The Rejected Mate (Elaine and Michael) novel Chapter 122

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The walls of the council hall thrum with tension—raw, electric, dangerous. The marble floors, usually polished to a ceremonial shine, are streaked with dust and blood, both fresh and drying in jagged patterns. Torches lining the columns flicker violently as if reacting to the chaos in the air. The scent of shifting wolves, fear, dominance, and desperation saturates the space.

In the center, Michael’s wolf lies battered—fur matted, sides heaving, ribs protruding. His growls have dwindled into a low, broken rumble. His black eyes, once fierce and proud, are clouded with pain and confusion. His wolf’s spirit flickers like a flame struggling against a storm.

And towering above him—an unmovable wall of fury and authority—stands Alpha Darius.

Darius’s massive frame cast a long, imposing shadow across Michael’s broken body, a reminder of the power that rippled just beneath his skin—barely leashed, barely contained. His eyes, usually a warm gold that inspired loyalty and trust within his pack, now blazed with the ancient, fiery crimson of a protector pushed to his limits.

“Yield, wolf!” Darius commanded, his voice echoing through the hall like a thunderclap, resonating with an authority that left no room for defiance. This was not merely a demand; it was the voice of an alpha prepared to kill if necessary, a protector defending more than just himself—his mate, his son, his entire pack.

Michael’s wolf responded with a weak snarl, claws scraping against the stone floor in a futile show of defiance. Every muscle in his body trembled with the refusal to submit, a visceral battle between the instinct to fight and the agony of a creature torn in two.

“Michael, please—stop this!” Kathy’s voice broke through the chaos, her desperation palpable as she pushed past the trembling pack members to reach him. Tears streamed down her cheeks, glistening like jewels of sorrow. She fell to her knees beside him, hands shaking as she reached out. “Think of our pack. Think of Leo. Our son still needs his father. Please, Michael.”

Her words shattered the tension in the air like fragile glass. Fear coiled tightly in her chest, a living thing that threatened to choke her. She gazed at Michael’s wounds—deep gouges, broken bones, skin bruised a horrific black and blue—and her mind spiraled into a frantic worry: Leo… what happens to Leo if Michael dies here?

Without its Alpha, a pack loses its very spine. Without a pack, wolves scatter like leaves in the wind. And without wolves, where would she and her son go?

“Michael, please—think of Leo. He is your son too. Please, I’m begging you.” Her voice cracked, desperation bleeding into every syllable, a raw plea for the man she loved to fight for their family.

Michael’s wolf flicked an ear toward her—a small, broken motion—but it was enough to ignite a faint spark of hope in her chest.

Darius stepped closer, an aura of dominance rolling off him like a dark storm, his stance unyielding. He could not soften his presence, not while the wolf beneath him still posed a threat.

“Yield!” Darius roared again, his command fueled by a primal instinct to end this before his own son had to witness blood spilling across the stone floor.

Silence enveloped the hall—thick, oppressive, and breathless.

Then, in that stillness, Michael’s wolf tilted his head back and released a long, haunting howl—sad, lonely, defeated. It was a sound that spoke of loss, confusion, and a soul cleaved in two.

Slowly, painfully, his wolf began to recede. Fur melted into skin, claws retracted, and limbs contorted back into human shape.

Michael collapsed onto the floor, battered and barely conscious, yet even in his weakened state, faint tendrils of healing energy began to stitch his wounds. His wolf was still alive, still trying to fight back.

Kathy scrambled to him, gathering his upper body against her lap. “Michael—Michael, look at me.” But he didn’t respond. His eyes stared blankly past her, unfocused and distant, as if he were lost in a void.

The council hall remained silent until a voice sliced through the quiet.

“This is a case of rejection sickness,” Rowan announced, stepping forward. His tone was clinical, yet heavy with disapproval that echoed in the hearts of those present.

The room rippled with murmurs of concern. Rejection sickness was rare, dangerous, and often fatal.

Kathy’s head snapped toward Rowan, disbelief sharpening her features. “But—Michael has always been in control of his wolf. This only started recently!”