All Chapters of ALPHA REJECTION: Chapter 181 - Chapter 190

Jenna’s POV The night is agonizing. No matter how many times I turn over, trying to find some semblance of comfort on the well used couch, sleep refuses to come. My wolf is restless, clawing at the edges of my mind, her energy rippling through me in waves. Her need to get closer to Jack is suffocating, a primal pull that I fight with everything I have. He’s here, she whispers. Why are you fighting this?But I can’t give in. I can’t let her dictate my actions, not now, not ever. Every time I close my eyes, I see his face—those hazel eyes filled with something raw, something dangerous, that I’ve tried to forget. His voice echoes in my mind, low and rough, asking questions that make my defenses crumble. The sun is barely rising when I give up on sleep entirely. My body feels heavy, my mind sluggish, but there’s no point in lying there any longer. Quietly, I get up from the couch, attempting to massage the kink in my neck away. The others are still soundly asleep, their faces serene

Jenna’s POV Breakfast is tense. The room is quiet save for the occasional clink of cups or the soft murmur of Eleanor and Caleb sharing what little food we have left. Mia picks at her portion, her gaze darting between us as though searching for reassurance that none of us can provide. I clear my throat, pushing back the gnawing unease in my chest. “We need to talk,” I say, my voice steady but firm. Eleanor looks up, her brows furrowing in concern. Caleb leans back in his chair, arms crossed, while Greta and Raina exchange wary glances. “If Jack doesn’t agree to an alliance,” I continue, “then we have to think of a Plan B. We can’t keep waiting here. The hunters are coming—it’s just a matter of when.” Raina scoffs, shaking her head. “And what exactly does Plan B look like? We have no weapons, no backup, and no clue where to go.” “We’ll figure it out,” I say, though I know how hollow the words sound. Eleanor places a hand on my arm, her touch grounding. “Let’s give Jack a chance

Jenna’s POVThe weight of her betrayal crashes over me like a tidal wave, leaving me breathless. My mind races, trying to piece together the shards of disbelief and reality as I stare at Eleanor, her knife pressed firmly against Greta’s throat. I suddenly recall Raina’s warnings, her sharp, skeptical words about trust. My eyes dart toward her, finding her face etched with sadness and resignation. She isn’t surprised. She knew—maybe not everything, but enough to suspect this. Why had I doubted her? Why had I dismissed her words so easily? Believing that Eleanor would never do a thing like this. That is because she had never given me any reason to suspect. My chest tightens, and I step forward, the need for answers overriding my fear. “Eleanor,” I say, my voice trembling, “what are you doing?” She doesn’t meet my gaze, her focus fixed on Greta, whose wide, terrified eyes plead for rescue. “This isn’t you,” I continue, my voice rising as anger seeps in. “This is insane! You taught

Jack’s POV The van’s interior is suffocating, the air thick with tension and the faint scent of blood. Every jolt on the uneven road rattles the metal walls and the people inside. I keep my head low, my arms resting loosely on my knees, but my mind races. I can feel the eyes of my pack on me, searching for answers, waiting for direction. Jenna’s group sits nearby—tense, silent, and wary. When our eyes meet, her gaze softens with understanding. She trusts me now, but the others don’t yet. That’s a problem I’ll have to fix soon. Eldris shifts beside me, his breath hot against my ear as he whispers, "What the bloody hell is really going on?" "You tell me." I shrug. “This isn’t going to end well, Jack. You know that, right?” Jordan leans closer, his tone equally low but filled with frustration. “You’re too calm. They’re leading us straight to a slaughterhouse, and we’re sitting here like sheep.” I glance toward Violet, who’s sitting with her back pressed against the van wall, her f

Jenna’s POVThe council’s house looms before us, a sprawling, fortress-like structure shrouded in shadows. Its high, jagged walls are topped with razor wire, and ominous black towers rise into the night sky, their floodlights sweeping over the grounds like watchful eyes. The very air around the place feels oppressive, heavy with the weight of suffering and despair. As we’re herded closer, I can make out the details—the thick iron gates, the barred windows, the faint, distant cries of prisoners echoing through the night. My stomach churns, dread pooling in my chest. This isn’t a house. It’s a prison. Inside, the hallways are narrow and dimly lit, lined with heavy steel doors. The scent of mildew and sweat hangs in the air, and the faint sound of dripping water adds to the suffocating atmosphere. The hunters lead us forward, their guns never wavering, and the bracelets on our wrists hum softly, draining our strength with every step. We’re not allowed to talk. The hunters bark orders