After My Alpha Slapped Me, I Fled

The morning light filtered through the trees as I dragged myself to the mandatory dawn pack run. A week had passed since the rejection, but each day brought new waves of pain rather than relief. My wolf whimpered constantly, a pitiful sound that echoed through my mind and left me feeling hollow.

"Faster, everyone! Keep pace!" my father called from the front of the formation, his powerful form cutting through the forest with practiced ease.

I pushed myself harder, ignoring the trembling in my legs and the fire in my lungs. This was my pack, my home. I wouldn't show weakness, not when rumors already circulated about my inability to handle being an Alpha's mate.

The trees blurred around me as we rounded the eastern border of our territory. That's when I saw him—Ethan, running at the head of his own pack, his midnight-black wolf powerful and commanding. Our eyes locked for just a moment across the invisible boundary line, and my wolf howled in agony.

My legs buckled beneath me. One moment I was running, the next I was on the ground, my face pressed against the cool earth as pain radiated through my chest. I bit my lip to keep from crying out, tasting blood.

Through tear-blurred vision, I saw Ethan pause. His massive wolf form hesitated, taking half a step in my direction. For a heartbeat, I thought he might cross the boundary, might come to me despite everything.

Then his gaze shifted, noticing the other wolves watching. His posture stiffened, and he deliberately turned away, continuing his run as if he'd seen nothing at all.

The betrayal cut deeper than the rejection itself. Even now, his pride meant more than my pain.

"Olivia." My mother's gentle voice came from beside me as she shifted back to human form, wrapping her cloak around herself. "Let me help you back."

I shook my head, forcing myself to stand despite the trembling in my limbs. "I can finish."

Her eyes, so like my own, filled with worry. "You're pushing yourself too hard."

"I have to," I whispered. "Or they'll think he was right about me."

* * *

Later that afternoon, a young pack member arrived at our den with a message: I was summoned to the healer's cottage immediately. My mother frowned, clearly not having sent for me herself.

"Perhaps Elder Thorne needs assistance," she suggested, though her eyes remained troubled. "Take it slowly, Olivia."

The walk to the healer's cottage at the edge of our territory took longer than it should have. Each step sent jolts of pain through my body, the bond-sickness growing worse rather than better. By the time I pushed open the weathered wooden door, sweat beaded on my forehead despite the cool autumn air.

The scent hit me first—unfamiliar, like pine and mountain air after a storm. Then I saw him.

He stood with his back to me, broad shoulders stretching the fabric of a simple black t-shirt as he bent over a young wolf with a badly torn leg. His hands moved with practiced precision as he stitched the wound closed.

"The muscle will heal," he was saying, his voice deep and steady. "But you'll need to stay off it for at least a week."

"Dr. Reed," Elder Thorne said, noticing my arrival. "This is Olivia Bennett, our Alpha's daughter and our future head healer."

The man turned, and I found myself frozen under the intensity of golden-brown eyes. He was tall—taller than Ethan—with dark hair that curled slightly at his temples and a strong jaw shadowed with stubble. But it was the quiet power radiating from him that made my wolf suddenly alert, her whimpering momentarily silenced.

"Alpha Nathan Reed," he corrected gently, extending a hand toward me. "Of the Black Ridge Pack. I'm consulting on some medical cases with Elder Thorne."

I took his hand, and a jolt of something—not pain, for once—shot up my arm. His eyes widened slightly, and I knew he'd felt it too.

"You're pale," he observed, his professional gaze assessing me. He reached for a cup of water on the nearby table and offered it to me. "Please, sit."

As I took the cup, our fingers brushed again. This time, I caught the slight flare of his nostrils, the momentary flash of amber in his eyes as his wolf surged forward. Something in his expression shifted, becoming more intense, more focused.

He inhaled deeply, and I realized he was breathing in my scent—vanilla and wildflowers, according to my mother. His pupils dilated, and for a moment, he seemed to struggle with himself, his jaw clenching as he took a deliberate step back.

When he spoke again, his voice was softer, almost intimate despite the clinical setting.

"Are you all right, Olivia?"