Rejected By Him, Claimed By The Emperor

Ariana POV:

"Ari, get out here."

Cleon's impatient voice echoed from above the damp repair pit where I lay on my back, my grease-stained wrench tightening a heavy exhaust nut on a Harley. Before I even moved, a sickly sweet vanilla scent cut through the sharp smell of motor oil. It was a fake aroma brewed from cheap herbs-the kind low-ranking wolves used to mimic a high-born bloodline.

Above me, Cleon's heavy boot kicked my metal toolbox. I grabbed a dirty rag, wiped my palms, and climbed out of the pit.

He stood there wearing his leather Cut-the sleeveless vest whose stitched patches proved a rider's rank and club identity. The President patch sat over his chest, marking him as the young Alpha leading the Iron Claws MC, a vassal pack where I had worked as a nameless helper for twelve years.

My eyes dropped to the bright white hem of a dress pressed against his ribs. Jazmyne Parrish, a spoiled Club Princess from a neighboring pack, clung to his chest like a boneless vine. She held up a pale wrist bearing a faint red mark that hadn't even broken the skin.

"Bandage her up," Cleon ordered, pointing his chin at Jazmyne as if bossing around a hang-around-one of the wolfless outsiders who washed bikes in the yard hoping to earn a vest. "She scraped her arm on a car door outside."

I stared at the tiny mark. With our werewolf blood, a scratch like that healed in three seconds flat.

"She doesn't need a bandage, Cleon. That mark will vanish in five minutes," I said evenly, leaving my medical kit untouched.

Jazmyne shrank deeper into his arms, her blue eyes instantly pooling with tears. "I'm sorry. I didn't know Ariana hated me this much..."

"Enough!" Cleon's pupils slit into dark gold. The heavy physical pressure of an Alpha's bloodline slammed into my chest, a genetic command meant to force lower wolves into obedience.

My knees buckled under the weight of his aura. I bit my lower lip hard and gripped the iron post of the bike lift, forcing my spine straight.

"You don't even have a Patch. Outside this clubhouse, you're a nameless nobody!" Cleon's voice was ice. "Get your kit and treat her. That's an Alpha's command."

Around the garage, several patched warriors paused their polishing, crossing their arms with low, mocking laughs. No one cared about the pride of an unclaimed girl who wasn't even allowed inside Church-the monthly council meeting where patched members voted on club law.

I looked at the childhood sweetheart I once thought would claim me. The last fragile hope in my chest turned to ash.

I let go of the iron post and tossed my grease-soaked rag straight onto the toe of his spotless leather boot.

Jazmyne let out a shrill gasp. The laughter in the garage died instantly.

"Have you lost your mind?" Cleon roared, lunging to grab my shoulder.

I sidestepped his hand, pulled a worn black ledger from my cargo pants, and slammed it onto the iron workbench.

"This is the twelve-year bill for every anti-inflammatory brew, healing salve, and custom engine part I've made for the Iron Claws," I said, my voice flat.

Cleon froze, his brow furrowing. "What are you talking about?"

"Two hundred and four thousand dollars in total." I flipped to the final page and tapped the red ink. "Deducting the table scraps and the cot by the pit you gave me, this pack still owes me eighty grand."

"You're threatening me with a ledger?" Panic flickered in his eyes before he raised his voice. "You think you can survive until the next full moon without my protection?"

On the full moon, every wolf had to lock down inside a clubhouse compound or lose their mind shifting on the open highway.

"Keep the eighty grand as my wedding gift to you two." I unzipped my stained coveralls bearing the club's stencil, dropped them onto the ledger, and walked toward the exit.

"Ariana! Walk out that door today and don't ever come crawling back!" he bellowed behind me.

I paused at the threshold without turning around. "Lock that ledger in the safe, Prez. Otherwise your new girl won't even have cash left for her fake perfume."

Stepping into the blinding sunlight, I breathed in air free of rot. I walked to the staff lockers, popped my rusted lock with a piece of wire, and took only the battered wooden medical box my late mother, Juanita, had left me.

By the chain-link gate, the wolfless hang-around on guard noticed my missing coveralls and stepped forward, but one look into my cold eyes made him flinch and back away. I pushed through the gate, leaving Cleon's territory scent behind, and stepped onto the open asphalt of the interstate.