LIGHTNOVELSTORY Chapter 4: Rejection
Feyre sucked in a breath as he stepped into the moonlight revealing his face which was carved to perfection. A portion of his wind-tousled hair settled on his forehead drawing attention to the peircing blue eyes beneath long lashes but her gaze trailed to his strong jaw with thin lips as they quirked up ever so slightly that left her momentarily stunned.
She was staring at him when he asked, "Don't you know you shouldn't follow a stranger, especially a wolf?"
"Ofcourse i know, what do you take me for? It is only because.. because..I was-you-know. Well excuse me for intruding but you felt it too. Don't you? Why are pretending to be oblivious?" She asked instead making the man chuckle.
"Fate tied in a neat little bow, sounds amazing, doesn't it?" he said and stepped forward until he was just a step away from her. He leaned in, lowering himself to meet her eyes. "But you see, I don't believe in fairy tales and I have better things to do than play house with some weak excuse for a mate."
Her brows furrowed at his word before her eyes widened slowly as an unsettling feeling settled in the pit of her stomach. She bit her lip unconsciously, trying to shake her thoughts–surely her parent and pack's words couldn't be true.
"Catching on already? How efficient and here i thought I'd be wasting my time on unnecessary theatric" his lips quirked up into a faint, humorless smile as he straightened.
"But.." you're my mate, the only one who's supposed to be mine. Her voice faltered and the rest of the words died in her throat.
"I.." She could feel her heartbeat as seconds seemed to have slowed down, dragging the silence that only prolonged the dreaded moment. Her eyes caught the slight quiver of his lashes through her blurred vision before he spoke again "Rowan Hawthorne… reject you as my mate."
For the second time that night, Feyre felt the air rush from her lungs. Her lips trembled, and though she bit them hard enough to draw blood, it did nothing to stop the quiver. Everything was happening so fast that she was hardly able to grasp the situation as thousand questions flooded her mind, each one louder than the last.
The chilly wind howled behind her, tugging at her hair. Feyre looked down at her sweat covered palms clasped together and the corners of her quivering lip lifted slightly. It wasn't surprising and yet her heart ached, as if someone had gripped it tightly and wrenched it apart.
What was she expecting? She swallowed hard to force down the pain. She didn't know why but the thought of him enjoying her misery didn't sit well with her. Blinking away the tears threatening to fall, she looked up at him who stood before her with a stoic expression as he stared at her.
"I, Feyre Campbell, accept your rejection." The words rolled off her tongue as if she had practiced them a hundred times though she never once wished to speak them aloud.
Her last glimmer of hope extinguished before her eyes and Feyre wanted to mourn for it but a stubbornness she hadn't known she possessed held her together. She kept her gaze fixed on his face which remained stoic except for the slight furrow between his brows as he slid his hand into his pocket.
The days that followed were a blur of sleepless nights and a hollow ache in her chest.
It was a fine day, a week after that night. The sun felt cozy as a gentle breeze swept through, though just a day ago it had been pouring out of nowhere. The weather in Ravenhowl was anything but predictable, making it difficult to plan anything with certainty.
Feyre sat in a stool near the dining table chewing on a handful of nuts in her palm and once in a while she tossed one across the room into a narrow neck jar sitting on a cupboard on the otherside, smiling faintly at the clinking sound it made as it landed perfectly inside.
"Can you not meddle with my jars? Do you know how hard they are to come by since that damn old fogey passed away?" a familiar voice rang out. An old woman wearing an apron emerged from the door to Feyre's left, balancing a tray in her hands.
A small smile tugged at Feyre's lips as she shook her head, glancing around the room where colorful jars were scattered across the cupboards and walls. Granny Elisabeth and her jars.
Earlier in the day, her family had gone shopping and with her chores finished, she had decided to visit Granny Elisabeth next door—a woman in whom she had found rare solace even though she's a bit grumpy for other likings. Feyre met her six years ago when her family moved out from pack house and settled in their current home within the village of their pack Shadowmoon. She had expected Elisabeth to scorn her like every other person in the pack but instead, the old woman had done the opposite. Her kindness had kept alive the light in the young girl that was on the verge of dying.
The room smelled heavenly as the breeze drifting through the open window on the right scattered the warm scent of baked cookies throughout. "How did you know I was craving your super delicious cookies?" Feyre asked, reaching for a cookie from the tray before it was set on the table.
"No need to butter me up, they're for you anyway," Elisabeth said, setting the tray down. She walked over to the cupboard while pulling a cloth from her apron pocket and casted a glance back at Feyre, who was happily munching on a cookie.
The old woman sighed. The child had been down ever since she returned from the ball a week ago. That night, she had shown up at Elisabeth's house late and had simply laid her head on the old woman's lap before falling asleep without saying a thing about what happened, and Elisabeth hadn't asked. But today the fine weather might have affected her as she was behaving like her old self.
"Why are you idling around when there's a gathering in the pack this evening? Never mind, it's better if you just stayed back," Elisabeth said, her tone turning helpless toward the end. Even if Feyre never complained, Elisabeth knew and had seen how others looked at and treated the poor girl.
Bummers who thought they are superior by stepping on those they deemed weak, she frowned.
Lucas, the son of the Alpha of the Shadowmoon Pack and their future Alpha, had found his mate, and a gathering was being held at the pack house to celebrate.
"Oh, but I'm going though" Feyre replied, leaning back in her seat with a cookie in hand. "Don't look at me like that—it was Father's idea. He said they need helping hands and would really appreciate it if I became useful for once in my life." She shrugged nonchalantly looking at the woman who stood there with a scowl, deepening the lines on her face.