My Alpha Mate Rejected Me: He says I'm a Misfit

Talia's POV

"No, this is a mistake! A wolfless, overweight werewolf can't be my mate."

His words hit me hard. Alpha Bran of the Moonlight Pack doesn't even hesitate as he says it, his voice clear enough for everyone to hear. Whispers rise from the crowd almost immediately, spreading fast like wildfire. Disbelief. Judgment. Some don't even bother to lower their voices.

No one tries to stop him. No one questions him. Not when it's their Alpha speaking.

But I won't let them see how much it hurts. I won't give him that satisfaction.

I square my shoulders and force a smile that feels like it might crack my face. "Well, Bran, I guess the Moon Goddess has a sense of humor after all," I say, ignoring the pain running through me. "Too bad she didn't give you one."

Silence falls just as quickly as the whispers started. No one expects me to talk back. Not to him. Not to the Alpha.

Bran's eyes turn red with anger, the faint glow of his wolf showing through. A warning. A reminder of who he is and who I am not.

But I hold my ground.

"Talia," he starts, his tone lower now, more dangerous, but I cut him off before he can continue. He is going to reject me anyway. There's no point letting him drag it out.

"Don't worry, Bran," I say. "I'm sure there's some loophole you can find to get out of this. After all, you can't have someone like me ruining your perfect reputation, right?"

A few gasps echo from the crowd. Wolves shift uneasily. Speaking to the Alpha like this is not just bold-it's wrong in every way the pack believes in. But I don't stop.

The air feels tight, heavy with tension. For a moment, I see something shift in his eyes-uncertainty, maybe even conflict. The bond is there. I can feel it pulling at me.

And I wonder if he feels it too.

He turns away from me like I don't matter. "This conversation is over, Talia. You should leave."

Just like that. No formal rejection. No ceremony. Just dismissal.

It feels like something inside me cracks, but I don't show it. I won't give him or anyone else the chance to see me break. Not here. Not in front of wolves who already see me as less.

I nod, keeping my head high, even though my chest feels tight. Then I turn and walk away, each step steady, even when it feels like I might fall apart at any second.

************

MEET TALIA (My life before today)

Everyone knows that the beauty of a wolf lies in their fur and their ability to shift-having a wolf, in short. In the Moonlight Pack, it means even more than that. Your strength decides your place. Your wolf decides your worth.

But in my case, it's the opposite.

My name is Talia, a wolfless wolf, about 5'6" to 5'8", with a curvy body. Most of my weight sits in my hips, thighs, and stomach. It makes me feel heavier, more noticeable, especially when I stand next to the lean, well-trained wolves in my pack.

In a pack where everyone is ranked, where strength and ability place you somewhere on an invisible ladder, I already know where I stand.

At the bottom.

Not officially. No one says it out loud. But it shows in the way people look at me. The way they talk around me. The way I'm always the last to be considered, if I'm considered at all.

My hair is a frizzy mess of curls that I can barely control, and it constantly reminds me that I don't fit in. Most wolves keep their appearance sharp, clean, and controlled-just like their wolves. Mine refuses to cooperate, no matter how hard I try.

My skin is fine but has a few blemishes, enough to make me self-conscious when I notice how flawless everyone else seems to look. I have rounded cheeks and a soft jawline that make me look kind, approachable even, but those are not traits this pack values.

Strength. Control. Power. That's what matters here.

Sunlight comes through the curtains and spreads across the floor in thin golden lines. I blink slowly and adjust to the light as my room comes into focus. Everything is familiar-small, worn, but mine.

For a moment, I think about pulling the blanket over my head and going back to sleep. Sleep is easier. No whispers. No looks. No judgment pressing in from all sides.

But I can't stay here forever.

I sigh and push myself up, my joints creaking slightly. My body always feels heavy in the morning, like it takes extra effort just to move. My hair is everywhere, a tangled mess that brushing barely fixes.

I glance at myself in the cracked mirror and snort. "Good morning, beautiful," I mutter, my tone dry as I try to pull apart a stubborn knot.

The bed creaks as I stand, like it's complaining under my weight. I pause for a second, then shake my head. I'm already tired, and the day hasn't even started.

Still, one thing makes it easier.

Breakfast.

My stomach rumbles almost immediately, like it agrees with me. That small, simple comfort is enough to get me moving.

I walk barefoot across the worn carpet, heading straight for the kitchen. My kitchen. Not a shared space. Not the large pack dining hall where rank decides where you sit and who serves you.

I've been there before. Everyone has.

High-ranking wolves sit at the center tables. Warriors and trusted members close by. Others fill the outer space. And wolves like me? We take whatever is left, if we go at all.

So I prefer this.

Here, I don't have to think about any of that.

Here, it's just me.

I open the cupboards and look through what I have. Not much, but enough. A small smile forms on my face anyway. Just thinking about food lifts my mood a little.

"Pancakes sound good today," I say quietly to myself. "Maybe with extra butter and syrup. Why not?"

No one is here to judge how much I eat. No one is watching.

I bring out the ingredients and start cooking. The process is familiar. Cracking eggs, mixing batter, heating the pan-it gives me something to focus on.

Something I can control.

The butter melts and sizzles, the sound filling the quiet kitchen. I pour the batter and watch it spread, simple and even. For a moment, everything feels calm.

When the pancakes start to brown, I feel a small sense of satisfaction. I flip them carefully, making sure they don't burn. The smell fills the space, warm and sweet.

I'm wearing loose sweatpants and an oversized hoodie with bits of flour on it, but I don't care. No one important is here to see me. No one is judging how I look or what I'm doing.

This is my space.

But even here, my thoughts don't stay quiet for long.

They drift back to the pack. To the looks. The whispers. The laughter that always seems to follow me.

Especially from those just above me-wolves who aren't at the top but still need someone lower to remind themselves they're not at the bottom. Here in the Moonlight pack, they claim every wolf is equal, no Omegas who are used as slaves like in some neighboring packs. Every wolf has a family, just like the humans call it. Yet, wolves like me don't escape the murmurs.

I shake my head. "Not today, Talia," I say under my breath. "Just focus on the pancakes."

But it doesn't work for long.

The thoughts come back anyway.

I compare myself to them without meaning to. The way they move with confidence. The way everything about them seems controlled-body, appearance, even their wolves.

Meanwhile, I stand here with messy hair, a body that never quite fits their standard, and a wolf that has never shown up.

I don't hate myself. Not completely.

I've learned to live with who I am, at least on most days. But the pack makes it harder than it should be. Here, your place matters. Your strength matters. And whether anyone says it or not, I know mine is already decided.

The pancakes are ready-golden, soft, and stacked high on a plate. I add butter and watch it melt before pouring syrup over everything.

I sit down and take a bite. It's sweet. Warm. Simple. For a moment, everything else fades.

Then the thoughts return.

What will they say today?

More remarks about my weight?

More jokes about how much I eat?

Talia's POV

I sigh, poking at the pancakes with my fork. "Why do I even care?" I mumble. "It's not like their opinions matter." But the truth is, no matter how much I try to convince myself otherwise, their words always stick to me like glue. They settle in my mind and refuse to leave, making it difficult to shake the feeling that I will always be an outsider in my pack, no matter how hard I try to fit in.

I take my last bite of the pancake. It tastes bitter and, at the same time, sweet. Not because of the food itself, but because it reminds me that breakfast can't last forever. Moments like this never do. I push the plate away, lean back in my chair, and take a long breath, letting it out slowly.

After a while, I stand up and return to my room, my steps slow. I stop in front of the mirror again. I always do this, even when I already know what I'll see. The mirror never seems to work in my favor.

My reflection stares back at me, unchanged, showing a mix of resistance and acceptance. My fuller figure should make me feel confident, but it doesn't. It should show strength, discipline, and control, but it doesn't either. It tells a different story. My hair is stubborn, refusing to be tamed no matter how much I brush or smooth it down. And my clothes do nothing to hide my size. If anything, they make it more obvious.

I hold my gaze for a moment longer before looking away.

As I get ready for the day, my thoughts drift to the gathering tonight. It's the one event where the entire pack comes together under one roof to celebrate, like a get-together as the humans would call it. Not just to celebrate, but to be seen. To show rank, strength, alliances-everything that matters in the Moonlight Pack.

I've never really understood the appeal.

To me, it's just another opportunity for everyone to show off their perfect lives and perfect bodies, while people like me try to stay unnoticed. In a gathering where even seating arrangements reflect status, I already know where I'll end up-somewhere at the edge, where no one important has to look my way.

I glance at the clock and realize I'm wasting time standing here, stuck in my head. I move quickly, pulling on a pair of jeans that are a little too tight and a T-shirt that has clearly seen better days. I run a brush through my hair, but it barely helps. The curls bounce right back into place, like they're making fun of me.

"Good enough," I say with a small shrug, giving up. There's no point in trying too hard.

Just as I head for the door, I hear my mother call from downstairs. "Talia! Breakfast?"

A small smile forms on my face. Mom knows I've already eaten. She can always tell when I've been in the kitchen-the mess gives me away every time. Still, she asks anyway. She always does. It's her way of including me, of making sure I don't feel left out, even in my own home.

"I'll be down in a minute!" I call back, grabbing my hoodie and slipping it on. It feels like armor. A soft barrier between me and the world. Something to hide behind when the stares and whispers get too much.

As I walk down the stairs, the smell of bacon and eggs greets me, mixing with the smell of syrup lingering from earlier. The house feels warm, lived-in, and safe in a way the rest of the pack territory never quite does.

My parents are already at the table. Dad is reading the newspaper, calm and focused, while Mom moves around, serving food. My younger brother, Jackson, sits hunched over his phone, barely looking up as I enter.

"Morning, Talia," Mom says with a warm smile, gesturing to a chair. "We saved you a seat."

I take my usual spot, glancing around at them. My family. The one place where I'm not measured against everyone else. There's comfort here, in the routine, in the understanding that I don't have to prove anything.

"How did you sleep?" Dad asks, folding his newspaper and giving me his full attention.

I shrug, reaching for a piece of bacon even though I'm not that hungry. "Same as always. Woke up to the sun in my face."

Dad chuckles, the deep sound easy. "We could put up thicker curtains, you know."

"Nah, I like the light. Besides, it's not like I'm getting much beauty sleep anyway," I reply, earning a small laugh from both of them.

Jackson snorts, finally looking up from his phone. "You could use it."

"Thanks, Jackson. Always so supportive," I say, rolling my eyes, though a small smile still slips through. It's normal. This is how we are.

Mom gives him a look, one that clearly says she doesn't want his comments. He quickly looks back down at his phone, pretending to be focused on it again. I notice, and I appreciate it, even if I don't say anything.

Mom clears her throat slightly, steering the conversation away. "Are you ready for tonight? The pack gathering?"

The word alone makes my stomach tighten. I keep my expression neutral and shrug. "As ready as I'll ever be. It's not exactly my favorite event."

She nods slowly, her expression soft but concerned. "I know, sweetie. Just try to have a good time, okay? It's important to your father and me that you're there."

Important.

Of course it is. Attendance matters in a pack like ours. Being seen matters. Even for someone like me.

I nod, even though the thought of it already drains me. "I'll be there," I say, forcing a small smile that doesn't quite reach my eyes.

"Good," Dad says with a nod. "That's all we ask."

There's an approval in his tone, the kind that comes with meeting expectations, even small ones.

As I finish and begin clearing my plate, Mom reaches out and squeezes my hand gently. "Remember, Talia, we're proud of you. No matter what."

"Thanks, Mom," I say softly, squeezing her hand back. Her words help, even if they don't fully take away the weight sitting in my chest.

I turn to head back upstairs, planning to stay in my room for as long as I can before the day properly begins.

But then the front door swings open after a small knock. The visitor seems in such a hurry that waiting for an answer might take his life.

The room shifts instantly.

Alpha Bran walks in without waiting to be announced, his presence filling the doorway before he speaks. Everything about him carries authority-the way he stands, the way he looks around the room like he owns it. Which, in a way, he does, because here in the Moonlight pack, the Alpha seems like the head of every family.

My heart skips.

My parents straighten almost immediately, their posture changing in a way I've seen many times before when someone of higher rank steps in. Even Jackson lowers his phone slightly, more aware now.

No one questions why he's here.

No one asks.

He's the Alpha.

"Talia," he says, his voice firm, leaving no room for argument. "We need to talk."

I freeze, still holding the plate in my hand. The air feels heavier, tighter, like something bad is about to happen.

What could the Alpha possibly want with me?

Talia's POV

"Yes, Alpha?" I say, trying to sound brave, but deep down I'm scared to the bone.

He comes closer, his presence filling the space in a way that makes it difficult to breathe. His eyes narrow as he looks me up and down, taking in every detail like he's judging more than just my appearance. "I've noticed your appearance, Talia. The way you dress is not appropriate for someone in our pack, especially not with the gathering tonight." He says with a menacing tone.

My throat tightens, and I swallow hard after hearing those words. Of course, it's about how I look. It's always about that. It has always been everyone's concern, even when they pretend it isn't.

"The dignitaries from the neighboring packs will be there," he continues, his tone firm and unkind, leaving no space for argument. "We can't afford any embarrassment, Talia. You need to control yourself, understand? Dress properly and eat with restraint. Don't draw any unwanted attention to yourself. And most importantly, don't disgrace me in any form."

His words land harder than they should. If he had hit me with a baton, I think it would hurt less than this. I already know the pack doesn't think much of me, but hearing it directly from the Alpha himself stings more than I expect. It carries more weight, more finality.

I grip the edge of my plate, my knuckles turning white as I hold on tighter than necessary.

"I... I understand," I manage to say. The words feel heavy and bitter in my mouth.

Alpha Bran gives a short nod, clearly satisfied with my response. "Good. Make sure you're ready by tonight. We all need to put in our best to make this day memorable. The reputation of this pack reflects on all of us."

On all of us? Even me?

With that, he turns and leaves as quickly as he arrives. There is nothing more to say. Nothing more worth his time. The door closes behind him with a soft click, but the sound echoes louder than it should.

A shiver runs through me.

Silence settles over the room, thick and uncomfortable. I stand still for a few seconds, the plate still in my hands, my thoughts slow to catch up with what just happened.

My parents don't speak, but I can feel their eyes on me. Their concern is clear, written all over their faces even though they try not to show too much. In a pack where hierarchy matters, they know there are limits to what they can say when the Alpha speaks. He's the Alpha. Whatever he says is final.

Finally, I let out a breath I don't realize I'm holding and place the plate on the counter. My senses are coming back to functionality.

"I'll be upstairs," I mutter.

I don't wait for a response. I already know they won't say a word.

The wooden stairs groan with each step I take, the sound breaking the silence that lingered in the house. When I reach my room and close the door behind me, I catch sight of myself in the mirror again.

My reflection looks the same as always.

Nothing has changed.

I stare at myself for a moment longer, thinking about his words. About what he expects. About what the pack expects.

I don't know how I'm supposed to make myself "proper" in just a few hours. I don't even know what that really means for someone like me.

But I know one thing.

I can't let them see how much their words affect me. I won't give them the satisfaction of seeing me break.

The gathering is this evening, and I remember I still need to get groceries. I was supposed to go earlier, before Alpha Bran's interruption. Mom doesn't mention it, probably because she thinks I need space after what just happened.

Aside from eating, buying groceries is another thing I can do without thinking too much. Another thing I don't get wrong.

I head back downstairs, grab a grocery bag, and walk toward the sitting room.

"I'll get the groceries now," I say with a sigh of frustration.

My parents are seated quietly, the earlier tension lingering in the air. They both look up at me, and for a moment, I can tell they want to say something. Maybe to comfort me. Perhaps to apologize for something that isn't their fault.

But they don't.

They just nod.

I step outside before the silence stretches too long.

As I walk through the familiar paths that lead to the grocery shop, the sounds and smells of daily life greet me. Wolves move around in small groups, preparing for the day, talking, and laughing. Everything looks normal.

Like I haven't just been reminded of my place.

I pull my hoodie tighter around myself, as if the fabric can shield me from the looks I know are coming. It never really works, but I do it anyway.

I slow my steps slightly as I move deeper into the territory.

The first group of bullies I pass barely notices me. They are too busy talking among themselves, their focus completely elsewhere. For a moment, I feel relieved. Being ignored is easier.

But it doesn't last.

As I go further, the looks begin.

They come in small ways at first-quick glances, nudges, whispers that start low and suddenly stop when I get too close. Then they resume the moment I pass.

It's a pattern I know too well.

A group of young wolves, probably in their teens, stands near the training grounds. The space is usually reserved for those being groomed into warriors, wolves with strength and promise. I don't belong anywhere near there, but the path takes me past it anyway.

They notice me immediately.

Their eyes follow me as I get closer, filled with amusement, like I'm something to be observed rather than someone who belongs here.

"Hey, Talia!" one of them calls out, his tone mocking. "How's it going? Had a big breakfast today, huh?"

The others snicker, tapping each other like he's said something impressive.

I force a smile and respond the only way I know how.

"Yep, can't start the day without my ten stacks of pancakes," I say, patting my stomach lightly. "You know I have to keep these curves in shape."

They burst into laughter.

I can't wait to hear more. I keep walking, my steps a little faster now, putting distance between me and their voices.

But the sound follows me anyway.

Their laughter sticks, replaying in my head long after I've left them behind. My chest feels tight, like something is pressing down on it.

No matter how much I try to ignore it, their words always find a way in.

I keep walking until the noise of the pack fades, until the voices become distant.

I head toward the edge of the territory, where the trees grow thicker and the air feels quieter. It's a place I've come to know well. A small space where I can be alone without feeling watched.

When I reach it, I let out a long breath.

I lean against a tree and slowly slide down until I'm sitting on the ground. The air here is cool and calm.

For once, I don't have to pretend.

My hands tremble slightly as I run them through my hair. I close my eyes, trying to block out the faces, the laughter, and the words.

But they linger.

I open my eyes and stare ahead, the silence pressing in around me.

I'm lonely.

I know it, even if I try not to admit it most of the time. I'm an outcast in my home, a wolfless girl in a pack of slim-fitted girls.

And no matter how hard I try to fit in, it never feels like enough.

I pick up a small rock from the ground and turn it over in my hand, my gaze fixed on the trees ahead.

The feeling doesn't go away.

It never does.