The Alpha's Collared Pet: Rejected and Reborn

For ten years, I lived for Dante Moretti. I waited for my eighteenth birthday, knowing that the Alpha of the Dark Nebula was my fated mate.

But when the day finally came, he didn't claim me.

He brought Isabella home instead. A warrior. A political asset.

"Welcome home, my future Luna," he announced to the pack, shattering my heart in front of everyone.

I was just the orphan girl who couldn't Shift. A liability.

To ensure I knew my place, Isabella offered me a "gift." A collar made of pure silver.

To a human, it is jewelry. To a wolf, it is acid.

When she locked it around my neck, the metal sizzled. The smell of my own burning flesh filled the room.

I fell to my knees, screaming, looking at Dante with tears in my eyes. I begged him to stop her.

But he just looked at me, his face a mask of cold logic.

"Wear it," he commanded, ignoring the smoke rising from my skin. "Consider it discipline. If you take it off, you leave the Pack."

He thought he was protecting me. He thought making me look weak would save me from his enemies.

He didn't realize he was killing the girl who loved him.

That night, I didn't just take off the collar.

I closed my eyes, found the golden thread of our Mate Bond in my mind, and snapped it in half.

Dante collapsed in the hallway, clutching his chest in agony as he felt our connection die.

"What did you do?" he whispered into the void.

"I set you free, Alpha," I said.

Then I ran into the storm.

He thought I was a defenseless human. He didn't know I was the lost daughter of the Royal White Wolf bloodline.

And when I returned, I wouldn't be kneeling.

Chapter 1

Seraphina POV:

The noise in my head was deafening.

It wasn't a sound you could block out. It was the Pack Link-the psychic hive-mind of the Dark Nebula. Usually, it was white noise: patrol logs, hunger pangs, petty drama.

Today, it was a riot.

Our Alpha has chosen!

Isabella is the one!

Finally, a warrior Luna!

I stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling mirror in the Moretti estate. My knuckles were white against the marble counter. Inside my ribcage, my wolf was thrashing, clawing at my lungs like she was trying to dig her way out of a grave.

She knew.

She knew Dante Moretti was ours.

I closed my eyes. The memory was ten years old but still drew blood. I was eight, caked in the ash of my family's home. Dante had pulled me from the rubble. He was eighteen, newly Alpha. When he lifted me, the smell hit me.

Pine and fresh blood.

The Mate Bond. Biology's cruelest joke.

For ten years, I lived in his shadow, waiting for my eighteenth birthday. Waiting for my wolf to surface so I could stand beside him.

But I was a dud. A late bloomer. To the pack, I wasn't just human; I was a genetic dead end.

The heavy oak door downstairs slammed open.

The floorboards vibrated with his voice. That deep baritone that used to read me bedtime stories was now the voice of a warlord.

"Prepare the guest suite," Dante commanded. The Alpha Tone laced his words, a frequency that bypassed the ears and ordered the marrow. Even from here, my knees went soft.

"Dante, relax," a female voice purred. Isabella.

I walked to the balcony.

Dante stood in the foyer. Six-four, lethal grace, black hair slicked back. He wore power like a tailored suit. The air around him felt heavy, pressurized.

Isabella hung on his arm. Tall, curvaceous, smelling of expensive musk and unearned victory. She was a high-ranking female from a strategic ally pack. She was a political asset. A warrior.

She was everything I wasn't.

Dante looked up.

His eyes, the color of a rough sea, locked onto mine.

For a microsecond, his pupils blew wide. He smelled me. Vanilla and rain. I saw his knuckles whiten as he gripped the banister. His wolf wanted to claim me.

But Dante was a man of logic. And logic dictated that a weak mate meant a weak pack.

He looked away. He looked at Isabella and smiled-a sharp, calculated expression.

"Welcome home, my future Luna," he said, projecting his voice so the servants-and I-wouldn't miss a syllable.

My chest didn't break; it just went hollow.

I turned back to the bathroom.

I looked at my reflection. Waist-length black hair. Dante used to brush it. He said it was his favorite thing.

Just dead cells, I thought.

I opened the drawer and grabbed the sewing scissors.

My hands shook, but I didn't hesitate. I grabbed a fistful of silk.

Snip.

The sound was violent in the quiet room.

Snip.

Black locks hit the porcelain like dead snakes.

Snip. Snip. Snip.

I hacked at it until I looked deranged. Until I looked like a survivor of something terrible. I was cutting away his favorite part of me.

My wolf whimpered, curling into a ball in the back of my mind.

I wasn't mourning. I was defecting.

I pulled a stolen pack of cigarettes from my robe. I'd never smoked; Dante hated the smell.

I lit one, coughing as the smoke hit my virgin lungs, then forced another drag. I blew the smoke out the window, watching the estate light up for the engagement party.

I looked up at the moon.

"You gave me a mate who thinks I'm a liability," I whispered. "Keep him."

I didn't say the formal rejection words yet. That would kill me in my current state. But the bond was already bleeding out.

I had to run.

But first, I had to survive the night.

The next morning, the house reeked of them.

Dante's pine mixed with Isabella's floral musk-a territorial marking on every surface.

I was an intruder in my own life.

I went to my room-the one next to his office-and started purging.

I ripped the nightlight out of the wall. A plastic star he bought me when I was ten. Trash.

Clothes he bought. Trash.

I found an old diary under my mattress. First page, Dante's jagged handwriting: Pack Property. Do not touch.

Once, I thought it was protection. Now I saw it for what it was: a barcode.

"Cleaning house?"

Isabella leaned against my doorframe, wearing a silk robe that cost more than my education. She let it slip just enough to show the fresh bite mark on her neck.

"This is my room," I rasped, voice rough from the smoke.

"Not anymore," Isabella smiled. "Dante promised me a walk-in closet. This room connects to the master. It's perfect."

She walked in, sneering at my chopped hair.

"Oh, honey. A breakdown? How cliché. You look like a rat that got caught in a fan."

She reached into her pocket. "But don't worry. I have a peace offering. Since we're going to be... family."

She pulled out a collar.

Intricate filigree. Beautiful. And unmistakable.

Silver.

To a human, it's jewelry. To a wolf, it's mace. It burns on contact, disrupts the nervous system, prevents shifting.

"I can't wear that," I said, backing up.

"Dante thinks you should," she said, eyes gleaming. "He says you've been acting out. Cutting your hair. Smelling like smoke. You need a reminder of your rank."

"He wouldn't."

"Dante!" she called.

He appeared. Alpha speed. One second the doorway was empty, the next he filled it.

His gaze swept over my hair. His jaw went tight, a muscle feathering in his cheek. He looked pained, but he buried it instantly under a mask of ice.

"Problem?"

"Fina doesn't like my gift," Isabella pouted. "I thought a little pet collar would be cute."

Dante looked at the silver. He knew. He was an Alpha; he knew exactly what silver did to a dormant wolf.

But he looked at me-at the defiance in my eyes, at the hair that screamed rebellion-and his ego took the wheel. He needed me submissive. If I was weak, I was safe. If I was a pet, the Council wouldn't demand my head.

"Put it on her," Dante said. Flat.

"Dante, it's silver," I said. "It will burn."

"You are human enough," he said, looking away. "It won't kill you. Consider it... discipline."

Isabella lunged. I tried to dodge, but she was a ranked warrior. She pinned me against the wall.

The metal hit my neck and hissed.

It wasn't heat; it was chemical corrosion. Acid eating into the pores.

Sizzle.

The smell of cooking meat filled the room.

"Ahhh!" I screamed, clawing at her hands.

Click.

The lock snapped shut.

Isabella stepped back, grinning.

I fell to my knees, gasping. The pain was a high-frequency drill boring into my spine.

"Stop being dramatic," Dante snapped, though he paled when he saw the smoke rising from my skin. "It's sterling, not pure. It's a rash."

He was lying to himself. He had to believe I was weak so he could justify treating me like this.

I looked up at him through tunneling vision.

"It hurts," I wheezed. "Dante..."

He took a half-step forward, hand twitching.

Isabella put a hand on his chest. "She's manipulating you, baby. Look at her. Drama queen."

Dante stopped. He hardened.

"Wear it," he commanded. "If you take it off, you leave the Pack."

He turned and walked away.

He wasn't my savior. He was just a man too cowardly to love a liability.

Seraphina POV:

Sleep was a fever dream. The silver was a ring of fire, constantly reopening the wound as my immune system tried and failed to heal it.

But the physical pain was a distraction from the psychic noise.

The wall wasn't soundproof against the Mind-Link.

Even rejected, the biological wire remained.

I lay on the bare floor.

I heard the bed creak next door. Isabella's laughter.

Then, the wave hit me.

A psychic backlash of pleasure. His arousal, his release, washing over my mind like hot grease.

I scrambled to the bathroom and dry-heaved.

He was with her. And the Bond was forcing me to watch.

Get out, I prayed. Get out of my head.

The next morning, I was a ghost. My skin was grey, my eyes sunk deep in bruised sockets. I wore a turtleneck to hide the burns, the fabric scraping the raw skin with every breath.

I went to the kitchen. Isabella was drinking espresso.

"Sleep well?" she asked. "We were... active."

"Like the dead," I croaked. My vocal cords were swollen from the silver exposure.

Dante walked in. He looked energized, practically vibrating with Alpha power. He saw me and frowned. He smelled the burnt flesh-he had to. But he chose to ignore it.

"Passport," he said. "And ID."

"Why?"

"Updating the Pack registry. Since you're... transitioning to the guest quarters."

Evicted.

"Fine," I said. "I'm going to the city to renew my papers anyway."

Dante's eyes narrowed. Possessiveness flared. "Why? Who are you meeting?"

"No one."

"If I smell another male on you," Dante growled, crowding my space, "I will tear his throat out. You are Pack Property."

"I'm not property!"

"You are what I say you are!" He slammed his hand on the counter. Granite cracked.

He pulled out his phone. "Look."

Instagram. A photo from last night. Him and Isabella. Caption: My strength. My future. My Luna.

Thousands of likes. The werewolf world applauding my funeral.

I looked at him. The man who held my heart and squeezed until it popped.

I pulled out my phone. Hands shaking, I opened the comments.

I typed one sentence.

Sic transit gloria mundi.

Thus passes the glory of the world. He taught me that phrase when I was twelve. He said it meant power is fleeting.

I hit send.

Then, I did the unthinkable.

I focused on the golden thread in my mind. The Mate Bond.

No, my wolf screamed. Suicide!

Better dead than this.

I visualized a pair of shears.

I clamped down.

SNAP.

It felt like an aneurysm. White-hot agony exploded behind my eyes. I gasped, blood gushing from my nose.

Dante stumbled back, clutching his chest. The color drained from his face. He felt the void. The sudden silence where I used to be.

"What did you do?" he whispered.

I wiped the blood from my lip. The constant hum of his presence was gone. It was quiet.

"I set you free, Alpha," I said. Dead voice.

I walked out.

I went straight to the garden shed. I found the jar of Wolfsbane paste. Poisonous to wolves. In small doses, it masks a scent. In large doses, it kills.

I needed to disappear.

His birthday party was in two days.

That was when I would run.

The nightmares were getting creative. Dante as a wolf, licking my hand, his tongue stripping the flesh from my bones.

I woke up silent screaming. The collar was choking me, the infection spreading.

Two days left. I had to sanitize my existence.

Wolves nest. We hoard things that smell like our loved ones. My room was a shrine to Dante. Old sweaters, books, dried flowers. Anchors.

I had to cut the rope.

I dragged a black trash bag down the stairs. Thump. Thump.

"Going somewhere?"

Dante stood by the door, whiskey in hand. He looked diminished. Since I cut the link, he was bleeding energy.

"Taking out the trash."

"Smells like... me." He stepped closer. "Stealing my things? Building a nest somewhere else?"

His arrogance was a disease. He thought I was stealing his clothes to sniff them in secret.

"Check it."

He hesitated. He didn't want to see my desperation.

"Burn it," he told the guards.

"What?"

"You want it gone? Let's do it right." He opened the door. "Leo! Torch it."

Leo dragged the bag to the fire pit.

Dante raised his hand. A ball of Alpha Fire flickered in his palm. He threw it.

Whoosh.

I watched my childhood burn. The teddy bear. The diary. The sweater that smelled like safety.

"I've made arrangements," Dante said, eyes on the flames. "Boarding school in Switzerland. You leave next week."

"Exile," I laughed. Dry, cracking.

"Safety," he recited. "Isabella... she's territorial. If you stay, she'll hurt you. And I can't... I can't watch you 24/7."

"You mean you can't stand the guilt."

He turned, eyes blazing. "I am saving your life! You are weak! You are an Omega without a wolf! You cannot survive this world without me!"

"You're right," I whispered. "I can't survive with you."

He flinched.

"Go to your room. Stay there until the party."

I walked away.

He didn't know he'd just done me a favor. A wolf without a nest is a Rogue.

And Rogues have nothing left to lose.

Seraphina POV:

The night of the Gala was apocalyptic. Storm off the Atlantic. Rain like bullets.

Perfect.

I was in the kitchen, dressed as a maid. Invisible.

I heard Dante in the library with William, his Beta.

"She's acting strange, Dante. Too quiet. And that collar... her neck is rotting."

"She's fine," Dante dismissed, though his voice was tight. "Just sulking."

"Is she?" William asked. "Or is she broken? Dante, she's your-"

"Don't say it!" Dante roared. "She is a weak, human child! If I claim her, the Elders will tear her apart! I am doing this to protect her!"

"You're protecting her to death," William said.

I slipped out to the terrace.

Isabella was holding court in a blood-red dress. She saw me and smirked.

She walked over, feigned a stumble, and dumped her wine on me.

"Oops," she laughed. "Look at you. Cleaning up messes. It suits you."

She shoved me. Hard.

I slipped on the wet stone and fell backward, into the mud and rain.

Dante came rushing out.

"What happened?"

"She pushed me!" Isabella cried. "She tried to attack me!"

Dante looked at me, shivering in the mud, the collar glistening. He knew she was lying.

But he was the Alpha. He couldn't side with the help against the Luna.

"Get up," he barked. "Get out of my sight."

He took off his jacket.

My heart did a stupid, hopeful thing.

He wrapped it around Isabella.

"Let's go inside, love."

They turned their backs.

I lay in the mud. Cold seeping into the marrow.

Bzzzz.

My burner phone.

Border open. Sector 4. Midnight.

11:00 PM.

I stood up.

A wave of heat hit me. Not the silver. Internal.

My blood boiled. Bones ground together. My vision sharpened, tracking individual raindrops.

My fingernails elongated into claws.

Not now.

But my wolf wasn't hiding anymore. She was waking up.

The fever spiked. I wasn't shivering from cold; I was shivering from power.

"Happy Birthday, Dante," I whispered.

I ran into the woods.

I didn't run like a human. I moved with impossible speed.

I was running toward the Rogues.

I wasn't Seraphina the orphan anymore. I was the storm.

The mud was slick, but I didn't slip.

I had rubbed the Wolfsbane paste on my wrists and ankles. It numbed my skin and made my wolf sluggish, but to the patrols, I smelled like wet moss.

I reached the perimeter fence. Twelve feet high, electrified.

I knew the weakness. Rabbits dug under the foundation near the drainage pipe.

I crawled through the muck. Concrete scraped my back.

I emerged on the other side.

Freedom.

A black sedan waited on the access road.

I sprinted. My legs burned with the fever of the shift.

A shadow detached from the trees.

A wolf.

Patrol guard. Massive brown beast, snarling, blocking my path.

He crouched. He recognized me. The Alpha's pet.

He opened his jaws to howl.

No.

I didn't cower.

I stopped. The fever spiked hotter than the silver.

"Move," I said.

It wasn't a scream. It was a vibration. I mimicked the pitch Dante used when he commanded the legions. I threw every ounce of my repressed rage into my aura.

A ripple of energy exploded outward.

The brown wolf froze. He whimpered. Instinct overrode duty. Confronted with a superior predator's frequency, he submitted.

He backed away, tail tucked, belly to the mud.

I didn't question it. I dove into the car.

"Go!"

We sped toward the highway.

We hit the territorial border.

Leaving a Pack isn't like crossing state lines. It's spiritual amputation.

Snap.

"Argh!" I gasped, clutching my chest.

The hook ripped out of my soul. The background hum of the Pack vanished.

Silence. Cold, lonely silence.

But then... oxygen.

For the first time in ten years, I could breathe.