Page 12 of Claiming His Rejected Mate

She hesitates, then nods. “I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.”

I don’t believe her, but I’m too weak to argue. The heat in my veins flares again, stealing my strength.

“Do you believe me?” I ask, my voice trembling. “About Kieran. That he’s my Mate.”

Her expression softens, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “I believe you,” she says, her voice steady. “And don’t you dare think for a second that you’re unfit to be a Luna. You are strong, Hazel. Stronger than any of them know.”

Tears sting my eyes, but they don’t fall. Her words warm my chest, but it’s quickly smothered by the weight of my exhaustion.

Elara picks up a bowl from the table, the scent of broth filling the air. “You need to eat,” she says, her tone firm but kind.

I nod weakly, letting her feed me a few spoonfuls. The taste is bland. The warmth does nothing to soothe me.

Before I can finish, the darkness pulls me under again. My mother’s voice the last thing I hear.

“I’ll always believe in you.”

I recovered from the seal a few days later, and I was immediately put to work. The Omega quarters are dim and cramped, a stark contrast to the spacious warrior barracks I used to know. The air here smells of damp wood, sweat, and the faint tang of detergent. The heat in my veins has dulled to an ember, but it still burns, a persistent ache that leaves me restless and needy even as I work.

The others don’t make It easier.

“Guess even the Gamma’s daughter can fall,” one of the Omegas sneers as I carry a heavy basket of laundry through the courtyard. Her tone is sugary sweet, but the venom underneath is unmistakable.

Another Omega, a wiry man with sharp features, chuckles. “She’s not even a real wolf. She’s just a wannabe bitch who got put in her place.”

My wolf stirs, her growl low and simmering, but I force her down. They’re not worth it.

I keep my head high, my grip tightening on the basket as I move toward the lines of washing hanging to dry. The gravel crunches beneath my feet, the weight of their stares heavy on my back.

“Enough!” The Omega matron’s voice cuts through the courtyard like a whip. She strides forward, her arms crossed over her broad chest, her no-nonsense glare sweeping over the group. “You’re not here to gossip. You’re here to work.”

The others mumble their apologies, but the sneers linger in their eyes as they disperse.

“You,” the matron says, pointing at me. “Bathrooms and courtyard. Get to it.”

I nod, my jaw tight as I set the basket down and grab a mop from the supply closet. The smell of bleach stings my nose as I step into the first bathroom, the floor grimy from use. My hands ache from scrubbing, but I ignore that, letting the monotony of the task drown out my thoughts. At least this will give me a break from the suffocating pain of my pack's rejection, of this raging heat coursing through me, of everything.

By the time I finish the courtyard, my arms are sore, and my knees throb from kneeling on the rough stone. But I don’t complain. Complaining gets you nowhere here.

It’s in the courtyard, while I’m gathering the last of the cleaning supplies, that I meet Ayana.

She steps in front of me, crossing her arms in a relaxed stance, but her sharp brown eyes keep watch. Her short, curly hair falls around her face, almost like a bag, and there’s a mischievous spark in her expression that makes me wary. Why would anyone be lighthearted in a place like this while being treated like crap?

“Hey,” she says, her tone light and playful. “You’re new.”

I nod, brushing a strand of hair from my face. “Yeah.”

“Let me guess,” she continues, leaning against the broom I was just about to grab. “You’re the fallen princess everyone’s talking about.”

I stiffen, but she waves a hand dismissively. “Relax. I’m not here to kick you while you’re down. Name’s Ayana.”

“Hazel,” I reply cautiously.

“I know,” she says with a grin. “Everyone knows.” Of course they do. I feel ashamed that I never got to know the Omegas. Being an Omega now, I know what it feels like for my existence to be treated as inconsequential.

I study her, and there’s something disarming about her demeanor, and despite myself, I relax a fraction.

“Word of advice,” she says, her tone turning serious. “Don’t let them see you break. They’ll eat you alive if they think you’re weak.”

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