Once Rejected: A Slave To My Alpha Stepbrothers

Icy rain lashed Laila’s face, mingling with the blood trickling into her mouth – salty, bitter. With every breath, the wound in her abdomen burned like a red‑hot blade. She could hear her own ragged gasps, her heart pounding against her ribs. But clearer still were the sounds behind her – the heavy pounding of beasts drawing closer, the wet rustle of fur through branches, and the low, excited panting of hunters on the scent.

“Over here! The blood’s fresh!”

“She can’t have gone far!”

“The boss said leave her breathing, but we have to get the goods back!”

Their shouts, mixed with howls, smashed through the heavy rain. Marcus’s men. The elite trackers of the Silverclaw pack. Her former Alpha had no intention of letting her live.

Run. Keep running. Don’t stop.

Laila forced herself up from the mud again, stumbling toward the darker, more twisted part of the forest. Thorns tore at her clothes and skin, leaving burning lines, but she was numb. Every sense was focused on the death behind her and the life draining from her abdomen.

Her foot met empty air. She cried out as she tumbled down a slope, spinning, mud and rotten leaves filling her mouth. She lay curled at the bottom, coughing violently, black spots swimming before her eyes. Was this the end?

Then she heard movement from above – the pursuers had arrived. But the expected attack didn’t come. Instead, wary, uneasy growls.

“Wait! Look ahead!”

“What the hell is that? Bones?”

“Those markers… we’ve reached the border!”

Laila forced her heavy eyelids open. Through the rain and blood, she made out enormous bleached skulls hanging from twisted branches, their hollow eye sockets staring into the night. Between the bones, symbols painted on tree trunks and rocks – dark red, almost black – ancient, distorted, radiating an ominous air.

The Ashen Forest. The forbidden territory that even the fiercest warriors of Silverclaw dared not enter.

“Captain! Those are Ashen markers! We can’t go any further!” one pursuer said, fear in his voice.

“Shut up!” It was Brutus, Marcus’s second‑in‑command. His voice was rough, but Laila heard the hesitation. “She’s fallen just inside the border! Damn it!”

Laila held her breath, motionless, praying to blend into the mud.

“Brutus, you know the rules. Anyone who enters Ashen territory does so at their own risk. If we cross the line and anger the one who dwells here, even the Alpha won’t protect us.”

Silence. Only the pounding rain and the restless snorting of the beasts.

After a long moment, Brutus let out a howl of pure, frustrated rage that made Laila’s ears ring.

“Lucky bitch!” he roared in her direction. “You think hiding in the Ashen Forest will save you? What lives there will make you wish you’d died at my hands! Let’s go!”

The heavy footsteps, the growls, the whines of hounds – all faded quickly, swallowed by the rain. The slope fell empty again.

A wave of exhaustion washed over Laila, draining her last ounce of strength. She lay limp on the ground, the cold rain soaking her, stealing her warmth. The pain in her abdomen pulsed with dizzying clarity. She tried to tear the hem of her already shredded shirt to bandage the wound, but her numb fingers wouldn’t obey. Her breathing grew fainter.

So cold… so tired… maybe just sleep…

Just as consciousness began to slip away, a strange sensation seized her – the feeling of being watched. Not the hunters’ murderous intent, but something more playful. A gaze of pure curiosity and appraisal, like a predator eyeing an unexpected little creature that had fallen into its trap.

With the last of her strength, she raised her head slowly, with great difficulty, and looked up toward the unnaturally dense, silvery canopy.

The rain had lessened to a light drizzle. A pale moonbeam broke through the clouds, casting a grudging sliver of light.

She saw him.

High on a thick branch, several meters above the ground, a figure sat casually, one leg bent, elbow resting on his knee, chin propped in his hand. The light was too dim to make out his features – except for his eyes. Startlingly bright, molten gold, gleaming in the gloom. They reflected her pathetic, dying state with no pity, only the innocent, cruel curiosity of someone eyeing an amusing new toy.

Darkness swallowed her. In her final moment, she thought she saw him smile.

Ronan tilted his head, watching the woman go still at the base of the tree. “Tch, passed out already?” His voice was clear in the silent forest, tinged with lazy disappointment. “I thought you’d last a little longer. For someone from Silverclaw, you scare pretty easily.”

He leaped down with the effortless silence of a great cat, landing so lightly he didn’t disturb the water droplets on the nearby leaves. He strolled over, crouched, and unceremoniously poked her cold cheek.

“Not bad looking. Better taste than that bastard Marcus.” His fingertip slid down her jawline to her neck – smeared with mud and scrapes, but bare. “No brand? Not a possession? Escaped, then?”

His gaze fell on her abdomen, where the cloth was dark with blood. He wrinkled his nose, sniffing – the coppery scent of blood mixed with rain, earth, and the faint, characteristic smell of Silverclaw.

“Troublesome,” he muttered, but the interest in his eyes only deepened. He pulled aside her hand to look at the gash. “Wolf claws? They’re that hard on their own people? Marcus is losing class.”

He stood, brushing nonexistent dust from his hands, and surveyed the silent forest. The rain had nearly stopped, only the drip of water from leaves.

“Lucky for you, I’m in a halfway decent mood today.”

Then he bent down, grabbed her by the arm, and hoisted her over his shoulder like a sack of grain. Her limp body hung down, dark hair trailing, brushing his legs.

Adjusting his grip, he began to whistle – a strange, lighthearted tune, an old song of this forest about lost travelers. Carrying his “unexpected find,” he walked with leisurely steps deeper into the dark, secret heart of the Ashen Forest.

The whistling floated through the trees, startling a few night birds that fluttered away. The moon retreated behind the clouds, and the forest returned to its eternal, unsettling silence. Only a small pool of blood, slowly diluted by the rain, remained – proof that a life‑or‑death chase had taken place here, and that a woman’s fate had taken a sharp, abrupt turn.