Rejected By My Mate; Claimed By Lycan Quadruplets Chapter 92

Bryan's POV

I slammed the door behind me as I entered the room I shared with Irene, my chest tight with the frustration I’d been bottling up since the council session ended. My fingers itched, and my jaw clenched so hard I could feel the veins pulsing in my temples.

She walked in a moment later, her perfume drifting into the space like she owned it, her heels clicking against the polished floor. She didn’t say anything at first, just tossed her hair behind her shoulder with that smug little smile I was starting to despise.

I turned on her before she could even settle down.

“I know what you’re doing,” I said sharply, my voice low but thick with anger.

Her brows arched like she was surprised, but the corners of her lips twitched as though she’d been expecting me to finally snap. “What do you mean, Bryan?” she asked, her tone dripping with feigned innocence.

I took a step toward her, eyes narrowing. “Don’t play dumb with me. You’ve been pulling that little act in front of Alpha Baron, pretending to be the perfect mate, the loving wife, clinging to me as though I’m yours to parade. But let me make this clear—two can play that game.”

She blinked, her expression shifting, though I caught the flicker of amusement she tried to hide.

“Bryan—” she started.

I cut her off with a bitter laugh. “No. You think you’re smart, right? You think your games can make me bend? Careful, Irene. Be very careful. Because if you’re not, you’ll end up lost in your own game before you even realize it.”

The air between us was taut, charged with unspoken war. For a moment, she just stared at me, her lips parting slightly as if she wanted to retort, but I didn’t give her the chance. I was already done with her.

I walked to the wardrobe, yanked it open, and pulled out a clean shirt and black jeans. I changed out of the suffocating council clothes quickly, my movements sharp and irritated. Every time I pulled a sleeve or adjusted the fabric, I did it like I was dragging away the irritation of the day.

Irene stood there watching me, her arms folded across her chest now, her eyes tracking every movement I made.

“Where are you going?” she finally asked.

“Out,” I muttered flatly, tugging my wristwatch on.

“Out? Bryan, it’s late—”

“I wasn’t asking your permission, Irene,” I snapped, slipping my phone into my pocket. I brushed past her, my shoulder bumping hers just hard enough to remind her I wasn’t in the mood.

I walked out of the room without another word.

The hallways were quiet, most of the pack members already tucked into their spaces or busy with duties I didn’t care about. My boots echoed against the wooden floor, and with every step, I felt the pressure in my chest lighten a little. I just needed air, needed to be away from her, away from the stifling façade.

As I reached the stairs, a voice stopped me.

“Bryan!”

I turned with a grunt. Beta Henry was walking briskly toward me, his usual calm expression tinged with worry. He was always too loyal for his own good.

“Where are you going?” he asked, his eyes scanning my outfit like he already knew the answer.

“Out,” I repeated, stepping down another stair.

Henry frowned. “Out where? You’re married now, Bryan. You can’t just—”

I stopped abruptly, turned on him, and glared. My voice dropped into a sharp growl. “Do you want to pay a quick visit to the Moon Goddess tonight, Henry?”

He froze, his eyes widening.

I stepped closer, closing the gap between us, and my tone was cold as ice. “If not, then I suggest you get out of my way.”

His jaw tightened, but he didn’t move at first. His loyalty was always to duty, to Alpha Baron, to the structure of the pack. But I could see the flicker of uncertainty in his gaze.

“Bryan,” he said softly, “I’m only trying to look out for you. You know what this will look like—”

“Save it,” I spat, brushing past him. “I didn’t ask you to play watchdog. I said move.”

Henry exhaled, his shoulders sagging as he finally stepped aside. He muttered something under his breath, but I didn’t bother to catch it. My mind was already on where I was headed.

I pulled out my phone as I stepped into the cool night air outside the pack house. The sky was a dark velvet, stars scattered across it, and the faint glow of the moon peeked from behind a cloud. I dialed a familiar number.

The line barely rang once before a voice picked up.

“Bryan,” a friend of mine drawled, amusement laced in his tone. “What’s up?”

“Meet me at the usual spot,” I said curtly.

“Now?”

“Yes. Now. Call the others.”

I hung up before he could ask more questions. I shoved the phone back into my pocket, inhaled deeply, and started walking.

The path to the outskirts of the pack territory was quiet, the trees whispering in the breeze as I passed. My head was pounding with leftover anger, but with every step, I felt the anticipation of release building. I needed the burn of liquor down my throat, the sound of laughter that wasn’t forced, the freedom of being away from the pack politics and Irene’s suffocating games.

By the time I reached the bar—our usual drinking spot tucked away on neutral ground—I could already hear the faint hum of voices and music leaking out. The wooden structure wasn’t anything fancy, but it was ours, a place where formality didn’t exist and where I could just breathe.

I pushed open the door, and immediately the familiar smell of alcohol and smoke hit me. My friends were already gathered at the corner booth, bottles lined up on the table, laughter echoing as though they hadn’t a care in the world.

“Bryan!” one of them called, raising a glass in greeting.

I walked over, sliding into the seat with a grunt. “Took you all long enough,” I muttered.

“You called us five minutes ago,” another friend chuckled.

I grabbed the nearest bottle, poured myself a drink, and downed it in one go. The burn spread through my chest, exactly what I needed.

“Rough day?” one of them asked.

I let out a bitter laugh. “You could say that.”

And just like that, the night began.