Rejecting My Cruel Alpha For His Rival

Thor

d concealer to hide the dark circles under my eyes and styled my hair to mask its dullness. My face in

turned. He looked exhausted, his jet-black hair disheveled, and he carr

ordlessly took his seat opposite me, and a servant quietly placed a plate and a cup of c

m one last chance. A

ectly. "Ryker," I said, my voice soft, almost a

crossed his face, a flicker in his stormy grey eyes that told me his wolf, Ares, remembered. But just as quickly, the recognition was g

against my ribs. *Please remember.* Today

e shook his head, his tone laced with irritati

ng was extinguished, leaving nothing but cold, black ash. He had forgotte

ed my lips. "It's nothing," I murm

gain. The caller ID read 'C

y, his voice sharp wit

oss the table. "Alpha! It's Miss Serena! She...

at his chair crashed backward onto the

e now!" he roared into t

a single glance in my direction. He was a wh

picked up my fork and knife and took another bite of my now-cold eggs. I chewed and swall

nother. And another. They dripped silently into my f

d. But for Serena's fake one,

d, her voice devoid of its usual fire, filled

ed it neatly, and placed it on the table. Then I stood and walked out of the dining

the back of the Packhouse, my feet carrying me along a

e, a quiet cemetery for the pack's pups w

m the others. It bore no name, only

here our s

ld his own father had forgotten. It was the