Rejected By My Mate; Claimed By Lycan Quadruplets Chapter 13

Ash's pov

I peeled off the dark coat the moment I stepped into my room, letting it drop over the edge of the sofa without a second thought. The scent of wolves and political tension still clung to the fabric. Everything about that hall had been too loud, too performative—too fake. But I supposed that was the world we lived in.

The water in the bathroom was already drawn—lukewarm, as I preferred. Quiet steam rose into the air. I stripped off the last of the day’s weight, stepping under the stream without hesitation.

The water hit my skin like clarity.

I tilted my head forward, resting one palm on the tiled wall. The image of her wouldn’t leave my mind. Lisa. Fragile. Bruised. Eyes that looked like they'd stopped expecting kindness.

I exhaled sharply through my nose.

She didn’t complain. Didn’t ask questions. Just followed—like a scolded pup trained not to resist.

Not anymore.

I washed quickly and efficiently, not out of haste but habit. I didn’t like lingering when I had things to do, and tonight felt like it was just beginning. After drying off, I tossed on a black shirt and ran a hand through my damp hair, slicking it back.

As I stepped into the hallway, I spotted Calla closing the door to one of the guest rooms. She straightened at the sight of me.

“Beta,” she greeted softly.

“Calla,” I returned with a small nod, pulling a small bottle from my pocket. “This is for her.”

She took it gently with both hands, inspecting the tonic with a nurse’s familiarity.

“She won’t ask for anything,” I muttered. “But she needs it. Make sure she eats first.”

“I already prepared something light,” she replied, her eyes softening. “I’ll give it to her now.”

“Good.” I gave a small nod before turning away.

Back to my quarters for the last few touches—wrist wraps, gloves, and the usual post-formal wind-down kit. I slid my boots on tighter this time, anticipating the way Kael would be swinging tonight.

A short walk down the west wing, a left turn, and I could already hear the rhythmic thumps of fists on flesh and boots against padded mats.

The training hall was alive.

Gamma Kael and Delta Atlas were circling each other, half-shirtless and already drenched in sweat, their growls low but playful. They looked like they’d been at it for a while—neither backing down.

Kael darted first, going low, but Atlas twisted his body and locked him in a shoulder hold that would’ve made any warrior proud. The smack of skin against mat echoed through the room as Kael flipped him over at the last second, landing like a damn panther.

“Still slow,” Kael smirked, wiping sweat from his brow.

“Says the one who got his ribs cracked last time,” Atlas snapped back, baring his teeth in a cocky grin.

I leaned against the entrance, arms folded.

“Are we sparring or flirting?” I called out, my voice calm but sharp.

Both heads whipped toward me in unison.

“Ash,” they chorused, identical smirks flashing across their faces.

Kael, ever the show-off, flipped onto his feet like a gymnast. “Took you long enough. We thought the banquet turned you soft.”

Atlas rolled his shoulders. “Or maybe he finally let Enzo drag him into politics.”

“Unlikely,” I muttered, stepping onto the mat and pulling my gloves tighter. “Let’s see who’s soft.”

They both cracked their necks.

Challenge accepted.

No more words were needed.

We didn’t need loud cheers or dramatic build-up. This was our language—blood, sweat, discipline. The four of us had trained together since we could walk. We were brothers, not just in name or rank, but in the very beat of our wolves.

And tonight, I needed the distraction.

The scent of blood was easier to understand than the weight of pity in a woman’s silence.

I lunged first.

Let the world fade.

Fists flew. Elbows cracked. Sweat soaked the mats.

Kael came at me fast with a right hook that would’ve shattered most jaws, but I ducked under, sweeping low and kicking his legs out from under him. He hit the floor with a grunt and a thud, rolling quickly to his feet, his grin wide and bloody.

“You’ve been holding back,” he breathed, chest heaving.

“I was trying to be polite,” I muttered, adjusting my stance.

From the side, Atlas wiped a towel across his neck. “Polite? Since when did Ash grow a conscience?”

“I think it came with the fancy tonic bottles and soft eyes at injured omegas,” Kael taunted, still circling.

I didn’t respond. Not verbally. I simply charged him.

The impact cracked through the training hall, our bodies colliding mid-air like thunder against steel. I grabbed his wrist, twisted hard, and forced him down until his back met the mat again.

“Still slow,” I muttered under my breath.

“Still full of it,” Kael hissed through gritted teeth.

Atlas chuckled from the sidelines. “I miss the days we beat each other senseless and didn't bring girls into it.”

The door creaked open again.

Speak of the devil.

Alpha Enzo strolled in, sleeves rolled, his jaw clenched in that calm, unreadable way he always wore when sizing up a battlefield—or a negotiation table.

“Well, if it isn’t the Great Wolf himself,” Atlas called out, tossing a towel at his face. “Tell me, brother—did you come to sweat or just to look broody and mysterious?”

Enzo caught the towel mid-air and threw it back lazily. “I came to make sure you weren’t embarrassing the pack.”

“We never do,” Kael quipped, massaging his jaw. “Though your Beta’s been particularly moody today. Might have something to do with the girl.”

Enzo’s eyes shifted to me momentarily but didn’t hold. Instead, he walked over to the edge of the mat, cracking his knuckles slowly.

“Here we go,” Atlas teased, slapping his hand over his heart like he was about to witness a romantic confession. “The almighty Alpha’s about to admit he brought home a mistress.”

Enzo gave a slow smirk, lowering himself into a stretch. “It’s not like that.”

Kael raised a brow. “Then what’s it like?”

Enzo stood, rolling his shoulders. “I pitied her. That’s all.”

“Pity strong enough to drop a few stacks of cash and start a bidding war with Baron?” Atlas asked, grinning ear to ear.

Enzo didn’t answer right away. He simply took position on the mat, nodding once in my direction. “Ash. You and me.”

I stepped forward without hesitation, falling into stance.

We circled each other for a beat, then moved.

Enzo was faster than Kael and sharper than Atlas. His hits were calculated—less brute force, more surgical precision. He didn’t fight to win. He fought to dominate. To teach.

A few blows landed. One cracked against my ribs. I retaliated with a knee to his side. The exchange was fast and unrelenting. Nothing held back.

“I didn’t bring her here to stir drama,” Enzo said between hits.

“I don’t care,” I muttered, aiming a punch that he dodged.

“She looked like she was about to drop dead,” he continued.

“She still might.”

He paused for half a breath, long enough for me to slam a punch into his shoulder.

“Then it’s better she dies in a place where no one’s hurting her.”

The room went quiet for a split second.

Enzo stepped back, wiped the sweat from his brow, and gave a curt nod. “Again.”

And we continued.

We didn’t talk about her again.

Not because it wasn’t on our minds.

But because sometimes, silence is louder than words.