The Alphas Collared Pet Rejected and Rebor Dailymotion

For ten years, I lived for Dante Moretti. I waited for my eighteenth birthday, knowing that the Alpha of the Dark Nebula was my fated mate.

But when the day finally came, he didn't claim me.

He brought Isabella home instead. A warrior. A political asset.

"Welcome home, my future Luna," he announced to the pack, shattering my heart in front of everyone.

I was just the orphan girl who couldn't Shift. A liability.

To ensure I knew my place, Isabella offered me a "gift." A collar made of pure silver.

To a human, it is jewelry. To a wolf, it is acid.

When she locked it around my neck, the metal sizzled. The smell of my own burning flesh filled the room.

I fell to my knees, screaming, looking at Dante with tears in my eyes. I begged him to stop her.

But he just looked at me, his face a mask of cold logic.

"Wear it," he commanded, ignoring the smoke rising from my skin. "Consider it discipline. If you take it off, you leave the Pack."

He thought he was protecting me. He thought making me look weak would save me from his enemies.

He didn't realize he was killing the girl who loved him.

That night, I didn't just take off the collar.

I closed my eyes, found the golden thread of our Mate Bond in my mind, and snapped it in half.

Dante collapsed in the hallway, clutching his chest in agony as he felt our connection die.

"What did you do?" he whispered into the void.

"I set you free, Alpha," I said.

Then I ran into the storm.

He thought I was a defenseless human. He didn't know I was the lost daughter of the Royal White Wolf bloodline.

And when I returned, I wouldn't be kneeling.

Chapter 1

Seraphina POV:

The noise in my head was deafening.

It wasn't a sound you could block out. It was the Pack Link-the psychic hive-mind of the Dark Nebula. Usually, it was white noise: patrol logs, hunger pangs, petty drama.

Today, it was a riot.

Our Alpha has chosen!

Isabella is the one!

Finally, a warrior Luna!

I stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling mirror in the Moretti estate. My knuckles were white against the marble counter. Inside my ribcage, my wolf was thrashing, clawing at my lungs like she was trying to dig her way out of a grave.

She knew.

She knew Dante Moretti was ours.

I closed my eyes. The memory was ten years old but still drew blood. I was eight, caked in the ash of my family's home. Dante had pulled me from the rubble. He was eighteen, newly Alpha. When he lifted me, the smell hit me.

Pine and fresh blood.

The Mate Bond. Biology's cruelest joke.

For ten years, I lived in his shadow, waiting for my eighteenth birthday. Waiting for my wolf to surface so I could stand beside him.

But I was a dud. A late bloomer. To the pack, I wasn't just human; I was a genetic dead end.

The heavy oak door downstairs slammed open.

The floorboards vibrated with his voice. That deep baritone that used to read me bedtime stories was now the voice of a warlord.

"Prepare the guest suite," Dante commanded. The Alpha Tone laced his words, a frequency that bypassed the ears and ordered the marrow. Even from here, my knees went soft.

"Dante, relax," a female voice purred. Isabella.

I walked to the balcony.

Dante stood in the foyer. Six-four, lethal grace, black hair slicked back. He wore power like a tailored suit. The air around him felt heavy, pressurized.

Isabella hung on his arm. Tall, curvaceous, smelling of expensive musk and unearned victory. She was a high-ranking female from a strategic ally pack. She was a political asset. A warrior.

She was everything I wasn't.

Dante looked up.

His eyes, the color of a rough sea, locked onto mine.

For a microsecond, his pupils blew wide. He smelled me. Vanilla and rain. I saw his knuckles whiten as he gripped the banister. His wolf wanted to claim me.

But Dante was a man of logic. And logic dictated that a weak mate meant a weak pack.

He looked away. He looked at Isabella and smiled-a sharp, calculated expression.

"Welcome home, my future Luna," he said, projecting his voice so the servants-and I-wouldn't miss a syllable.

My chest didn't break; it just went hollow.

I turned back to the bathroom.

I looked at my reflection. Waist-length black hair. Dante used to brush it. He said it was his favorite thing.

Just dead cells, I thought.

I opened the drawer and grabbed the sewing scissors.

My hands shook, but I didn't hesitate. I grabbed a fistful of silk.

Snip.

The sound was violent in the quiet room.

Snip.

Black locks hit the porcelain like dead snakes.

Snip. Snip. Snip.