Page 27 of Claiming His Rejected Mate

“I need to change,” I blurt out.

“We do not have time for–”

“It'll only take a minute. I'm sure your Alpha's orders can wait.”

They are skeptical, but they step away. “One minute,” one of them warns.

I slip the phone from under the mattress and hide it in my underwear. They won't touch my body unless they want to risk their Alpha tearing their heads off.

They come in a second after I've secured the phone and changed into a new top that one of the Omegas brought this morning.

I follow them. One is in front of me and one is behind me.

They lead me through the estate’s winding halls, the polished floors gleaming under the warm light filtering through the high windows. It’s a stark contrast to the cramped, barren room I’ve been kept in.

Finally, they stop in front of a door, its dark wood carved with intricate patterns. One of them gestures for me to enter.

I step inside cautiously, my eyes immediately scanning the space.

It’s a bedroom. A real bedroom, not the sterile box I’ve been confined to. The bed is massive, its frame made of dark mahogany and draped in soft grey linens. A plush armchair sits by the window, its deep green fabric contrasting the warm beige walls. The air smells faintly of lavender, clean and soothing. The curtains are thick, and their soft grey and baby pink pastels spark a glee in me. I’ve never beena girly girl; I always preferred spartan bedrooms similar to what I had in the barracks back at Nightclaw. But I am not mad at it.

For a moment, I just stand there, stunned. I’m almost waiting for this to be a cruel joke, for it to be a tease that Kieran has arranged to make me even more miserable.

“Enjoy,” one of the wolves says before they close the door behind me, leaving me alone.

I take a tentative step forward, my boots sinking into the thick rug beneath my feet. The room is beautiful and luxurious, but it feels wrong.

I sit on the edge of the bed, my fingers brushing against the smooth fabric of the blanket. It’s softer than anything I’ve touched in years but fills me with unease instead of comfort.

Why now?

Why move me here after treating me like the scum under his shoes? Why offer me comfort when I know he can’t stand my guts for having a life away from him after what he did?

The unease settles deeper, and I stand abruptly, pacing the room. Every corner feels too perfect, too deliberate. I glance at the wardrobe, the small desk by the window, and the framed artwork on the walls. It’s too much, like a bribe wrapped in a pretty package.

My eyes land on a tray of food on a small table near the bed: fresh bread, steaming soup, and a glass of something that looks like wine.

I don’t touch it.

Instead, I cross to the window and push it open, letting the cool air rush in. The scent of clean mountain air and damp earth fills the room, grounding me.

Don’t trust it, I tell myself. Don’t trust Kieran.

I lean against the windowsill, gaze drifting back to the courtyard below. Kieran is gone.

My wolf stirs again, her frustration bleeding into my thoughts.

He’s trying to manipulate us, I growl internally, though the words feel hollow.

The ache that settled in my belly and my groin reminds me that no matter how much I want to hate him, part of me still aches for him.

And that terrifies me.

The next morning, I find a dress folded neatly on the armchair by the window. It’s simple but elegant, a deep green that matches the chair’s fabric. Seeing it makes my chest tighten with a mix of anger and something I can’t name.

I ignore it, pulling on the same clothes I wore yesterday.

The same tray of food sits on the table, the bread slightly stale now, the soup cold. I still haven't touched it. Kieran might be trying to drug me. Or worse still, poison me as vengeance. He can’t physically harm me as his Fated Mate. His wolf will not let him enact that bloodthirsty on me despite the derision he has for me. But he is not beyond taking me out in other ways. My stomach growls, and I ignore it. I’ve been hungrier. This is not the first time I will experience lack.

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