Rejected by the Alpha, Claimed by his Brother
Chapter 287: _ The Beginning

Chapter 287: _ The Beginning

"My master! Thank you. I am not worthy—but I will prove myself."

The devil watched me with those eyes made of molten eternity.

"But," I continued, lifting my head slowly, eyes wild. "There is one thing I must ask of you."

The Devil tilted his head slightly. His massive wings curled behind him like the ruins of a fallen cathedral. "You would make demands of me?" he mused.

"No," I said firmly. "Only one... request. For the sake of the mission."

With his interest piqued, he took a step closer, and the ground beneath him trembled. "Speak."

I told the Devil that I needed his permission before I could fully leave my wheelchair for this mission to take shape. Not that I was itching to push myself out and show off my legs—I wasn’t ready for that. Not yet. But a mission like this needed freedom, mobility, and a way to move without raising suspicion.

I couldn’t exactly charm María José in my wheelchair and immobile state, could I? I needed an identity. This time, I would do it right.

The Devil, of course, smirked like he knew exactly what I was about to say before I even said it. His grin was all crooked teeth and flame-flicker eyes, like a child who just ate all the cookies he wasn’t supposed to touch.

He reminded me I hadn’t completed my serving term yet. "You’ve got a year and a few months left, Luis," he said, voice silky and dry, like sandpaper dipped in honey. "No skipping ahead, no getting out of your seat early."

I nodded. "Yes, I know. I don’t intend to leave the wheelchair permanently. I just need a... proxy. Someone to take my place while I take over their life. I’ll wear their skin, their form, their face. Until the day I can finally walk again."

The Devil chuckled out a sound that sounded like wind scraping over broken glass—and raised one eyebrow. "You want to play the long con, don’t you?"

I gave him a sly smile. "Exactly."

He studied me for a moment, then finally gave in. "Fine. You can do whatever you want—as long as you don’t blow your cover and you finish the mission."

I nodded again, feeling a weight lift off my chest. Freedom, even if temporary—was sweeter than anything else I could imagine. "Thank you."

I could finally walk around in the daytime without fearing for penance.

We said our goodbyes; I was polite and he was filled with amusement. Then, I found myself back in my wheelchair. But the world seemed brighter, lighter, like I’d just been handed a secret key to a locked room.

Joy surged through me like electricity. I laughed softly to myself and conjured an illusion to fool the eyes of anyone who might look my way. Everyone as in, Rosario.

It was a perfect copy of me sitting calmly in my wheelchair. It was like I’d planted a shadow to keep watch while I went out to play... as always.

My first order of business: find Mateo.

Mateo was the sacrificial lamb in this game, the one whose life I’d borrow to step out from behind these wheels. I had to find him, steal his memories, and become him. This time, she would not be able to tell the difference. .

.

It was still the afternoon. The sky wore a blushing veil of gold and lavender, the kind of romantic nonsense that made even a mission of betrayal feel like a stroll through a dream. The wedding was still on, loud and stupid as ever, and I had work to do.

The gift from my master still buzzed in my bones like static. It was vast. Delicious. Dangerous.

I thought of Mateo—his average height, his bland brown hair, the way he stood with both hands clenched like he was always waiting to punch a ghost. And just like that, I felt him. His location flooded my mind like a spilled ink stain: outside the wedding venue, stationed by the east arch with two other guards.

Their job was to smile politely at guests, look tough, and pretend they weren’t deeply underpaid.

Locating people was so much easier now. I didn’t have to trace their scents or anything. Just shut my eyes and picture them. Then, boom!

Hehehe... my master knew just what I needed; more power. I let out a grin so wide it cracked my fake old-man lips. Because yes, I’d already shifted.

Wrinkled skin, crooked spine and a sagging grey mustache that drooped lower than my will to live when I was fifteen. I looked like someone’s suspiciously spry abuelito—maybe the kind who would steal your girlfriend and then beat you at cards.

This was to be my camouflage. An old man to deceive an unsuspecting Mateo into his doom.

The air had a syrupy warmth to it, like it couldn’t decide whether to bake you or lull you to sleep. The music from the wedding filtered out in waves: violins trying too hard, a woman sobbing nearby, and somewhere deep inside, a man laughing a little too nervously.

I shuffled toward the venue, hunched over a twisted cane, limping like I had arthritis in both legs, my soul, and my sense of empathy. The guards straightened when they saw me coming.

Perfect.

"Señores," I croaked, voice raspy with decades of fake phlegm. "A word, if you don’t mind."

One of them squinted. "Sir, this area is..."

But Mateo, bless his soft heart, was polite. Always had been.

"Easy, Ramiro," he said, stepping forward. "Let me help you, abuelo."

He grabbed my elbow. Hook, line, and sucker.

I let my eyes water like I had one last wish before death. "Ay, hijo... gracias. I—I didn’t know who else to go to..."

He nodded patiently. "What’s wrong? You lost or...?"

"No, no..." I dropped my voice to a whisper, leaning in as though every breath might be my last. "I saw... someone. A man in the woods. Watching the wedding. Dressed in black."

Mateo’s spine went ramrod straight. Guards. Such suckers for shady figures in woods.

"Ramiro, stay here. I’ll check it out."

"Mateo, come on, just call it in..."

"I’ll just go with him real quick. It’s probably nothing." Mateo waved it off.

Sweet, sweet idiot.

We walked together into the nearby woods, the shadows swallowing us whole as soon as we passed the tree line. Birds chirped like we were in a damn cartoon, and every step made the earth squish like it was trying to keep my secrets.

When we were far enough from the venue, I paused.

"Is this the spot?" Mateo asked.

"Yes," I said—and dropped the disguise as there was no time to waste.

With a pulse of thought, the old skin melted. Gone was the hunched frame, the withered voice. I stood tall again, bones humming with power with my razor-sharp smirk.

Mateo stumbled back, eyes wide. "Wha—who...?"

"Sorry, buddy." I winked, set one hand around his throat, and the other flat against his forehead.

"Who are you? The witch! You’re the witch!" He yelled, about to tear off his clothes and shift, but nah... I couldn’t allow that.

"Sorry, friend," I whispered. "But your services are needed elsewhere."

He choked, fought, twisted, but I was faster and stronger now.The Devil’s gift wasn’t just illusion. It was essence. I poured myself into his mind like poison into a well.

Mateo’s memories bled out.

First kisses. Fistfights. Family dinners. A stubbed toe at seven that made him cry in front of his dad. Every image, every twitch of muscle memory, every scent that meant "Mateo" was now mine.

But I wasn’t done with him. No, this wasn’t just about wearing someone else’s life like a suit. This was about building a cage. A very specific kind of cage. One where the prisoner could still scream my name—just not clearly. Not anymore.

I let go of him with a sharp exhale, and Mateo dropped to the forest floor, twitching, groaning, but still alive.

Not for long... at least, not like this.

He was mine.

And now... I would make him into me.

I shifted into him and did the same with his form. It unraveled like smoke and reformed into me; Luis, down to the blank, paralyzed legs, the slight twitch in the lip I’d never gotten rid of, the shadows under my eyes from years of hiding pain behind silence.

Mateo looked up just in time to see his face staring back at him. "Wha... wha..." he stuttered.

Poor boy. He couldn’t even scream properly.

I crouched beside him and smiled with all the warmth of a winter grave. "You’re going to do something very special for me, Mateo."

He whimpered. I gently ran a hand over his face—my face now. "You’re going to be me. Just for a little while. Well... for a year and a half."

It was nothing compared being cursed to remain in that wheelchair for sixteen years. Mateo had it easy... Unlike me.

He tried to crawl, but his limbs weren’t cooperating. I had fried his nerves slightly during the possession. Nothing major.

"Don’t worry," I whispered, placing a hand to his chest. "I’m going to make it all nice and symmetrical. You’re going to look just like me."

And then... I got to work. We need to make Mateo into a cripple, don’t we?

And then... I began.

One of my hands gripped his shoulder and the other gripped his wrist. With a sharp twist and the muffled crunch of bone, I dislocated both with surgical precision.

He screamed, but what can I say? Music to my ears.

His cries of pain were suddenly high-pitched and garbled for someone who couldn’t even articulate a single sentence a few seconds ago. I’d already started damaging the nerves along his throat.

His wolf howled beneath, trying to rise and heal him—but the Devil’s gift pulsed in my fingertips. I reached in spiritually and shattered the wolf completely.

It snarled once in his soul—then fell permanently silent. Mateo would never shift again.

Not unless you counted into a hospital bed.

Fuck, I love my job.