Chapter 1 — The Scar of Rejection

Terrie

The scent of pine and damp earth filled Terrie’s nostrils as she prowled through the dense underbrush of Shadowpine Forest. The towering trees loomed around her, their intertwining branches forming a canopy so thick that only faint shards of sunlight pierced through, casting fractured beams of light onto the forest floor. The air was cold and heavy, laced with the faint metallic tang of danger—a predator’s warning. Shadowpine was not a place that forgave carelessness.

Her boots whispered against the mossy ground, each step deliberately placed to avoid betraying her presence. The muted creak of her leather jacket as she moved was a small reminder of her own fragility in this living labyrinth. Shadowpine had become familiar after years of her rogue existence, but today the forest felt different. It pressed against her, oppressive and watchful, like a predator stalking its prey. She wasn’t here by chance. Rumors of a rogue pack operating deep in these woods had reached her ears, and if there was any truth to them, she needed to confirm it. Isolation had kept her alive, but the thought of joining a pack again—of finding some semblance of safety—was a risk she couldn’t ignore. Not anymore.

Dane’s face surfaced in her mind before she could shove it down—his dark eyes brimming with pity, his voice cool and resolute as he severed her world.

*"I can’t do this, Terrie. You’re not enough."*

Her fingers reflexively brushed the smooth leather cord of the Binding Pendant hidden beneath her jacket. She’d kept it—not as a token of love, but as a reminder of what she’d endured. Of what she refused to endure again. Weak. Defenseless. Disposable.

The pang of memory stirred her wolf, and a low growl built in her throat. She forced it back, inhaling deeply. Dane was the past. This forest, with its dangers and mysteries, was her present. There could be no room for distraction. Survival demanded her full attention.

Dropping into a crouch, Terrie scanned the forest floor with her piercing green eyes. A faint trail caught her attention—paw pads pressed into the damp soil, their pattern too deliberate to belong to wild wolves. Her fingers brushed over the prints, tracing their edges. They were large and steady, each step deliberate. A pack. Recent. The subtle shift of crushed leaves and disturbed moss told her they’d passed through no more than an hour ago.

Her pulse quickened, wariness sparking alongside something deeper—anticipation. Packs could be refuge or ruin. Tightening her grip on the hilt of her Moonsteel Dagger, she let its warmth steady her. The blade’s faint luminescence under the dark canopy was a small comfort, a reminder of her own resourcefulness. She wasn’t that broken girl who had fled her pack. She had honed herself into a weapon. Strong. Independent. Prepared for anything.

Or so she told herself.

The forest shifted around her, its silence breaking with the faint rustle of movement to her left. Terrie froze, every muscle coiled, her senses sharpening. The sound wasn’t random—it was deliberate. A presence, large and deliberate, moved closer. Her wolf stirred uneasily, torn between the instinct to greet and the instinct to guard, as a shadow emerged from the trees, stepping into a fractured beam of light.

He was tall—towering over her by a full head—with broad shoulders and a gait that spoke of control and purpose. His dark, utilitarian clothing seemed to blend into the forest, as though it were an extension of him. Black hair, cropped short, framed his sharp features, but it was his eyes that rooted her in place. Golden hazel, piercing and predatory, locked onto hers with a weight that sent a shiver down her spine. Alpha. The word struck her wolf before her mind could catch up.

More figures emerged behind him, their movements calculated and smooth as they formed a loose semi-circle. To his left, a petite woman with a sharp black bob and striking amber eyes regarded Terrie with a mixture of suspicion and challenge. To his right was a heavily muscled man with sandy blond hair, his easy smirk doing little to mask the subtle tension in his stance. A fourth figure lingered at the edge of the group, their presence quieter but no less palpable.

Terrie rose slowly, her dagger glinting faintly in her grip. Her stance shifted, balanced for either a fight or an escape. Words didn’t matter in moments like this. Wolves understood postures, not pleasantries.

The alpha’s gaze swept over her, assessing with a cold, calculating precision that made her skin prickle. His eyes lingered on her dagger before snapping back to her face. When he spoke, his voice was low and clipped, each word carrying the weight of command.

“You’re trespassing.”

Terrie tilted her head, a humorless smile tugging at her lips. “Funny, don’t remember the forest signing a lease.”

The woman—Krystal, her defiance etched into every sharp line of her frame—let out a dry laugh that carried no warmth. “Bold for a rogue. Hope your wit’s sharper than that dagger.”

Terrie’s green eyes flicked to Krystal, meeting her amber glare with steady defiance, before returning to the alpha. “Just passing through. No trouble.”

The alpha studied her for a heartbeat longer, his expression unreadable. There was something in his eyes—curiosity, disdain, or perhaps something deeper. It was gone before she could name it. He stepped closer, his movements deliberate, his presence consuming. Terrie’s wolf bristled, her instincts screaming both warning and recognition.

“Name,” he demanded.

Her voice was steady, her stare unyielding. “Terrie.”

The name hung in the air between them, heavy with unspoken challenges. The alpha watched her intently, his golden eyes digging deeper than she’d allowed anyone in years. It was infuriating. Exposing. And then he spoke, his name cutting through the tension like a blade.

“Lucian.”

The moment his name hit the air, heat surged through her chest, startling in its intensity. It wasn’t fear or anger. It was raw and primal, a connection that made her wolf stir restlessly beneath her skin. No. No, not now. Not him.

Her reaction must have flickered across her face because Lucian’s gaze narrowed. His head tilted slightly, a faint crease forming between his brows. He’d felt it too. But instead of acknowledgment, his expression hardened, and his next words hit like ice.

“We don’t take strays.”

The final word landed with a deliberate pause, its weight sharper than any blade. Terrie’s breath hitched, and for a moment, the forest blurred around her. The knife of rejection was sharp and familiar, carving through scars she thought had healed. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

“Guess you’ll have to find somewhere else to scavenge,” Krystal muttered, her smirk cutting deeper than her words.

The blond man, Max, shot Krystal a quick, disapproving look before stepping forward slightly. “Easy,” he murmured, his voice warm despite the tension. He offered Terrie a quick, almost apologetic smile. “No need to make this worse.”

Terrie forced herself to breathe, her fingers flexing around the dagger’s hilt. She wouldn’t crumble. Not here. Not in front of them. She sheathed the blade with deliberate care, her voice tight but steady.

“Fine. Enjoy your forest.”

Turning on her heel, she walked away, her steps measured even as her wolf howled in protest. She felt their gazes linger on her back, but she didn’t dare look. Her pride demanded she hold her head high, even as her chest burned with the weight of rejection.

When the pack’s scents faded into the background of pine and moss, Terrie stopped. Her breath came in sharp bursts, her hands trembling at her sides. The warmth in her chest hadn’t subsided. If anything, it had deepened, a cruel reminder of what she already knew.

Lucian was her mate.

And he had rejected her.

A low growl escaped her lips, and she clenched her fists, forcing the pain down. She didn’t need him. She didn’t need anyone. She would survive. Alone.

Drawing a deep breath, she turned her attention back to the forest. Survival demanded focus, and focus was what she would give it. If Lucian and his pack thought they could dismiss her, they were wrong. She would prove her worth—not for them, but for herself.

Because no one—not Dane, not Lucian, not anyone—would ever make her feel like she wasn’t enough again.