Rejected by the Alpha, Claimed by his Brother
Chapter 255: _ To Santa Leticia

Chapter 255: _ To Santa Leticia

I stood, still unsteady, and walked toward the mirror mounted crookedly above the dusty dresser. My reflection stared back at me. Pale, sweat-slicked, with jaw clenched in irritation.

I let my eyes roll back, let my flesh twist, and my bones crack.

The mirror seemed like it gurgled.

I hissed through clenched teeth as my muscles pulled tight, my skin shifting like it was being peeled and resewn from the inside out. Veins popped like tiny rivers rerouting themselves. My frame shrank slightly. Jaw sharpened. Cheekbones lifted.

Within moments, Luis was gone—and in his place stood Mateo Rivera.

Golden-skinned. That punchable, lopsided grin. That infuriating dimple on the left cheek, women seemed to lose IQ points over. His messy hair and lazy swagger, all of it was mine now.

I rolled my neck, letting the final adjustments settle.

He smelled like dental floss and citrus shampoo.

God, I hated him. Still, he served his purpose. Everyone liked Mateo. Apparently, he was the God of niceties in this pack.

I grabbed a spare jacket and slipped it on with a sneer. I hoped to hell he wasn’t home.

Just in case, I made a mental note: Kill Mateo. Eventually. Quietly. Nothing dramatic—just enough to avoid the sort of complications that might arise if someone spotted us together in different locations at the same hour. Or even the same location. Imagine me meeting him at home right now as I go.

He wasn’t important enough to keep around anyway. Besides, one less mouth to smile at, María José was always a blessing.

I checked my pockets. Took some coins. A charm. The knife. Always the knife. Tucked into the small of my back.

Then I stepped out into the night. The air outside hit differently.

It was thick with woodsmoke and dew. The stars above blinked nervously behind gauzy clouds, like they didn’t want to see what I’d do tonight.

The forest beyond the shack creaked and groaned as though mourning something I hadn’t yet done. Or perhaps it already knew what was coming.

I set off down the path toward Santa Leticia.

It wasn’t far. A few miles through the woods. Past the old cemetery where the headstones sank like teeth into the earth. Past the river that ran black under moonlight. Past all the places we once dared each other to go as boys—Axel, Álvaro, and me.

Back when we still believed in innocence. Now, all I believed in was her. María José.

Her scent lived in the cracks of my brain. Sweet, unsure, like sugared tea spilled on dusty linen. Her touch still haunted my hands; why, soft but never weak. I could feel her even now—somewhere not far away, maybe brushing out her hair or lying awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering what would happen next.

Wondering if anyone would come for her.

I would. As Mateo, yes—but behind this flesh, it would always be me.

I would give her everything she needed to destroy Rosa. Lay the kingdom of dirty secrets at her feet. And when the time came, I’d help her tear it all down with her delicate little hands.

I walked faster, my boots crunching over the gravel and dried leaves. The trees watched me pass, their gnarled branches pointing the way like bony fingers. Something shifted in the underbrush, but I didn’t stop. Nothing out here scared me.

Not anymore. My master had given me a mission. And María José, my light, my madness, my miracle, was waiting.

I would go to her. I would find her.

And tonight... I would begin her war.

.

The deeper I walked, the more the air changed. Woodsmoke thickened into something heavier. Say grease, sweat, and motor oil. Santa Leticia smelled like the armpit of civilization and sounded worse.

Even at night, someone was always yelling at a cousin over borrowed money or banging metal against metal with the fury of unpaid bills. Kids zipped through the streets on stolen bicycles, packs of dogs barked at the moon like it owed them something, and somewhere in the background, ranchera music wheezed out of an ancient speaker that had probably survived five different owners and at least one exorcism.

This was the trenches of the pack. The pitiful, glorious belly of the wolf.

And now, I walked it as Mateo Rivera.

A voice shouted from a second-story window. "Eh, Mateo! You on night duty again?"

I tilted my borrowed face up, letting the dim glow of a flickering streetlight catch my grin. "You know it, Señor. Gotta keep the witches away."

The man cackled, gray curls sticking out in all directions like he’d been electrocuted sometime in 1992 and never recovered. "Hope you brought garlic, hijo! If that bruja gets you, I’m not feeding your parrot."

"I don’t have a parrot."

"Exactly."

I chuckled, the sound foreign in Mateo’s mouth. Inside, Luis—real, raw, rotting Luis scoffed so loud my ribs felt it. If only they knew. If only they knew the so-called witch was already here, in their midst, walking their roads with Mateo’s face and a knife tucked at his back like a lover’s whisper.

They wanted me to be protected from ME. How ironic.

A few more neighbors greeted me. I waved, nodded, even offered a blessing to an old abuela who made the sign of the cross and stuffed an oregano sachet in my hand for protection.

Imagine a werewolf believing in Jesus. Cute. Futile. But cute.

Then finally, I saw it—the crooked roof of Mateo’s house peeking between two skeletal jacarandas, their blossoms littering the yard like purple snowflakes that hadn’t gotten the memo winter was over. Lights off. Curtains drawn. But I could feel her. María José was in there.

The pull toward her was magnetic. Maddening.

My chest tightened, not with longing but with something hotter. Possessiveness. Desperation.

She had no idea I was here, that I’d come for her again, wrapped in a stolen skin like a gift box left at the wrong door. She’d smile at this face, maybe let it linger a second too long on Mateo’s lips. Maybe—God help me, she’d ask it to stay.

I took one step forward, ready to go bask in the beauty of her presence, when suddenly, I froze.

A figure emerged from the side yard, ducking into the driveway like he belonged there. Car keys jingled. Tall. Broad shoulders with an arrogant stride.

Axel.

Mother of all bastards.

I ducked behind the low stucco fence, breath caught between my teeth. My knuckles went white around the sachet the abuela had given me. I nearly crushed it.

He got into his car, phone pressed to his ear. That told me everything. He didn’t need to. He’d already had what he wanted. Axel has fucked María José.