Chapter 1: The Weight of Rejection

**Thelma Zane’s POV:**

“I, Benard Walter, reject you, Thelma Zane, as my future Luna and mate.”

The words struck like a thunderclap, reverberating in my chest, shattering the fragile hope I had nurtured despite knowing better.

It was the final day of the grand ceremony—a day meant to be filled with joy and celebration. The pack gathered in high spirits, unaware of the storm brewing between Benard and me. Away from prying eyes, his voice carried the weight of finality, his rejection a sharp blade cutting through the bond I thought tethered us together.

I stood frozen, my fists clenched tightly by my sides. The look on his face—a mixture of disgust and cold resolve—made my heart ache in a way I hadn’t thought possible.

“Accept your rejection and get out of my sight forever,” Benard growled, his voice dripping with contempt. “The thought of you having human blood in your veins disgusts me. If you have any sense of dignity, you’ll find a quiet place to die rather than continue tarnishing the glory of our people.”

His words, brutal and unrelenting, sent a fiery surge of shame and anger through me. My throat tightened, tears threatening to spill, but I refused to let them fall. Not here. Not in front of him.

I took a shaky breath, trying to steady myself against the wave of pain that threatened to overwhelm me. “Maybe he’s right,” a cruel voice in my mind whispered. “Maybe my very existence is a mistake.”

I remembered the day I learned the truth about myself—my sixteenth birthday, when my parents sat me down and revealed that I was not their biological child. “You were a gift from the stork,” they used to say with affection. But the truth was far less whimsical. I was human, brought into this world and this pack through circumstances no one fully understood.

Benard’s guttural sound of impatience snapped me back to the present. His piercing eyes bore into me, waiting for my response. The bond between us, faint yet undeniable, tightened painfully in protest at the thought of rejection.

But what choice did I have?

“I… I, Thelma Zane, accept your rejection,” I stammered, my voice trembling with suppressed agony. The words tore through me, leaving behind a hollow ache that made it hard to breathe. My body trembled under the weight of the rejection bond breaking, but I remained upright, refusing to show weakness.

Benard snorted coldly, his disdain evident. Crossing his arms, he sneered, “At least you’re smart enough to know your place. You’re nothing but a toad—unworthy and pathetic. Stay in your quagmire and don’t dare to drag others down with you.”

With that, he turned on his heel and walked away, his back a wall of indifference. As he left, a group of pack members at the door greeted him with smiles, likely mocking me in their minds for daring to think I could ever be more than what I was.

“Breathe, Thelma,” I whispered to myself, willing my legs to remain steady. “Don’t give them the satisfaction of seeing you break.”

I waited until the group dispersed, holding on to a fragile semblance of composure, before slipping away. Once out of sight, I ran, my steps faltering but relentless as I put as much distance as I could between myself and the humiliation.

This wasn’t new. I had grown up in this pack, learned its ways, and adapted to survive among people who saw me as less. Even though I had friends who defended me and parents who loved me unconditionally, I was always the fragile one—the soft egg in a world of iron shells.

But now, even those bonds felt tainted by my failure.

My parents were the kindest souls, always lifting me up when I faltered. They reminded me that everyone had a purpose, even if mine remained unclear. My friends stood by me through ridicule and hardship, fighting for my place when I couldn’t. And yet, what had I done in return? I had brought them nothing but shame and sorrow.

Benard’s rejection wasn’t just about me; it would ripple through the pack, staining my family’s honor and leaving a mark on those who had supported me. The thought was unbearable.

“They deserve better,” I whispered into the cold night air. “I have to leave. For their sake.”

The pack deserved better than me—a fragile, powerless human who couldn’t even withstand the chill of a breeze without shivering. My parents, my brother Rhode, my friends—they all deserved a life unburdened by my presence.

Without letting myself dwell on the decision, I slipped out of the house while everyone was preoccupied with the festivities. The laughter and music from the gathering seemed distant, like a cruel reminder of the joy I couldn’t partake in.

I wandered into the forest, the moonlight guiding my steps. Each movement felt heavier than the last, weighed down by the finality of what I was about to do.

Tears streamed down my face, their warmth a stark contrast to the cold air biting at my skin. I didn’t bother to wipe them away. In the solitude of the forest, there was no need to pretend, no need to hold back the sorrow that had been building within me for years.

“I should have died long ago,” I murmured, my voice breaking. “I stole a happiness that was never mine to begin with. Now it’s time to set things right.”

The pack had given me so much—a home, love, and a sense of belonging I had no right to claim. It was only fair that I repay them by leaving.

The cold air filled my lungs, causing me to cough violently. Even now, my body betrayed my weakness. I could hear the distant sound of the pack singing a familiar song, one that had accompanied me through countless moments of joy and sorrow. It was fitting, I thought, that it would be the last sound I heard.

“Be brave, Thelma,” I told myself. “For the last time, be brave.”

I stepped closer to the edge of the cliff, the ground beneath my feet crumbling slightly as I peered into the abyss. Closing my eyes, I let the memories of my parents’ smiles and my friends’ laughter fill my mind one final time.

And then, with a deep breath, I jumped.

The wind howled around me, tugging at my hair and clothes as I fell. The song grew faint, replaced by the rushing sound of air and the pounding of my heart.

For the first time in what felt like forever, I felt free.

Chapter 2: The Disappearance of Thelma

**Benard Walter’s POV**

When I discovered Thelma Zane was my mate, my first reaction was disbelief. It was laughable, really—utterly absurd.

Me, the future Alpha of the pack, paired with a mere human as my destined mate? It had to be some kind of cosmic joke.

But no amount of disbelief could change the facts. My father had always been clear about our responsibilities: treat every member of the pack equally. If the pack accepted her, then I had no choice but to tolerate her presence. Still, tolerating her as a member of the pack was one thing. Accepting her as my mate, as my future Luna, was something I could never do.

I knew what a Luna should be. My mother had set the standard—strong, fearless, a warrior who could fight alongside my father in the thick of battle. And then there was Thelma, a fragile human who couldn’t hold her own even in the mildest of skirmishes. A Luna was supposed to lead and inspire, not hide behind others. The mere thought of her in such a role was laughable. What could she possibly contribute in a fight? Cheer us on from the sidelines?

Our pack needed strength, resilience, and leadership. Thelma Zane was none of those things. I couldn’t spend my life protecting her, let alone allowing her to weaken the pack. In truth, it would be better for everyone if she simply disappeared—vanished quietly so her presence wouldn’t continue to tarnish the honor of her family and friends.

Even as I thought this, a sharp pang of pain twisted in my chest when she accepted my rejection. I brushed it off, forcing a smile as I turned to join the others at the bonfire party. The music and laughter around me became a mask, concealing the storm brewing inside.

I drowned my unease in beer, swallowing my emotions along with the bitter liquid. Thelma was probably sitting in her room, crying over this so-called "setback." She wouldn’t understand the deeper pain I felt, the weight of rejecting my destined mate. She was too weak, too naive to grasp the full extent of what had happened.

“Hey, look who’s here! The future Alpha himself!” Jesse, one of my closest friends, sauntered over with a grin, holding a beer in his hand.

I forced a laugh and accepted the drink, downing it in one gulp. Everyone knew I’d be stepping into my father’s shoes soon. It was a matter of pride, but also an immense responsibility.

“Cheer up, man! Your big day is almost here,” Jesse said, clinking his glass against mine. “And who knows? Maybe by next Monday, you’ll find your mate, and we’ll have double the reason to celebrate.”

I stiffened at his words, avoiding eye contact with Rhode, Thelma’s brother, who was seated nearby. If he knew the truth—that his precious sister was my mate and that I had rejected her—this cheerful toast would quickly turn into a brawl.

Why her? Out of all the people in the pack, why did it have to be Thelma?

“Benard, you’ve got to stop bottling things up,” Jesse teased. “It’s supposed to be a celebration, but you look like you’ve been sentenced to exile.”

Rhode and Jesse shared a laugh, clinking their glasses together. I forced a chuckle, but guilt gnawed at me. Rhode was one of my closest friends, yet today, I had crushed his sister with my rejection. I felt like the worst kind of person.

Before I could dwell on it further, Rhode’s mother approached us, her face clouded with worry. “Have any of you seen Thelma?” she asked, her voice trembling.

The mention of her name sent a jolt through me, my heart pounding as though struck by lightning. I struggled to keep my expression neutral, but inside, I felt like a child caught doing something wrong.

“I thought she was at the packhouse,” I said, trying to sound casual.

“She said she had something to take care of, but that was hours ago,” Rhode’s mother replied. “This gathering is her favorite. She wouldn’t just miss it. I’m starting to worry.”

Her concern was palpable, and it made the knot of guilt in my chest tighten.

Rhode immediately stood, his protective instincts kicking in. “I’ll go find her! She might need help.”

“We’ll go with you,” I said quickly, masking my unease with feigned concern. If I didn’t join the search, questions would arise.

Together, Rhode, his parents, and I followed Thelma’s fading scent trail into the woods. The familiar aroma of orchids, faint and delicate, lingered in the air but grew weaker with every step. My unease deepened.

As we searched, I couldn’t shake the feeling of guilt that had been plaguing me all night. Yet, another part of me felt justified. Thelma was weak and overly emotional. Her stubbornness had ruined this evening, dragging us into this unnecessary search.

If it weren’t for her, I’d be at the party right now, enjoying the music and the company of stronger, more capable women. Maybe I should move on quickly, find someone who truly matched my strength. That would put an end to this ridiculous bond and show her that she wasn’t worthy of being my mate.

“Look! What’s that?” Rhode’s voice cut through my thoughts.

He sprinted forward, faster than I’d ever seen him move. I followed closely, my heart racing.

On the ground, tangled in the grass, was a burgundy bow—the same one Thelma had been wearing earlier.

I stared at it, my stomach twisting. This was her favorite bow, a gift from her mother. It was unlike her to leave it behind.

“She wouldn’t…” I muttered under my breath, trying to dismiss the creeping fear.

But Rhode was already scanning the cliff’s edge, his eyes wide with panic. The realization hit me like a punch to the gut.

I wanted to convince myself that this was just another one of Thelma’s dramatic outbursts, that she was hiding somewhere, trying to make us feel guilty. But as I stared at the bow, discarded and forlorn, doubt began to creep in.

What if this wasn’t just stubbornness? What if she had really…

No, I thought, shaking my head. Thelma Zane wouldn’t have the courage to jump from such a height.

Would she?

Chapter 3: The Search for Thelma

**Benard Walter’s POV**

I leaned forward cautiously, peering over the edge of the towering cliff. The drop was dizzying, the kind of height that made even someone like me, the future Alpha, feel a flicker of unease. Below, the river twisted and roared, its sound like the pulse of blood coursing through veins. It was unrelenting and indifferent, swallowing whatever dared to fall into its depths.

A flash of white caught my eye—a scrap of fabric snagged on a branch jutting out of the cliffside. It was impossible to ignore, stark against the dark greens and browns of the rugged terrain.

“That’s Thelma’s!” Rhode’s mother cried out as she staggered forward, her trembling hand pointing at the torn cloth. Her voice cracked under the weight of her despair. “She really jumped!”

Her legs gave out beneath her as she clutched her head, leaning heavily against Rhode’s father for support. Her grief was raw and overwhelming, a sound that tore through the cool night air.

She wasn’t wrong. The faint scent of orchids—Thelma’s scent—ended abruptly here, at the cliff’s edge. There was no trace of it drifting down into the valley below. It was undeniable now. She had leapt.

I clenched my jaw, the truth weighing heavily on me. What kind of person does this over such a minor setback? Thelma was the weakest person I had ever known, unable to withstand even the slightest storm in her life.

Rhode, overwhelmed with urgency, didn’t waste time comforting his grieving mother. Instead, he moved quickly, finding a narrow, winding path down the cliff.

“I’ll help you search,” I said, forcing my tone to sound steady as I followed him. But my reasons were not entirely noble. I wasn’t searching out of guilt or concern. No, I needed to ensure there was no evidence left behind—no damning clue that might tie this tragedy to me.

As I descended, the magnitude of the cliff hit me. The height alone was staggering, the kind of fall that made survival seem impossible. And beneath it all, the raging river was a cruel reminder of nature’s indifference.

By the time Rhode and I reached the base, we found nothing. The area was pristine, as if untouched by human presence. Had it not been for the torn fabric clinging to the branch above, we might have believed she had never been here.

“She’s gone,” Rhode muttered, his voice breaking as tears streamed down his face.

I hesitated, opening my mouth to say something—anything—but no words came. What could I say? Even if she had survived the fall into the river, the odds were stacked against her. A werewolf might have had a slim chance of survival, but Thelma? A frail human with no real strength? It was unthinkable.

The truth weighed on me like a stone. The scent of orchids had vanished entirely, carried away by the relentless current. She could already be miles downstream, her fragile body lost to the elements—or worse, claimed by the beasts that roamed these woods.

Just hours ago, she had accepted my rejection. And now, she was gone.

A strange heaviness settled over me, like a cold hand gripping my chest. I patted Rhode’s shoulder, a hollow gesture of comfort, and we made our way back up the cliff.

Rhode’s parents were waiting, their faces pale with hope that quickly shattered when they saw us return empty-handed. His mother let out a wail of anguish, covering her face as her body shook with uncontrollable sobs.

The sight was almost too much to bear. I averted my gaze, unwilling to meet her eyes. If she knew the truth—that I had driven Thelma to this—she would despise me forever. I would lose her kindness, her trust, and perhaps even my friendship with Rhode.

No, I thought. This must be covered up.

“I’ll go check Thelma’s room,” I told my father, keeping my voice neutral. “She might have left something behind.”

My father nodded, his expression grim. “Go. Consider this your first test as a future Alpha.”

The words stung, a bitter reminder of the responsibility that loomed over me.

I slipped into Thelma’s room, the faint scent of orchids still lingering in the air. Her belongings were sparse, as though she had been ready to leave at any moment. I searched quickly, my heart pounding as I opened drawers and scanned every corner. Relief washed over me when I found nothing—no diary, no notes, no evidence that could incriminate me.

Outside, voices called Thelma’s name, echoing through the packhouse and into the forest beyond. The sounds grated on my nerves. She had chosen the worst possible time for this, disrupting the full moon celebration and casting a shadow of sorrow over the entire pack.

We divided into search parties, scouring every path and trail, but our efforts were fruitless. Thelma had vanished, her scent and presence erased as though she had never existed.

Rhode and his parents stood apart from the rest of the group, their grief palpable. Rhode’s mother wept silently, her face buried in her hands, while his father sighed heavily, his shoulders slumped under the weight of his loss.

They had loved her as if she were their own blood.

I forced myself to shake off the image of Thelma’s tear-streaked face, her voice trembling as she accepted my rejection. This wasn’t my fault, I told myself. She had made this choice, not me. I was not responsible for her weakness or the path she had taken.

Still, I couldn’t help but glance toward the river’s bend, where the water disappeared around a corner. It was unlikely she had survived, but a small part of me wondered. What if she had?

I followed my father to Rhode’s family, offering hollow words of comfort to parents who had lost their daughter. My mind, however, was elsewhere.

Thelma’s disappearance would haunt the pack for some time, but eventually, life would go on. The full moon would rise again, and the pack would heal.

I just hoped that by the time I became Alpha, no one would look too closely at the role I had played in her fate.

Chapter 4: A Father's Instinct

**The Lycan King’s POV**

I woke suddenly, my chest heaving as the remnants of another familiar dream faded into the darkness of my room. It had been years, yet the dreams persisted, haunting me like shadows that refused to disappear.

Always the same. The forest. The lake. The faint sound of crying.

It all went back to that accident—the day my daughter disappeared. No matter how hard we searched, no matter how many leads we chased, she was simply gone. The helplessness I felt then had not lessened over the years, and it surfaced in my dreams as a cruel reminder of my failure.

Perhaps the mounting pressures of leadership had stirred these old memories, or perhaps something deeper was at play. I couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that lingered, like a storm waiting to break.

As I rose, the urge to visit the forest became overwhelming. It had been my habit for years—a desperate ritual, clinging to the faint hope that my daughter might somehow return. At first, it was fueled by determination, but over time, it became a solace, a way to feel close to her even if only in spirit.

Tonight, however, was different.

As I made my way through the winding trails, an unfamiliar restlessness overtook me. My chest tightened, and a strange agitation coursed through my veins. It was as if something was pulling me forward, guiding my steps with an urgency I couldn’t ignore.

The air itself seemed charged with energy, and when I encountered a group of small animals darting around my feet, I froze. It was unusual. Normally, my presence would send them scattering, yet here they were, moving chaotically as if fleeing from something unseen.

I followed the direction they had come from, my instincts sharpening. Whatever lay ahead, it did not belong here. This was my territory, and nothing would be allowed to disturb it.

The scent hit me suddenly—orchids. Strong and pure, it filled the air around me like a melody I hadn’t heard in years. My heart pounded in my chest.

No wolf outside the Lycan bloodline carried the scent of orchids. It was a gift from the Moon Goddess, a mark of distinction that identified those of my lineage. The realization left me breathless.

Could it be?

Memories of my daughter flooded my mind. It had been over a decade since she was taken from us. My wife and I had scoured every inch of the forest, clung to every sliver of hope, only to be met with despair time and again.

Yet here it was—that unmistakable scent.

I quickened my pace, my thoughts a whirlwind of disbelief and yearning. The scent grew stronger as I neared the lake, and when I broke through the underbrush, my eyes locked onto a scene that made my blood run cold.

An ugly beast hovered over a figure lying in the shallows of the lake, its teeth bared and ready to strike. I didn’t think—my body moved on instinct, and a powerful kick sent the creature flying. It yelped before retreating into the shadows.

The figure in the water drew my full attention now.

She was young, her face pale and lifeless as the moonlight illuminated her fragile form. Her breaths were shallow, barely perceptible, and her lips were tinged with blue. Even with her eyes closed, I felt an unexplainable pull toward her.

Could it really be her?

I stepped closer, my chest tight with emotions I hadn’t allowed myself to feel in years. If my daughter were still alive, this was the age she would be. The realization sent a surge of hope through me so powerful that it left me trembling.

Without a second thought, I scooped her up into my arms. Her body was limp, her warmth fading. The scent of orchids was faint now, as though it too were fighting to cling to life.

“Dear Moon Goddess,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “Please don’t let this be the only time I hold my daughter again.”

I ran faster than I had in years, the forest blurring around me. I pushed myself to the brink, unwilling to slow down for even a moment. When I finally reached the packhouse, I burst through the doors, startling everyone inside.

The royal doctor was summoned immediately. My hands shook as I laid her on the table, and I stepped back only when the attendants ushered me away.

“Your Majesty, you’re drenched,” one of them said cautiously. “You should change before—”

“Leave me,” I snapped, my voice sharper than I intended.

I couldn’t tear my eyes away from her. Every second felt like an eternity as the doctor worked, his movements precise and methodical.

“Your Majesty,” he said hesitantly, “this girl appeared so suddenly. Could it be...”

He didn’t finish the thought, but I already knew what he meant.

I forced myself to focus, to see her not just through the haze of my emotions but with the clarity of my role as king. Her features were strikingly similar to my wife’s, and the scent—there was no mistaking it.

“She is my daughter,” I said firmly. “Even if appearances can be faked, her scent cannot. It is the mark of the Moon Goddess herself.”

The room fell silent. Memories of that fateful day years ago came rushing back. The accident that tore my daughter from our lives had left us broken. My wife had cried endlessly, and I had buried my grief beneath the responsibilities of the crown.

Yet here she was, returned to me as if by some divine miracle.

“She is a gift,” I murmured, my voice filled with conviction. “A gift from the heavens.”

“Your Majesty,” the doctor interrupted gently, “you must prepare yourself. She is alive, but her condition is critical. We are doing everything we can, but the fall was severe.”

His words shattered the fragile hope I had been clinging to. She was here, but she wasn’t safe.

“No matter the cost,” I said, my voice trembling, “you must save her. Do whatever it takes.”

For the first time in years, I wasn’t speaking as a king but as a father. A father who had been given a second chance and would not lose it.

Hours passed like years, but at last, the doctor returned with news.

“She is stable,” he said with a tired smile. “The princess will recover, but it will take time. For now, you must rest and allow her to heal.”

I nodded, though I couldn’t bring myself to leave her side. My heart ached with relief, gratitude, and a lingering fear that this was all too fragile.

I thought of my wife and was grateful I hadn’t told her yet. The news would overwhelm her, as it had overwhelmed me. For years, she had lived with the guilt of losing our daughter, unable to forgive herself.

Now, perhaps, we would all have the chance to heal.