Rejected by Four Mates: Awakening of the Silver Wolf

Asher

The full moon had always hated me.

Every single month, without exception, it arrived like a curse wrapped in silver light, bringing the same unbearable torment that made me question whether I was truly just a hybrid or something far worse.

The pain never varied in its cruelty. It began as a subtle pressure behind my eyes, a faint ringing in my ears that grew into a violent, skull-splitting headache. Invisible claws seemed to dig deep into my brain, tearing through flesh and bone with relentless precision.

At first it was manageable. A dull throb I could push through with sheer willpower. But it always escalated. The pressure built until it felt like my head would shatter from within. Then came the blackout. I would lose consciousness completely, waking up hours, sometimes entire nights, later with no memory of what I had done. No dreams. No fragments. Just an empty void where time should have been.

For years I convinced myself it was some mysterious illness. A family curse. Perhaps nothing more than overwhelming stress of just existing. But one horrifying pattern eventually became impossible to deny.

After every full moon, Ashriel grew colder toward me.

More distant.

More guarded.

More hateful.

As though each cycle dragged him further away from me, widening the chasm between us until I could barely see the brother I once knew.

No matter how much kindness I offered him, no matter how many times I tried to bridge that growing divide, nothing changed. I treated him like my brother because he was my brother. I defended him when others whispered about his darkness. I cared for him. I included him even when he clearly wanted nothing to do with me.

Yet his resentment only deepened with time.

And honestly... maybe he had every right to hate me.

Our parents had conceived Ashriel for one purpose only... to cure whatever mysterious sickness lived inside my body.

A sickness no one had ever properly explained to me. Sometimes I wondered if it even existed at all, or if it was simply an excuse for their favoritism.

To Ashriel, the reason probably didn’t matter. In his eyes, our parents had always loved me more. Protected me more. Chosen me more.

And perhaps they had.

The thought left a bitter, metallic taste in my mouth that no amount of wine could wash away.

After every full moon, Ashriel would return covered in blood. Never mine, but always his. And somehow, I was always left looking like the guilty one. The monster. The creature that craved his suffering.

But I knew I would never hurt him.

Never.

Even if the entire world accused me. Even if someone offered me power, immortality, or kingdoms beyond imagination in exchange for his life, I would never lay a hand on my brother.

That was why tonight, for the first time, I had made a firm decision.

I would stay far away from Ashriel during the full moon.

If I truly became something dangerous during those blackouts, then I needed answers. And more importantly, I needed to stop this cycle before it destroyed the only brother I had left.

The academy grounds were eerily quiet as I stepped out of the Arbiters’ residential building. The enormous full moon hung overhead like a watchful, judgmental eye, bathing the ancient stone pathways and ivy-covered walls in cold silver light. A biting wind swept through the towering black trees, carrying a strange, oppressive heaviness that made my skin prickle with unease.

The headache had already begun.

A slow, vicious throb pulsed behind my eyes, growing stronger with every passing minute. I exhaled shakily and adjusted the collar of my coat, pulling it tighter against the chill before heading toward the discreet hotel I had secretly arranged outside the academy grounds.

Away from Ashriel.

Away from the Arbiters.

Away from everything.

But then... Nyx.

Her face appeared unbidden in my thoughts... those wide, desperate eyes filled with fear and betrayal. The raw honesty in her voice when she had tried so desperately to tell me the truth. Something deep inside me whispered that she hadn’t been lying.

And that was the problem.

Because Ashriel never lied too.

Not once in all the years I had known him. His word was ironclad.

He despised Irene... everyone knew that. So why would he protect her? Why would he stand there and lie so calmly for her sake?

None of it made sense.

The pieces refused to fit, no matter how many times I turned them over in my mind. The entire situation felt twisted. Wrong. Like reality itself had been subtly altered.

The headache suddenly intensified, a sharp lance of pain stabbing through my skull hard enough to make me stagger. I pressed a hand against my temple, breathing through the agony.

"Fuck..." I muttered under my breath, voice rough with strain.

For reasons I couldn’t explain, my feet slowed as I neared Irene’s private apartment building. Curiosity? Instinct? Or something darker pulling me toward the unfolding chaos?

I wasn’t sure.

But the moment I lifted my gaze toward the moonlit courtyard, my entire body froze.

A hooded figure stood beneath the silver light with one hand wrapped tightly around Irene’s throat, holding her aloft as if she weighed nothing at all.

Irene’s feet dangled helplessly, her hands clawing desperately at the stranger’s wrist. Her face had gone deathly pale, red eyes glowing with a mixture of rage and raw panic.

And the figure holding her...

Everything about it felt deeply and fundamentally wrong.

The air itself seemed to bend and distort around the being. Dark fabric flowed unnaturally despite the still night, embroidered with faint silver runes that shimmered like living things. Beneath the deep hood, two glowing eyes shifted between crimson and molten gold... ancient, emotionless, and overflowing with quiet violence.

My instincts screamed at me to run.

"Let go of her," I said sharply, my voice cutting through the night with more authority than I felt.

The figure’s head turned toward me slowly.

Then, without warning, it hurled Irene directly at me.

I barely had time to brace myself before her body slammed hard into mine, sending both of us crashing violently onto the cold stone ground. Pain exploded through my shoulder, but anger flared hotter inside my chest, not for Irene, but for the casual disrespect this stranger showed us both.

I shoved Irene aside and rose to my feet, muscles coiled and ready. The hooded figure remained perfectly still several feet away, watching me in silence.

Then it vanished.

My eyes widened.

Fast.... Too fast.

A blur of living darkness moved around me with terrifying speed, impossible to track fully even with my enhanced senses. A sharp gust of air brushed past my side. I spun... nothing. Another flicker behind me. Above. Beside me. Like being hunted by a vengeful ghost.

I clenched my jaw and forced calm into my racing thoughts. Panic would only get me killed. I needed to observe. Predict. Wait.

The figure struck again....

This time I caught its wrist.

Cold skin. Surprisingly soft.

For one suspended second, silence stretched between us.

Then the figure laughed softly... beautiful, haunting, and almost amused.

My brows furrowed. Was she... playing with me?

"Who are you?" I asked carefully, tightening my grip while keeping my voice steady and measured.

The hood tilted slightly. "I don’t like repeating myself," she replied. Her voice was melodic and hauntingly empty, like wind through an ancient graveyard.

Suddenly, a blade materialized in her other hand.

My blood ran cold.

Twin blades. Sleek dark handles with silver metal engraved in glowing runes.

I knew those weapons.

I had personally given those exact twin blades to Nyx.

But this... this couldn’t be her.

No. It wasn’t possible.

The figure raised the blade toward my throat...

Then...

Mate.

The word exploded violently inside my mind like a primal command. Not heard... felt. Ancient. Possessive. Overwhelming.

My breath caught.

At the same moment, the hooded figure froze.

Just for one heartbeat.

It was enough.

I reacted on instinct, drawing the small pocket knife I always kept hidden beneath my sleeve and slashing toward her with precision. She twisted away with inhuman speed, but not fast enough to avoid the blade entirely.

It sliced across her shoulder.

Blood welled up... warm, dark, and far too sweet when a few drops landed on my lips.

The taste hit me like lightning.

Sweet. Addictively, dangerously sweet.

A violent, terrifying hunger surged through my body so suddenly it left me horrified. I wanted more. Craved it with a desperation that made my hands tremble.

What the hell was wrong with me?

Before I could process the monstrous impulse, the figure struck the side of my neck with brutal efficiency.

Pain detonated through my skull.

My vision blurred violently.

My legs buckled.

As I collapsed, the last thing I saw was the hooded figure kneeling gracefully beside me, moonlight haloing her dark silhouette like a fallen goddess. Her fingers brushed lightly against my jaw in an almost tender gesture.

"You may call me Azura, mate," she whispered softly, her voice wrapping around the word like a vow and a curse at once.

Mate.

The word echoed through my fading consciousness.

Then darkness swallowed me completely.

"Azura..." I muttered weakly as unconsciousness dragged me under. "The Goddess of Vengeance..."