Ellie POV:
Florence was beautiful, or so they said. To me, it was nothing more than a graveyard.
Three weeks ago, the pack warriors had discarded me on the outskirts of the city like unwanted refuse, leaving me with nothing but the clothes on my back. I was an Omega, raised to serve, not to survive in a human city of cold stone and unrelenting noise.
And my wolf was dying.
The rejection had done more than break my heart; it was systematically killing my spirit. In our world, a wolf rejected by its true mate often fades away. The human half inevitably follows.
I huddled in a damp alleyway, pulling a discarded newspaper over my shoulders in a futile attempt to stay warm. My stomach had stopped growling days ago. Now, there was just a hollow, gnawing ache.
I closed my eyes and tried to reach out with my mind. *Marcus?*
Nothing. Just the static of a severed line.
He had cut me off completely. The cruelty of it made me shiver more violently than the cold. An Alpha can block a link, but to sever it? That was a sentence of absolute isolation.
Rain began to fall, mixing with the grime on my face. I was burning up. Fever ravaged my body as my wolf's essence withered into dust.
"Well, well. What do we have here?"
The voice was scratchy, like gravel grinding together.
I opened my eyes. Two men stood at the mouth of the alley. Their eyes flashed sickly yellow in the dark. Rogues. Wolves without a pack, driven mad by their feral instincts.
"Smells like a rejected Omega," the second one sniffed, licking his lips hungrily. "Sweet. Vulnerable."
I tried to scramble backward, but my back hit the brick wall. "Stay away."
My voice was little more than a broken rasp. I tried to call upon my wolf, to shift and fight, but she was too weak. She lay curled in the corner of my mind, unresponsive and fading fast.
The first Rogue lunged.
He didn't shift fully, just let his claws extend. He backhanded me across the face. The force threw me against the dumpster.
Pain exploded in my head. I tasted copper.
"Look at her," the Rogue laughed, pinning my wrists to the wet pavement. "She can't even fight back. The Pack must have thrown out the trash."
His claws dug into my shoulder, tearing through my thin shirt and into my flesh. I screamed, but the sound was swallowed by the relentless rain.
I was going to die here. Alone. Unloved.
*Marcus...* I tried one last time, a desperate plea thrown into the void. *Help me.*
The silence that answered me was final. He didn't care. He never had.
The Rogue bared his teeth, aiming for my throat. I closed my eyes, waiting for the end.
Suddenly, a roar shook the alley.
It wasn't a human shout. It was a primal, thunderous growl that vibrated in the marrow of my bones.
The weight on top of me vanished.
I forced my eyes open. A massive shadow had descended upon the Rogues. A man, tall and broad, moved with a speed that blurred against the rain.
He seized the first Rogue by the throat and threw him into the brick wall with a sickening crunch. The second Rogue tried to attack, but the stranger spun around, his fist connecting with the Rogue's jaw.
It was over in seconds. The Rogues lay unconscious, or worse, in the mud.
The stranger turned to me.
He was terrifying. He radiated power—Alpha power. It rolled off him in waves, thick and commanding. But unlike Marcus's power, which felt like a cold weight, this felt... warm. Like a hearth fire in the dead of winter.
He knelt beside me. His eyes were dark, intense, and filled with a swirling storm of anger and concern.
"Can you hear me?" he asked. His voice was deep, rumbling through his chest.
I tried to nod, but my head lulled back. "Cold..."
He scooped me up into his arms as if I weighed nothing. His body heat was incredible.
"You're fading," he murmured, pressing a hand to my forehead. "Your wolf is dying from rejection."
He knew.
He brought his wrist to his mouth and bit down hard. Blood, dark and rich, welled up.
"Drink," he commanded softly, pressing his wrist to my lips.
I hesitated. Drinking another Alpha's blood was intimate. It was an act of submission and trust. But the scent of it... it smelled like sandalwood and amber. It smelled like life.
My survival instinct took over. I latched onto his wrist and drank.
The liquid was hot. As it slid down my throat, it felt like liquid fire. It raced through my veins, seeking out the cold, dead places.
My wolf stirred. Just a twitch, but it was there.
"That's it," the stranger whispered, stroking my hair. "I've got you. You're safe now."
"Who..." I choked out, my vision fading to black.
"I am David," he said. "And I am not going to let you die."
The last thing I felt was the steady, powerful beat of his heart against my ear as he carried me out of the rain.
