After My Mate Rejected Me, I Became a Royal Lycan

Avayah came back at 4:17 in the afternoon, carried by a warrior whose face I didn't recognize.

She wasn't crying. That was the first wrong thing. My daughter—who sobbed over scraped knees and lost hair ribbons—was completely silent, her small body rigid against the warrior's chest. The second wrong thing was the smell: another wolf's pup, sharp and unfamiliar, all over her skin.

The warrior set her down without meeting my eyes and left.

I knelt. "Baby, what happened?"

Avayah's arms were scored with claw marks, thin red lines that wept clear fluid. A bite wound punctured her left shoulder, the edges already bruising purple. She stared past me at the wall.

"Avayah." I kept my voice soft, but my hands were shaking as I reached for the first aid kit. "Who did this?"

Her lips moved. No sound came out.

I pressed my thumb to the mate mark on my neck—an old habit when I needed to steady myself—and felt the bond hum faintly beneath my skin. Caspian would want to know. He'd be furious. We'd find whoever—

"His mama said you're not a real wolf."

The words were so quiet I almost missed them.

I froze, antiseptic-soaked gauze halfway to her arm. "What?"

"Kaisen said his mama told him." Avayah's voice was flat, factual. "That you're not a real wolf. So I'm not either."

Kaisen. Brooke Fernandez's son.

I cleaned the wounds in silence, each swipe of gauze deliberate, controlled. The scent clinging to Avayah's skin confirmed it—Kaisen's distinct smell, sour and sharp like unripe fruit. My wolf, dormant for twenty-six years, stirred. Not an awakening. Just a vibration deep in my chest, a pressure against my ribs that felt like something ancient trying to claw its way out.

I forced it down.

"You're going to be okay," I told Avayah, wrapping the last bandage. Then I opened the pack mind-link and broadcast the image of her wounds to every wolf in Silverfang territory.

*My daughter was attacked at the Pack Pup Ceremony. Claw marks. Bite wound. The scent is Kaisen Fernandez. His mother will answer for this. Now.*

The link buzzed with shock, confusion—then went silent.

Too silent.

I waited, thumb still pressed to my mate mark. Caspian would respond. He had to.

Instead, Brooke's voice flooded the link, sweet and declarative.

*How dare you use pack channels to spread lies, Naomi.*

An image slammed into every mind in the territory: Brooke in a formal mating ceremony gown, white lace and silver embroidery, standing beside Caspian in the pack house's ceremonial hall. His hand rested on her waist. They were both smiling.

*I am Luna of Silverfang Pack,* Brooke continued, her voice dripping false sympathy. *You are a packless rogue who tricked our Alpha into a false bond. Your time pretending is over.*

The link erupted.

Voices I'd known for six years—warriors I'd bandaged, mothers I'd helped through difficult births, Deltas I'd served meals to during pack dinners—fell over each other pledging allegiance to Brooke. Not one questioned her. Not one defended me.

The mate mark on my neck went cold at the edges.

I called for Caspian through the bond, sending the image of Avayah's wounds directly to him, bypassing the public link. *Caspian. Please. What is this?*

Nothing.

The bond was there—I could feel it, a tether between us—but it was hollow. Like shouting into an empty room.

That pressure in my chest surged again, harder this time. My vision blurred gold at the edges. Something inside me—something that had been silent my entire life—was trying to wake up, and it was furious.

I pressed both hands to my ribs, gasping. The sensation faded as quickly as it came, leaving me shaking.

Avayah's small hand touched my arm. "Mama?"

I looked at her—at the bandages, at the fear she was trying so hard not to show—and the decision made itself.

"Get your jacket," I said.

She blinked. "Where are we going?"

"To get answers."

I drove to the pack house with Avayah buckled in the back seat, her silence louder than any protest. The Pack Pup Ceremony was still underway—I could see the banners, hear the distant laughter of families gathered in the courtyard.

I parked and lifted Avayah to my chest. She was too big to be carried like this, but I wasn't letting her walk. Not here. Not now.

The courtyard fell silent as I entered.

Fifty faces turned toward me. Mothers clutched their pups closer. Warriors shifted their weight, hands drifting toward weapons they weren't holding. No one smiled. No one moved to help.

Sable Voss, the pack healer—a woman I'd trained beside, who'd delivered Avayah—stepped forward holding a formal scroll.

"Naomi Warren," she said, her voice flat. "By order of Alpha Caspian Robertson, the pup Avayah Warren is expelled from Silverfang's registry, effective immediately."

The words hit like a slap.

"On whose authority?" I demanded.

Before Sable could answer, the pack house doors opened.

Brooke Fernandez stepped into the courtyard wearing the ceremonial Luna dress—the one I should have worn at formal gatherings, the one that had been locked in storage for six years because I'd never felt worthy of it.

She crossed the stones in three strides and slapped me across the face.

The crack echoed. Avayah whimpered against my shoulder.

I tasted blood.

Brooke smiled. "You don't belong here, rogue."

I steadied myself, shifted Avayah's weight, and opened my mouth to invoke my Luna authority through the mind-link—to command the warriors to stand down, to force this pack to listen.

The link was dead.

My administrative access—gone.

I pivoted. Turned to the gathered families. Forced them to look.

"This is what your new Luna's son did." I unwrapped Avayah's bandages one by one, exposing the claw marks, the bite wound. "To a five-year-old child. At a ceremony meant to welcome her."

Several faces flickered with something—shame, maybe. None spoke.

I had no authority left. But I had one move.

I opened the link one last time and broadcast the factual record: timestamped injuries, witnessed by the healer's own scroll, scent evidence confirmed. Then I felt the link sever completely, the access stripped away mid-transmission.

Warriors materialized at my sides.

Brooke's smile widened. "Take her to the holding room. And bring the child to the silver door—we need to teach her what happens to rogues' pups who bite back."

I heard it then: the heavy creak of the ceremonial door at the courtyard's edge, the one reinforced with silver lining.

Avayah's scream split the air.