like my own skin was trying to drag me toward him. I stayed planted anyway, jaw clenched, nails digging into my palm.

He walked past my table and stopped behind my chair like he owned my oxygen.

I froze.

He spoke low, just for me.

“You smell like you been hoping,” he said. “Stop.”

I turned my head enough to look at him. “Move.”

He laughed like I was cute.

“You know what tomorrow is,” he said.

I didn’t answer. The Harvest Moon Ceremony. The night everybody watched who got chosen and who got played.

He leaned closer, breath near my ear.

“I’m rejecting you,” he said. “So don’t embarrass yourself.”

My stomach dropped so fast it felt like I fell through the floor.

I stood up too quick and my tray tipped. Fries hit the ground. Somebody yelled, “Damn!” like this was entertainment. Heads turned. Phones came out.

My best friend grabbed my wrist hard. Her eyes said, Don’t do it. Don’t shift. Don’t give them what they want.

My wolf shoved forward anyway, heat crawling under my nails, teeth itching like she wanted blood.

He stepped back with that little grin, loud enough for the closest tables.

“See?” he said. “This why.”

Laughter rolled around me. Some people looked away. Most people enjoyed it like it wasn’t my life.

I grabbed my bag and walked out. I didn’t cry. I didn’t talk. I just moved, fast and stiff, like if I slowed down I’d crack right there in the hallway.

Outside, the air was cold. The sky was fading. And up there, the moon was already rising—big and bright.

Harvest Moon.

Rejection in our world ain’t a clean cut. It’s a mark that follows you. Your body remembers. Your wolf remembers. People act like you’re defective.

I cut around the gym toward the back lot, where the cameras don’t reach right and people do their dirty work. I wanted somewhere quiet. Somewhere I could breathe.

Footsteps crunched behind me.

I turned.

Two girls stepped out from between parked cars, wearing pack colors like they were born royalty. Same ones who always got something slick to say. Their smiles were sharp.

One of them clapped slow. “Aww,” she said. “She mad.”

“Move,” I told them.

They didn’t.

The taller one came closer. “He told everybody,” she said, voice sweet like poison. “Tomorrow he gon’ do it loud. In front of the whole ceremony. So it sticks.”

My throat went dry.

The other girl leaned in and flicked my cheap little moon charm. “You still wearing that?” she said. “You don’t get to wear the moon like you one of us.”

I slapped her hand away. “Touch me again and I’ll break your fingers.”

For one second, their faces changed. Not fear. Just interest. Like they were hoping I’d lose control.

The tall one shoved me.

I hit the side of a car, hard enough to make the metal ring. Pain shot through my shoulder. My wolf snapped up inside me, wild and ready. Claws pressed under my nails. A growl crawled up my throat.

“Do it,” the tall one whispered, eyes bright. “Shift. Swing. Give us a reason.”

That’s when I got it.

This wasn’t just them being mean.

This was a trap.

If I lost it, they’d call me unstable. Dangerous. Unfit. And tomorrow, when he rejected me, everybody would clap like it was “for the best.”

I swallowed the growl. I forced my claws back, breathing through my teeth like it was fire in my bones.

Not here.

Not for them.

I pushed off the car and stepped around them, shoulder bumping past on purpose. A warning without words.

“Bring tissues,” the short one called after me, laughing.

I didn’t look back.

I headed for the chain-link fence by the tree line, where the woods start and the school ends. The trees stood dark and thick, like they were listening.

My phone buzzed in my pocket.

Unknown number.

ONE NIGHT. BACK LOT. AFTER PRACTICE.COME ALONE IF YOU WANT THE TRUTH.

I read it twice. Then again, like the letters would change.

My mouth went dry.

Because people don’t text like that unless they’re trying to help you…

or set you up worse.

I should’ve deleted it and kept walking. That would’ve been the smart thing.

But smart never saved me in this place.

Somebody knew something. Somebody was close enough to the mess to speak on it. And if tomorrow was already set up like a stage, I needed to know who was pulling the strings.

I looked up at the moon. It climbed higher, bright and bold, like it couldn’t wait to watch.

Tomorrow night, under that Harvest Moon, somebody was planning to break me on purpose.

And I had one day to decide if I was going to let them.

Last Bell, Bad Blood

The bell rang like a gunshot. And just like that, senior year was over.

Everyone around me screamed, hugged, threw papers in the air like freedom was something you could touch. Desks slammed. Chairs scraped. Teachers yelled half-heartedly over the noise, already defeated. The room smelled like sweat, perfume, and the kind of cheap deodorant boys wear when they want to smell grown.

I sat there, quiet, watching the mess unfold.

That’s how it always is. I’m in the room, but never part of it.

The girl next to me—tall, curly hair, fake laugh—turned and said, “You not even excited?” I gave her a look that said, mind your business. She rolled her eyes, grabbed her phone, and disappeared into the noise.

I could already feel it in the air—the energy of people who had never been hurt bad enough to shut up about it. Everyone was ready to celebrate the future. Me? I was just counting the hours until the Harvest Moon Ceremony.

That night had a way of changing people. Some got love. Some got shame. And some got nothing but silence.

I stuffed my books into my bag. My hands shook even though I wasn’t scared, just… tired. You’d think time would make rejection fade, but it sticks. It sits in your bones and waits.

Out in the hallway, it was chaos. Lockers slammed open and shut like someone was beating drums. A couple was making out by the trophy case. Somebody was yelling, “Yo, we outta here!” like freedom was new. I kept my head down and pushed through.

Then I saw him.

He stood at the far end of the hall, laughing with his crew, head thrown back like nothing in the world could touch him. Same boy who told me I “smelled like hope” and then crushed it. Same boy who said my name like it was dirt under his shoe.

Our eyes met for half a second.

He smirked.

That was enough to ruin whatever calm I’d built all week. My chest tightened like invisible hands were squeezing my lungs. My wolf stirred inside me, angry and restless.

I turned away.

Somebody bumped my shoulder. “Watch it,” they said, not even looking back.

“Yeah,” I muttered. “You too.”

I reached my locker, spun the code too fast, messed it up, tried again. My hands were sweating. The metal door finally clicked open, and I just stared at the inside—pictures, an old schedule, a half-crushed note that said you got this in my best friend’s handwriting.

It felt like a lie now.

She walked up behind me right then, chewing gum like she was biting her anger. “You good?” she asked.

I nodded. Lying comes easy now. “Yeah.”

“Don’t say yeah like that. You shaking.”

I slammed the locker shut. “I said I’m good.”

She didn’t buy it. She never does. But she also knows better than to push when I’m one wrong word away from breaking something.

“You skipping the bonfire?” she asked.

I shrugged. “Maybe.”

She sighed. “You should come. It’s the last one before the ceremony. Everyone’ll be there.”

“Exactly,” I said.

She sucked her teeth. “You can’t hide forever.”

“I ain’t hiding,” I said. “I’m just done pretending like I fit somewhere I don’t.”

Her eyes softened. “You do fit. Just not there.”

We stood in silence for a minute. The hallway emptied out, voices fading down the stairs. I looked at the clock above the office door. Three hours until the sun went down. Twelve until the Harvest Moon.

Twelve hours until I’d have to stand there in front of the whole damn pack and hear his rejection again. This time official, permanent. Once spoken under the moon, it sealed. Can’t undo it. Can’t run from it.

My stomach twisted. My wolf growled inside, low and quiet, the way she does when she feels my fear and doesn’t like it.

“Let’s go,” I said, grabbing my bag.

“Where?”

“Anywhere but here.”

We left the school through the side doors, sunlight hitting hard and bright. The field stretched wide, green and perfect, kids running, couples holding hands. The kind of scene that looks sweet if you don’t know the truth hiding underneath.

Every smile here had blood behind it. Every joke had history. Packs don’t forget. They keep score.

We cut across the lot, heading for the bus stop. A group of seniors was spray-painting their class year on the pavement. One of them yelled out my name and laughed. My friend tensed beside me, ready to swing if needed.

“Don’t,” I said. “They want a reaction.”

She glared back at them anyway. “One day, you gon’ stop letting people play with you.”

“One day,” I said.

We waited for the bus in silence. When it came, we grabbed seats in the back. The windows were scratched with words and hearts that used to mean something. The driver hummed to an old radio song that cracked through static.

Halfway through the ride, she looked at me again. “You sure you gonna go tomorrow?”

I looked out the window. “If I don’t show, it looks like I’m scared.”

“You are scared.”

“I’m not,” I said, voice sharp. “I’m just… tired of being the joke.”

She leaned back. “Then make sure they never laugh at you again.”

The bus jerked over a bump, throwing my bag into my lap. My heart kicked up. I pulled out my phone. No messages. No calls. Just that empty screen waiting for something that wasn’t coming.

When we reached our stop, we got off and walked the long way home through the alley behind the old diner. Trash cans, graffiti, cracked brick. The smell of burnt fries and smoke. I liked it here—it matched how I felt inside.

We turned the corner and nearly ran into him again.

He wasn’t alone. Same crew. Same smug energy. His eyes flicked over me like I wasn’t worth a full look.

“Well, well,” one of his boys said. “Look who crawled out.”

“Leave it,” he muttered.

But they didn’t. They never do.

Another one said, “Yo, you really still coming tomorrow? Thought you’d be too embarrassed.”

Laughter followed like a slap. My fists clenched. My friend stepped forward, voice sharp: “Say that again.”

The boy grinned. “Relax. We just talking.”

“Then talk to someone else,” she snapped.

He smirked. “Why she always need protection?”

“She don’t,” I said, stepping up. “But you might.”

That shut him up for half a second. His smirk twitched. The leader—him—watched me quietly, no smile, no emotion. Just eyes that knew they had already broken me once.

Then he said softly, “You should stay home tomorrow. Save yourself another scene.”

“I’ll be there,” I said.

“Then wear something nice,” he said. “Wouldn’t want your last moment in the pack to look sloppy.”

His crew laughed again. They walked off slow, satisfied. My friend turned to me, face tight. “You really gonna stand there and let him talk like that?”

“What you want me to do?” I said. “Hit him in front of them? That’s what he wants.”

She shook her head. “You can’t keep taking it.”

“I’m not taking it,” I said. “I’m saving it.”

She blinked. “Saving it?”

“For later.”

We walked on, quiet now. The wind picked up, carrying the smell of rain even though the sky was still clear. The air felt heavy, like something was waiting.

When I got home, Mom was already in the kitchen, back turned, music playing low. She didn’t look up when I came in.

“You late,” she said.

“Bus was slow.”

“You eat?”

“Not hungry.”

She wiped her hands on a towel and finally looked at me. Her eyes softened when she saw my face. “You nervous about tomorrow?”

“No,” I lied.

“You should be,” she said. “It’s important.”

“Yeah. I know.”

She walked over, put a hand on my cheek. “Whatever happens, don’t forget who you are.”

I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat.

Upstairs, my room was half-dark. Posters peeling. Clothes thrown everywhere. I dropped my bag on the floor and sat on the edge of the bed, staring at nothing. The silence pressed on me like weight.

I thought about what he said. Stay home. I thought about how everybody would be there, waiting to see me fall again. And I thought about how much it would burn to stand there under that red-gold moon and pretend it didn’t hurt.

I looked at my reflection in the cracked mirror. My eyes looked older than I remembered. Harder.

“I’m not running,” I whispered.

My wolf stirred in agreement, a low hum inside my chest.

I lay back, staring at the ceiling, letting the noise from downstairs fade. The house creaked like it was holding secrets. The wind moved through the trees outside, soft but restless.

Tomorrow would end everything—one way or another.

And as the last bit of sunlight disappeared, I swore I could hear the moon whisper my name, slow and heavy, like it already knew what was coming.

Harvest Moon Flyer Season

The flyers showed up before the fear did.

I saw the first one taped crooked on the front doors of the school, half peeling like it already knew what it meant. Big red letters. Bold moon graphic. DATE. TIME. LOCATION. Under it, the words everyone pretended not to read but always did:

HARVEST MOON CEREMONY — MATE CLAIMS & REJECTIONS WILL BE PUBLIC.

My chest tightened like somebody pulled a cord inside me.

By second period, they were everywhere. On lockers. Bathroom mirrors. Vending machines. Even slapped on the back of the bus seats like ads for pain. Every hallway buzzed. People weren’t even whispering. They were loud with it, careless, like this whole thing was a game show.

“Who you think getting claimed?”

“I heard somebody finna get embarrassed.”

“I swear if he rejects her in front of everybody, I’ma die.”

Laughter followed those words every time.

I kept my head down and walked faster, backpack heavy like it was full of bricks instead of books. Every step felt watched. Every glance burned.

Harvest Moon Flyer Season always did this. Turned the school into a rumor factory. Made people bold. Made bullies creative.

I stopped at my locker and started spinning the dial with shaking fingers. Somebody had already added to the flyer taped there.

A black marker. Sloppy handwriting.

PRAY YOU MAKE IT OUT ALIVE.

I ripped it down and crumpled it so hard my nails cut my palm. The sting helped. Pain I could control always did.

“You good?” my best friend asked, sliding up beside me.

I didn’t look at her. “I’m breathing.”

She sucked her teeth. “This year worse than usual.”

“It’s always worse when it’s your turn.”

She went quiet at that. I hated that silence. It meant she knew. Everybody knew. Even if nobody said it out loud yet.

We walked to class together, shoulders brushing. I could feel her holding back words. Warnings. Comfort. Lies.

In history, the teacher tried to talk about wars and treaties, but nobody cared. Notes passed. Phones hidden in laps. Somebody started a betting pool on who would cry during the ceremony. I didn’t need to look to know my name was probably on it.

I stared at the clock and tried to keep my breathing steady.

Every time the door opened, my body reacted. Every time laughter burst out, my heart jumped. The bond pull sat low in my stomach, quiet but heavy, like it was waiting for permission to hurt me.

By lunch, the cafeteria looked like a carnival. Tables packed. Music blasting from somebody’s speaker until security shut it down. Flyers stuck on trays, waved around like trophies.

I carried my food to my usual corner table. Safe spot. Or what passed for safe in this place.

That’s when I saw him.

He sat dead center, surrounded like always. Laughing. Relaxed. Untouched. Like the whole world bent easy for him.

Our eyes met.

The pull slammed into me so hard I almost dropped my tray.

It wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t warm. It felt sharp. Possessive. Like something inside me got grabbed without asking.

His smile faded for half a second. Just enough to tell me he felt it too.

Then he looked away.

Like I didn’t matter.

I sat down fast, heart beating loud in my ears. My wolf stirred, restless, confused. She didn’t understand rejection. She only understood connection and threat.

“You seeing this?” my best friend muttered.

“I’m trying not to.”

“He acting like he don’t feel it.”

I laughed, short and ugly. “He feels it. He just don’t want it.”

That hurt worse than pretending it wasn’t real.

People started standing up on benches, yelling predictions. Somebody yelled my name from across the room, followed by a chorus of oooohs. I didn’t look. If I looked, I’d lose it.

I ate fast, barely tasted anything. Every bite sat heavy. Every sound scraped my nerves raw.

When the bell rang, I didn’t wait. I got up and left, tray half full.

The hallway smelled like paper and marker ink. Flyers still going up. Somebody slapped one next to me so close I flinched.

“Chill,” they laughed. “It’s just paper.”

It wasn’t just paper.

It was a countdown.

After school, practice ran late. Coach yelled. People argued. Nobody focused. Even the air felt charged, like a storm building.

I changed in the locker room slow, fingers stiff. The walls were covered in flyers now. Someone had drawn hearts around some names. Xs over others.

Next to mine, someone wrote REJECTED in thick red strokes.

I scrubbed it off until my arm burned.

Outside, the sky was already turning that deep orange color that meant fall was settling in for real. Harvest Moon coming soon. You could feel it in the way the wind pressed close.

My phone buzzed again.

Group chats blowing up. Videos. Memes. Screenshots of flyers with edits.

One message stood out.

PRIVATE NUMBER:You still think it’s just him?

I stopped walking.

My heart dropped to my shoes.

I typed back before I could stop myself.

Who is this?

The reply came quick.

Someone who knows how they set this up.

I stared at the screen, pulse racing. People passed me on the sidewalk, laughing, shoving, living like my world wasn’t tilting.

Set what up? I typed.

Dots appeared. Disappeared. Then:

Meet me tomorrow after practice. Back lot. Come alone.

My hands went cold.

I should’ve blocked the number. Told my friend. Gone home.

Instead, I slipped the phone back in my pocket and kept walking.

That night, sleep didn’t come easy. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw flyers. Red ink. Smiling faces. Heard laughter echoing like it lived inside my skull.

I dreamed of the moon watching me. Big. Bright. Waiting.

The next day, the flyers doubled.

Someone printed bigger ones. Glossy paper. Official-looking seals. Like they wanted to remind everyone this was tradition. Law. Entertainment.

Teachers ignored it. Admin pretended it wasn’t happening. Same every year.

By third period, people were already dressed for it. Crop tops. Fresh cuts. Pack colors on full display.

I wore black. Simple. Quiet. Armor.

He passed me in the hallway and didn’t slow down. Didn’t speak. Didn’t look.

That hurt more than hate ever could.

After practice, I told my best friend I had stuff to do. She didn’t believe me, but she let me go. Her eyes followed me all the way out.

The back lot sat empty, cracked asphalt and bad lighting. Trees pressed close on one side. Fence on the other.

I stood there alone, heart hammering, wondering if I’d made the dumbest choice of my life.

Footsteps crunched behind me.

I turned.

And whatever truth was coming next, I knew one thing for sure—

Harvest Moon Flyer Season was just the beginning

You Not My Problem

The first thing I learned about rejection is that it don’t end when the words get said.

It keeps talking after.

I woke up the morning after the cafeteria mess with my chest tight and my jaw sore, like I’d been clenching my teeth all night. The bond was still there. Not loud. Not pulling. Just sitting in me like a bruise you can’t stop pressing on. Every breath reminded me of it.

I stared at the ceiling for a long time, listening to my alarm scream like it had beef with me. Same cracked paint. Same busted fan. Same room that never felt safe enough to fall apart in.

I finally sat up and said it out loud, just to hear it.

“You not my problem.”

It sounded fake. Like a lie you try on and hope nobody checks the seams.

I dragged myself through the morning routine. Cold water on my face. Hoodie on. Hair pulled back so tight my scalp stung. I checked my phone even though I knew there wouldn’t be anything good there.

There were already messages.

Group chats laughing about yesterday. Screenshots. Voice notes. Somebody slowed down the video of me standing up, tray falling, my face stiff. Somebody added a caption: she thought she was chosen.

I didn’t reply. I didn’t block anyone either. Blocking makes people feel important.

At school, the energy was wrong the second I stepped on campus. Everybody knew. They always know fast. Whispers followed me down the hall like I had something on my shoe. People who never spoke to me suddenly had opinions.

I kept my head straight and my walk steady.

My best friend caught up to me by the lockers. She didn’t say anything at first. She just hugged me hard, like she was holding me together with her arms.

“I’m good,” I said.

She pulled back and looked at me. “Don’t lie to me.”

“I said I’m good,” I repeated, slower this time.

She nodded. She knows when to stop pushing. That’s why she still alive in this pack.

“You hear what he been saying?” she asked.

I shrugged. “Don’t care.”

That part wasn’t true. But I needed it to be.

We headed to class. Every room felt smaller. Every laugh sounded aimed. I caught sight of him once, across the quad. He was leaning on a bench, smiling, like yesterday was nothing. Like he didn’t look at me and decide I wasn’t worth keeping.

Our eyes met.

The bond stirred, just a little. Enough to piss me off.

He smirked and mouthed something I couldn’t hear. His boys laughed anyway.

I turned away first.

That should’ve been it. That should’ve been the end of the interaction.

It wasn’t.

After last period, when the halls started emptying out, I felt it before I saw it. That shift in the air. That sense that something was about to pop off.

I stepped outside and almost ran into him.

He was blocking the doors, hands in his pockets, standing too close like he forgot how space works. His smile wasn’t playful now. It was flat.

“Why you ducking me?” he asked.

“I’m not,” I said. “You just not important.”

His smile twitched. “Careful.”

“Or what?”

He leaned in. People were watching from a distance, pretending not to. He dropped his voice.

“You think I rejected you because I wanted to?” he said.

I laughed, sharp and short. “You don’t get points for that.”

He grabbed my wrist.

That was a mistake.

I yanked my hand back and stepped into his space instead of away. My heart was pounding, but my face stayed calm.

“Don’t touch me,” I said. “Ever.”

His eyes darkened. “You got a lot of mouth for somebody who just lost everything.”

I stared at him, really stared. The power he thought he had. The way he expected me to fold.

Something clicked.

“You know what?” I said. “You right. I lost something.”

He waited.

“I lost the idea that you mattered.”

That hit him harder than I expected. His jaw tightened.

“You think you can just walk away from this?” he said. “From me?”

I shrugged. “Watch me.”

I stepped around him and kept walking. My legs shook once I was far enough away, but I didn’t stop.

Behind me, he called out, loud enough for people to hear.

“You ain’t my problem anymore.”

I stopped walking.

I turned back slowly.

“No,” I said. “You never were.”

The silence after that felt heavy. Not dramatic. Just thick.

I walked off campus alone.

I didn’t go straight home. I cut through the side streets, the ones with cracked sidewalks and closed-down stores. Places where nobody cared who you were supposed to belong to.

That’s when my phone buzzed again.

Same unknown number from yesterday.

BACK LOT. AFTER PRACTICE. LAST CHANCE.

I stared at the screen until it dimmed.

Every smart voice in my head said no. Said don’t go. Said this was how people disappear or get blamed for things they didn’t do.

But another part of me, the part that was tired of being played with, didn’t want to keep guessing.

I texted back.

WHY.

The reply came fast.

BECAUSE HE LIED. AND YOU PAID FOR IT.

My chest tightened.

I shoved my phone in my pocket and kept walking. The sun was already dropping, throwing long shadows across the street. Practice would end soon. The back lot would be empty enough to hide things.

I should’ve gone home.

Instead, I turned around.

By the time I got back to campus, the sky was purple and the air smelled like sweat and dirt. I waited by the fence until the noise died down.

The back lot was quiet. Too quiet.

I stepped between two parked cars, heart loud in my ears.

“You came,” a voice said.

I spun around.

It wasn’t who I expected.

He stood under a busted light, hands visible, posture relaxed. Not pack royalty. Not one of the usual loud mouths. Somebody who stayed in the background on purpose.

“You texted me?” I asked.

He nodded. “Yeah.”

I crossed my arms. “Talk.”

He took a breath. “He didn’t reject you because he didn’t want you.”

I laughed. “You don’t know—”

“He rejected you because he was told to.”

That stopped me.

“By who,” I asked.

“The elders,” he said. “And his dad.”

My stomach dropped. “Why.”

“Because they think you unstable,” he said. “Because your wolf different. Because if you bonded and snapped, it would’ve looked bad on them.”

My hands curled into fists. “So they let him humiliate me instead.”

He didn’t deny it.

“He didn’t fight it,” the guy added. “But he didn’t start it either.”

I swallowed. That hurt worse than the rejection itself.

“Why you telling me this?” I asked.

“Because tomorrow,” he said, “they planning to make it official. Public. Ceremony style. Make it stick.”

The moon flashed in my head. Bright. Watching.

“And you?” I asked. “What you get out of this.”

He hesitated. “Maybe nothing. Maybe I just got tired of watching people get crushed for politics.”

I studied his face. No grin. No hunger. Just nerves.

“I don’t want your pity,” I said.

“Good,” he replied. “I ain’t offering it.”

Silence settled between us.