Rejected By My Mate; Claimed By Lycan Quadruplets Chapter 117

Third person POV

The night air over Enzo’s pack lands was heavy, a restless hush drifting through the streets, carried by the whispers of warriors and omegas alike. Rumors spread faster than wildfire—the news of Alpha Rowland’s death had reached even the youngest pup’s ears. The elders had demanded clarity, the warriors demanded preparation, and the entire pack needed reassurance. It was in this fraught atmosphere that Enzo called for an emergency pack meeting.

The council hall, an expansive stone structure carved with generations of history, was already overflowing with bodies before Enzo arrived. Warriors stood shoulder to shoulder, their faces tense, jaws clenched in suspicion or grief. Mothers with their children pressed near the back, watching with wide eyes, as though the announcement tonight could change the shape of their lives forever.

When Enzo entered, flanked by Ash, silence rolled through the space like a crashing tide. He stood tall, regal in posture though his heart thundered with a weight he could not outwardly show. Ash followed a step behind, scanning the room with sharp eyes that missed nothing.

Enzo’s gaze swept the hall. He saw loyalty there—faces he had trained, warriors who had bled for him—but he also saw doubt. Already whispers had spread that Alpha Rowland’s death was too closely tied to him. That Rowland’s journey had been meant for their pack. That perhaps, if not for the alliance talks, Rowland would still be alive.

He cleared his throat and his voice rang out, strong and measured. “Brothers. Sisters. Tonight, we gather not only as a pack, but as a family united by purpose. I will not hide from you what the world already whispers. Alpha Rowland of the Silverfang Pack has fallen, ambushed on his way here to meet with us.”

A murmur rippled through the crowd, voices rising, harsh and raw. “Ambushed?” someone shouted. “By who?” Another growled, “Why was he even coming here?” The tension boiled until Ash raised a hand and snapped, “Silence! Let your Alpha speak!”

The room stilled.

Enzo’s jaw tightened, but he pressed on. “His death is a tragedy, one that touches every pack in this region. He sought to speak with me on matters of alliance, a future we were both cautious of yet willing to discuss. But the rogues struck him down before he could reach our gates. Whatever message he carried has been silenced.” He paused, allowing the truth of that to settle over them. “We cannot undo what has happened. But we can ensure we are not the next to fall.”

An older warrior, his hair streaked with silver, stepped forward. “Are we safe, Alpha? If the rogues dared to butcher Rowland on the open roads, what is to stop them from striking here?”

Enzo’s voice deepened, authoritative. “Nothing—unless we prepare. Ash and I have tightened our patrol lines. Scouts are already combing the forests for signs of movement. No rogue will breach these walls without meeting steel and claw. But make no mistake—Rowland’s death is a warning to us all. The rogues grow bold, and we must be bolder still.”

His words rippled through the hall, steadying nerves, kindling the ember of confidence. But then another voice rose—sharp, female, filled with suspicion. “And what of Rowland’s daughter? What will the Silverfangs believe when they learn he was on his way here? Will they not lay the blame at your feet?”

A heavy silence followed, eyes snapping back to Enzo. It was the question many had been thinking but dared not voice.

Enzo’s jaw flexed, his expression unreadable. “They may suspect. They may accuse. But truth remains: I had no hand in Rowland’s death. We will mourn him, as allies do. We will honor his memory at his funeral. Ash and I will go to Silverfang territory to pay our respects.” His gaze sharpened, burning into those who doubted. “Our pack will not cower from false rumors. We will face them head on, with dignity.”

Ash stepped forward then, his deep voice carrying a different kind of strength. “You all know our Alpha. He does not shy from battle, nor does he stoop to cowardly schemes. If Rowland fell, it was by rogue hands, not Enzo’s. Spread that truth, hold it in your hearts. Let none among us weaken the unity of this pack with foolish doubts.”

The words calmed the room, though unease still lingered in some faces. Enzo knew it would take more than speeches to erase suspicion. Still, he gave them what they needed: firm direction. The meeting continued with assignments—extra patrols along the southern borders, warriors stationed at the river crossing, scouts rotated every few hours instead of every twelve. Orders fell like hammer strikes, and the warriors accepted them with solemn nods.

When at last the meeting adjourned, Enzo lingered at the front of the hall, speaking quietly with his commanders. Ash came to his side. “They’ll settle,” Ash murmured, though his eyes carried doubt.

“They’ll settle,” Enzo repeated softly, but his gaze remained hard. He knew suspicion was a weed—it grew in silence, spread in whispers, and once rooted, was near impossible to pull out.

By dawn, the pack bustled with preparations. Ash had already arranged their departure. A small honor guard of trusted warriors would accompany them to Rowland’s funeral. The journey itself would be perilous; rogues had been bold enough to ambush one Alpha, and there was no guarantee they wouldn’t strike again.

Enzo stood in his chambers as the first light filtered through, adjusting the ceremonial cloak clasped at his shoulder. Black fabric embroidered with silver thread, a mark of respect for the fallen. His reflection in the polished steel mirror stared back at him, sharp eyes shadowed by grim determination.

Ash entered, armored in dark leather, his blades strapped at his sides. “The guard is ready,” he said.

Enzo gave a curt nod. “Then we ride.”

---

The journey to Silverfang lands was long, the air tense with unspoken danger. Warriors moved in tight formation around Enzo and Ash, their senses on high alert. Every rustle of branches, every crack of twig, had them baring teeth, but the rogues did not show themselves. It was as though the forest itself held its breath, watching.

When at last they arrived at the Silverfang pack, the mourning cries could already be heard. The air was thick with the smell of incense and grief. Black banners draped the walls, fluttering in the cool breeze. Wolves gathered in clusters, their faces etched with sorrow, others with rage.

The funeral ceremony was held in the great courtyard. A pyre had been built in the center, Rowland’s body laid upon it, draped in his pack’s colors. His daughter, Irene, stood at the forefront, her face pale, eyes hollow from grief. Beside her, elders of the Silverfang pack stood with solemn expressions, their gazes flicking toward Enzo the moment he entered.

The murmurs began immediately. “That’s him.” “Enzo came.” “Does he dare show his face here?” The words were not subtle; they were meant for him to hear.

Enzo’s steps did not falter, though the weight of their suspicion pressed heavily. He moved with the bearing of an Alpha who would not bow to whispers. Ash walked at his side, his hand resting near his blade, ready for anything.

One of the Silverfang elders approached, a gaunt man with sharp cheekbones and a voice like gravel. “Alpha Enzo,” he said coldly. “We thank you for coming to honor Rowland… though many among us wonder if it is honor you bring, or guilt you hide.”

The crowd stirred, a ripple of agreement and accusation.

Enzo’s eyes narrowed, but his voice was steady. “I bring respect. Rowland was a leader, a father, a warrior. His death diminishes us all. I did not strike him down. But I will stand here, in the open, and face your questions rather than cower behind walls.”

The elder sneered but stepped aside, allowing him passage. Enzo and Ash moved closer to the pyre, bowing their heads in respect. The ceremony began—chants of mourning rising, flames licking at the edges of the pyre. Smoke curled upward, carrying Rowland’s spirit to the skies.

Yet even as the fire burned, Enzo felt the eyes on him. Not all saw him as an ally. Some saw him as the shadow behind Rowland’s death. And in their hearts, suspicion had already begun to take root.