After One Slap, I Rejected My Alpha Heir

When Rowan Nightshade’s hand struck my face, I did not understand what had happened at first.

The sound cracked through the training corridor of Silvermoon Federal Academy. My body tipped to the side, my teeth aching from the force, and for a few seconds all I heard was a dull ringing in my ears. My left cheek went numb, then burned as if molten silver had been poured over it.

I covered my face and looked up at him.

Rowan Nightshade, heir of the Shadowfang Pack, had slapped me in front of more than a dozen students because I had argued with a transfer girl.

My name was Serena Mooncrest, daughter of Moonvale’s Alpha. Shadowfang and Moonvale had been allies for generations, and our families had treated Rowan and me as future mates since childhood. Everyone at school knew it. That was why the silence after the slap felt worse than the pain.

Rowan’s hand still hung in the air. For a second, he looked stunned too, but the shock quickly disappeared beneath impatience.

“Are you done making a scene, Serena Mooncrest? Go back to your seat.”

Low snickers spread through the corridor. Most people stayed quiet, watching as if this was a show they had expected for a long time.

Felicity Moore stood beside him, twisting one of her silver-gray curls around her finger. It was the mark of an old pureblood line, and she never missed a chance to show it off.

“Easy, Rowan,” she said, her smile barely hidden. “Your little princess looks like she’s about to cry.”

Rowan’s voice turned colder.

“If you want to cry, go back to your territory and do it there. This is an academy, not a stage for you to act like a wounded saint.”

My vision blurred before I even realized I was crying. With the boys laughing behind me, I turned and ran out.

Rowan had never been patient with me. I knew that better than anyone. But this was the first time he had ever hit me.

It was the first time anyone had ever hit me.

Rowan and I had known each other since we were three. His father and mine were longtime allies, and our packs had a tradition of intermarriage. We lived across the same stone road, close enough that I could see his window from mine.

I had loved him since I was six.

Back in elementary school, a boy from the pack used to pick on me. He pulled my hair, stuffed thorns into my seat, and threw my training wrist guards into the mud.

When I told our instructor, she scolded him, then smiled at me.

“Don’t take it to heart, Serena. He probably just likes you and doesn’t know how to show it.”

I did not believe her. The boy did not stop.

When my father found out, he nearly went straight to the boy’s parents. Rowan’s father happened to be visiting Moonvale territory that day. After hearing what happened, he called Rowan over.

“Protect her at school from now on.”

Rowan was already taller than me and always looked one second away from starting a fight. The next day, he walked into my classroom, dragged the boy out of his seat, and beat him up in front of everyone.

Before leaving, he looked around the room.

“If anyone touches Serena again, try me.”

That was the day I fell for him.

After that, I became his shadow. Wherever he went, I followed: the training field, dining hall, moonlit woods, and border patrol path.

Rowan hated it at first. He was an Alpha heir to the bone and thought being followed around by a soft, delicate girl made him look weak. But I refused to give up. I kept chasing after him, calling his name like a little wolf cub he could never shake off.

After a few years, he softened.

He stopped pushing me away as often. Sometimes I caught him looking at me, and he would turn away as if burned by moonlight, the tips of his ears faintly red.

Once, his father said, “Since the children are this close, why don’t we follow the old pack tradition and settle it officially?”

Rowan did not answer, but he held my hand tightly.

I thought I might burst from happiness.

“Yes,” I said loudly. “I want to be Rowan’s mate.”

Then high school started at Silvermoon Federal Academy, and everything changed.

At the end of our first semester, a transfer student joined our class.

Her name was Felicity Moore. She came from a small southern pack, with excellent grades, a striking face, and silver-gray curls.

On her first day, she stood before the class and smiled at the instructor.

“It’s natural,” she said. “A mark of an old Alpha bloodline.”

Then she scanned the classroom. When her eyes landed on me, she stopped.

“Oh wow. Seriously?” She covered her mouth, laughing. “Where did this Moon Goddess priestess come from? White from head to toe? God, we’re in high school. Are you cosplaying a pack ritual?”

Several boys laughed.

Someone muttered, “She really does look like she’s heading to a Moon Ceremony.”

Felicity tilted her head.

“What’s next? Are you going to paint a moon on your forehead?”

The laughter grew louder.

I sat there gripping the edge of my uniform until my nails dug into my palm.