THE BASTARD ALPHA

"Look at him. Even his scent is wrong."

Rowan Vexley didn't slow his steps as two guards whispered loudly enough for the whole courtyard to hear. He'd grown used to it-the stares, the murmurs, the pointed fingers that followed him like shadows he never asked for.

"The Bastard Alpha," another spat under his breath. "Should've been drowned at birth."

Rowan's jaw tightened, but he said nothing. Words never protected him. Silence was safer. Stronger. A weapon he controlled when the rest of his world belonged to others.

He walked across the training yard with a sack of broken weapons slung over his shoulder. He wasn't allowed to train during peak hours. He wasn't allowed to spar with the elite warriors. He wasn't allowed to participate in pack hunt nights.

Bastards didn't get privileges.

The only reason he was allowed in the yard at all was to clean up after everyone else.

"Rowan," a deep voice barked.

Rowan turned. Beta Kellan Thorn, a massive man with iron-gray eyes and a permanent scowl, stalked toward him.

"Alpha Magnus wants you in the council hall," Kellan said. "Now."

Rowan swallowed. "Did he say why?"

Kellan gave a humorless laugh. "He never does."

Of course not. His father never called him unless it was to reprimand him, use him, or remind him that he should've never been born.

Rowan left the yard, ignoring the snickers trailing behind him. He crossed under the towering arches of the Vexley estate-stone walls carved with ancient wolf sigils, banners of honor, symbols of a lineage he would never be part of.

No matter how much of their blood roared in his veins.

Two guards opened the heavy wooden doors to the council hall. Rowan stepped inside, head held high despite the tightening in his chest.

The hall was circular, lit by torches that flickered against stone columns. Elders sat around a long table, robes rustling as they turned to watch him enter.

Alpha Magnus stood at the head.

His father.

A man built of hard muscle, cold control, and eyes like winter steel. He was everything a perfect Alpha should be-and everything Rowan had been denied.

Magnus didn't look up immediately. He signed a document, dipped his quill again, then finally lifted his gaze.

"Rowan," he said, voice flat. "You broke a trainee's arm today."

Rowan blinked. That was why he'd been summoned?

"He lunged at me with his claws out," Rowan said carefully. "I moved. He miscalculated."

Magnus' jaw clenched. "Your strength is becoming a problem."

Of course. Everything Rowan did was a problem.

"I didn't start the fight," Rowan said quietly.

"And yet you finished it," Elder Granik snapped from the left. "With excessive force."

"If Rowan hadn't dodged," Elder Mirella countered mildly, "we would be discussing the death of a trainee."

A ripple of murmured agreement and disagreement spread through the room. Rowan stayed silent, eyes fixed ahead. He'd learned long ago not to argue. No one believed him anyway.

Magnus stepped down from the dais, stopping a foot from Rowan. He stared at him with that familiar mixture of disgust and calculation.

"You're losing control," Magnus said. "Your wolf is reacting too strongly. Unpredictably."

Rowan forced his fingers to unclench. "Maybe if I had a proper mentor-"

"You?" Magnus cut in with an icy laugh. "Do you think I will waste the pack's resources on a child born of a mistake?"

Rowan's throat tightened painfully. He lowered his gaze.

Magnus' voice dropped, cold and sharp.

"You didn't ask to be born, Rowan. I know that. And yet-here you stand, a constant reminder of my greatest shame."

The words burned. Not because they were new. But because they still hurt.

Suddenly, a soft, steady voice spoke.

"Alpha Magnus, if I may?"

Rowan's head snapped up.

Liora Dane stepped forward from her place near the council seats. Her presence was like warm sunlight in a room filled with ice-golden-brown hair pulled into a loose braid, soft green eyes that saw far too much, a healer's calm wrapped around a warrior's spirit.

Rowan's heartbeat stumbled.

Liora.

The girl who once placed bandages on his knuckles when no one else cared.

The only person who ever looked at him without judgment.

Magnus narrowed his eyes. "Speak, Liora."

"Rowan wasn't at fault," she said gently, but her tone carried steel. "I witnessed the scuffle. The trainee attacked out of jealousy."

Granik scoffed. "Jealousy of what? His bastard blood?"

Liora's gaze sharpened. "Jealousy of his skill."

The room fell silent.

Magnus' eyes flicked to Rowan, then back to Liora. "You defend him too easily."

"Because the truth is rarely spoken for him," she replied.

Rowan felt heat spread through his chest-an ache he didn't have a name for. But something dangerous stirred beneath it.

His wolf.

Her scent-wildflower and earth-hit him like a shifting wind. His wolf pushed hard against his skin.

Mine, it growled.

Rowan stiffened. "Stop," he muttered under his breath.

Magnus waved a hand impatiently. "Enough. Rowan, leave. The council will discuss your... situation."

Rowan hesitated just a moment-long enough to meet Liora's eyes.

Soft. Apologetic. Hopeful.

He turned away quickly before his wolf could surge again.

Outside, the cold night air slapped his skin. Rowan breathed deeply, trying to calm the beast inside.

But it was too late.

His wolf was pacing, restless, filled with hunger and something sharper.

She defended us, the wolf whispered. She sees us. She is ours.

"No," Rowan hissed, gripping a tree trunk as a sharp heat clawed up his spine. "You're wrong. She's not ours. She can't be."

But the truth whispered through his blood like prophecy.

He wanted her.

He wanted something he was never allowed to want.

And hope-a small, dangerous spark-lit inside his chest.

A spark he wasn't sure he could survive.

Because hope, in Rowan's world, was the first step toward heartbreak.