Rejected By My Mate; Claimed By Lycan Quadruplets Chapter 114

Third person POV

The sun had barely risen when the Rowland estate stirred with unusual activity. Servants moved quickly, their footsteps echoing through the vast stone corridors as they prepared for the Alpha’s departure. Alpha Rowland himself stood before his mirror, adjusting the deep navy coat that bore the silver insignia of his family’s crest: a howling wolf under the crescent moon. His thick beard was neatly trimmed, though the streaks of gray that threaded through it reminded him of the many winters he had weathered. His reflection looked formidable, stern, a leader who commanded respect. But beneath his hardened expression lay a quiet weight—a man calculating the risks of what lay ahead.

Today, he would leave his territory to meet Alpha Enzo face-to-face.

Rowland had been told countless times to send emissaries, to let his Beta handle negotiations. But Rowland was not a man who hid behind others. He believed in dominance, in showing strength not through words delivered by messengers but by his own presence. He would look Enzo in the eye, weigh the young Alpha’s character for himself, and secure the alliance that his pack desperately needed in the shifting tides of power.

The news of rogues growing restless at the borders, whispers of betrayals and bloodshed, and Enzo’s rising reputation as a wolf feared and respected across the regions—all of it gnawed at Rowland’s pride. He would not be seen as lesser, nor would his pack fall behind in strength. If securing Enzo’s alliance meant riding into his land himself, then so be it.

“Father.”

The voice of Irene, his daughter, came from the doorway. She stood there in her silk night robe, her hair cascading loosely around her shoulders, her expression still pale from the fury she’d carried the day before. Her eyes were red-rimmed, though whether from lack of sleep or from tears, Rowland couldn’t tell. She looked at him with a mix of pleading and anger.

“You’re really going?” she asked, her tone sharp. “After everything—after Lisa humiliated me, after Enzo allowed it—you’re still planning to grovel before him for an alliance?”

Rowland turned slowly, his cold gaze silencing her for a heartbeat.

“This is not about humiliation, Irene,” he said, his voice even but firm. “This is about survival. Our pack cannot stand alone forever. Enzo’s strength grows every day, and others are already bending to his influence. If we do not secure our place, we will be trampled when the storm comes.”

Her fists clenched at her sides. “And what about me? Do my feelings mean nothing to you? That man’s people—his woman—mocked me, disrespected me. And you would still go crawling to him?”

Rowland inhaled sharply, controlling his temper. “You are my daughter, Irene, and you will always matter to me. But there are times when an Alpha must think beyond pride and wounds. You may hate Lisa, you may despise Enzo, but our pack’s future does not revolve around your grudges.”

Her lips trembled, fury radiating from her like a storm about to break. “Then what about Bryan?” she demanded. “Do you expect him to stand by while you hand me over in an alliance deal like some bargaining chip? Do you care for nothing but power?”

Rowland’s jaw tightened, his silence saying more than words. Irene let out a harsh laugh, bitter and sharp.

“Of course,” she muttered. “All that matters to you is your legacy. I hope Enzo devours you.”

She spun on her heel, slamming the door as she stormed away.

Rowland stood still for a moment, his chest rising and falling heavily, before turning back to his mirror. He did not allow himself the luxury of doubt. Whatever his daughter thought of him, whatever her wounded pride screamed, he knew what he had to do.

---

By midmorning, the estate courtyard bustled with preparations. Rowland’s warriors gathered in formation, each dressed in black leather armor reinforced with steel at the shoulders and forearms. The horses had been saddled, strong beasts bred for endurance and speed. The banners of Rowland’s pack, dark blue trimmed with silver, fluttered in the wind.

Rowland descended the stone steps, his Beta, Caldwell, trailing behind him. Caldwell was a broad-shouldered wolf with scars that mapped his arms and face—each one a testament to battles survived. He adjusted his gauntlets and leaned closer to his Alpha.

“Are you certain about traveling personally, Rowland? These are dangerous times. The rogues have been restless—there were reports just yesterday of an ambush near the eastern woods.”

Rowland swung into his saddle with practiced ease. “And that is precisely why I go myself. Enzo must see that I am not afraid, that I am not some weakling hiding behind messengers. If rogues cross our path, we will cut them down. My presence will remind Enzo that we are not to be underestimated.”

Caldwell’s eyes flickered with unease, but he said nothing more, mounting his horse beside him. The rest of the party—fifteen warriors strong—took their places, forming a protective ring around their Alpha as the gates creaked open.

The journey began under a cloudless sky, the crisp air filled with the scent of pine and distant rain. The road wound through dense forests, the canopy above dappling sunlight across their path. For a time, the ride was quiet, the steady beat of hooves against dirt and stone the only sound.

Rowland kept his back straight, his gaze sharp as he surveyed the woods around them. He could feel it—the tension in the air, the restless stir of something watching. His instincts, honed over decades of leading, told him danger lurked nearby.

But he pressed on. He would not turn back, not when so much depended on this journey.

---

Hours passed. The forest grew thicker, shadows lengthening as clouds drifted across the sun. The silence became heavier, too heavy, and Rowland’s warriors shifted uneasily in their saddles.

It began with a rustle.

Rowland’s hand went to the hilt of his sword instantly, his eyes scanning the trees. The horses snorted, stamping nervously.

Then came the howl.

Low, guttural, and chilling, it rolled through the forest like a promise of death. More howls followed, weaving together into a chorus that raised the hairs on the back of every neck.

“Form up!” Rowland barked, his voice commanding.

The warriors moved quickly, dismounting and drawing their weapons, forming a protective circle around their Alpha. Caldwell drew his axe, eyes darting between the trees.

Shadows flickered. Figures emerged from the underbrush, eyes gleaming yellow in the dim light. Rogues. Dozens of them. Their snarls filled the air as they crept forward, their bodies lean but powerful, scars marring their skin.

Rowland’s grip tightened on his sword. “Hold the line!”

The first wave came like a storm. Snarls and roars clashed with the ring of steel as the rogues hurled themselves at Rowland’s warriors. The air filled with the stench of blood and sweat, the clash of claws against blades.

Rowland fought with the strength of a seasoned Alpha, his sword cutting down one rogue after another. His movements were precise, brutal, each swing fueled by decades of command. He felt claws rake across his arm but ignored the sting, driving his blade through an attacker’s chest.

But the rogues were endless. For every one that fell, two more seemed to take its place. Caldwell fought fiercely at his side, his axe cleaving through bone, but even he was beginning to falter under the sheer numbers.

“Alpha!” one warrior cried before a rogue’s jaws clamped around his throat, silencing him in a spray of crimson.

Rowland’s heart pounded, rage surging as he cut down the beast, but his warriors were falling fast. The forest floor was slick with blood, bodies strewn across the earth.

Then Rowland saw it—among the chaos, a larger rogue, towering above the rest, its eyes glowing a sickly red. Its growl was deeper, darker, its presence radiating unnatural strength. This was no ordinary rogue. This was their leader.

The creature locked eyes with Rowland and lunged.

Their clash shook the ground. Rowland swung his sword, the steel biting into flesh, but the beast’s claws tore across his chest, sending him stumbling back. Pain burned through him, but he refused to fall. He roared, channeling every ounce of his strength into his counterattack.

For a moment, it seemed he might overpower it. His blade sank deep, and the beast howled in fury. But the rogues swarmed, dragging him down, clawing, biting.

Caldwell fought to reach him, cutting through the mob with desperation. “Alpha!” he shouted, blood spraying as his axe split a rogue’s skull.

But Rowland was already overwhelmed. The leader’s jaws closed around his shoulder, bone crunching under its bite. He roared in agony, driving his sword upward into its throat. The beast collapsed, choking on its own blood—but the victory was hollow.

The rogues descended, a frenzy of claws and teeth.

Rowland fought to the last breath, his sword slick with blood, his body shredded and torn. He thought of Irene, of Bryan, of the pack he would never see again. He thought of the alliance he would never secure.

And then the world went black as the rogues butchered him, their howls echoing through the forest like a dirge for the fallen Alpha.

---

By the time the forest grew quiet again, the ground was painted red, and the once-proud Alpha Rowland lay lifeless among the dead, his silver crest torn and broken beside him.