Page 13 of Scarred Savages
“Please understand,” Conrad insists. “I can’t have people’s first thought be pity when they see my mate.”
“Understand?” My voice quakes. “Sure, I totally get it. Society’s scoreboard is more important than what’s real. Bravo, Conrad. You’re a true politician in the making.”
For a moment, something flickers across his face; uncertainty, maybe even regret. His mouth opens like he might say something else, take it back, or choose differently.
But then his jaw hardens with resolve.
“I’m sorry, Luna, but I, Conrad Clawford the Third, reject the match,” he says, and it feels like a shard of ice is plunged into my heart.
Something vital tears away inside me, and my wolf keens in pure agony.
MATE. HURT. WHY?
She doesn’t understand rejection, doesn’t understand conditional love. For her, mates love unconditionally.
He straightens, turning away.
“No,” I say, louder than the murmurs and the click of countless cameras capturing my ruin.
Conrad hesitates. “No?”
“That’s right,” I step forward, anger coiling in my veins. “I, Luna Woods, reject you. You’re a coward. I wouldn’t have blinked twice if you had been scarred, crippled, or even didn’t have legs. I would’ve been there for my scent match. I would’ve loved you as you are.” I lift my chin. “You don’t deserve my love, loyalty, or respect. I reject you.”
The rejection stings, its venom seeping through my veins, cold and unrelenting. Turning on my heel, I take a step, but the physical pain is so intense, bile rising in my throat, that I double over, falling to my knees.
This is what dying feels like.
The intake of breath from the crowd is audible as I collapse on the floor, followed by murmurs and giggles from a cluster of females near the refreshment table. Marcy’s voice cuts through clearly. “Pathetic.”
“This is going straight to InstaShifter,” a male voice says gleefully.
“Someone help her up,” another voice says, but no one moves.
It takes everything to get up. My legs shake as I force myself to stand and stride out of the grand ballroom with my head held high, even as more laughter follows me. Each step feels like tearing myself in two, but I refuse to look back.
As soon as I am out of sight, I sprint to my room. A desperate whine escapes me, embarrassingly loud. Years of burying myemotions, of never letting anyone see how badly I’m hurt, collapse in an instant.
I have no strength left.
I fling myself onto the floor, slamming the door behind me. Tears come unchecked, my body trembling with sobs I’ve held in for far too long—anger, heartbreak, shame.
How could I have been so naive? For one fleeting moment, I believed a scent match might transcend appearances. That Conrad would be different. But he’s just like everyone else—measuring me by my scars and nothing more.
I should’ve known it was too good to be true.
Handsome, charming Conrad wanting someone as damaged as me? Pure fantasy. And now my heart lies shattered like shards of glass.
I peel the swimsuit off, letting it fall to the floor. My scars stare back at me, each one a reminder of why I’m never chosen.
Scarred. Unlovable. Repulsive.
I catch my reflection in the small mirror across the room. The girl staring back at me looks hollow, a face streaked with tears and mascara. She looks like she’s been broken one too many times.
“Why?” I whisper, my voice cracking. “Why does nobody ever want me?”
Not even my scent match could bear to be with me. Am I truly so abhorrent?
My wolf stirs within me, confused and hurt. She doesn’t understand why our mate rejected us. She felt the connection; the pull was real. But now she’s retreating, shrinking back into that dark corner where she’s hidden for years.
