Zarelle Feymere-heiress to the most powerful werewolf dynasty in the world-made one mistake: she fell for an Alpha who saw her as nothing more than a rare blood bag.
For three years, she endured the humiliation of a loveless mating, her veins tapped like a commodity to sustain the woman Calden Ashmoor truly loved, Thessaly. His fated mate, who rejected him to marry his brother.
When a web of lies and betrayal is uncovered, Zarelle does the unthinkable: she walks away.
Now, stripped of her disguise as a docile omega, the true daughter of the Missatian Pack returns to claim her birthright-and her revenge.
Calden always thought he’d married a nobody.
He never expected his discarded mate to come back as a queen.
Goodbye Alpha, I’m No Longer Your Blood Bag Chapter 1 Longing and Divorce
_Zarelle’s POV_
After three years of marriage to Alpha Calden Ashmoor, I learned my true place. I was not his Luna. I was a walking, breathing blood bank.
[Oak Clinic. Thessaly’s condition is deteriorating again. The blood bond ritual is required. You know your duty. Get here now.]
Another message from Calden flashed on my phone. Once, those words would have cut deep. But all I felt was the bitter ache of cold resignation. This lunar cycle alone, I had dragged myself to the treatment room three times, offering up my blood and my strength. Each session left me hollow, trembling on the edge of collapse. And Calden? He never cared.
[Where the hell are you, Zarelle? You were three minutes late. Thessaly couldn’t afford to wait.]
In three years as his wife, he had never once shown me the gentleness or patience he reserved for Thessaly.
Thessaly Ashmoor. She was Calden’s beloved, until she chose his brother for the Luna title-only to end up a widow.
[Payment’s been increased to 100,000. Check your account.]
He still thought I stayed for the money. That I was just another shallow Omega.
[Zarelle Stormy. What the hell were you playing at? You had twenty minutes to report to the healer. A deal was a deal.]
A deal. Yes, that was what he called our marriage.
He had never believed I was worthy of him. If my blood hadn’t kept his precious Thessaly alive, he wouldn’t have spared me a second glance. Three years of cold shoulders and distant silences had made that painfully clear.
I leaned back against the car seat and closed my eyes. The first time I ever saw Calden Ashmoor, it was still so vivid in my mind.
I had just arrived in the city, alone, when I was caught up in a chain-reaction collision. The accident nearly brought the city to its knees, but Calden had appeared in time to stop the disaster. That day, the heroic Alpha left an indelible mark on my heart-though I never imagined our paths would cross again.
Until he walked into my hospital room while I was having my wounds bandaged.
“Will you be my wife?”
Just those words. And my quiet, dormant heart began to race. I had never felt that way about any man in my entire life. So when I said “I do,” it slipped out before I could stop myself.
Later, I learned the price behind those words.
Before our marriage was even registered, I discovered the truth: Calden had chosen me for the value of my rare blood. It kept Thessaly alive. It brought benefit to the pack.
“This union is for the good of the pack,” he had told me coldly before I signed. “But your primary role is to be her donor. Whenever Thessaly needs you, you will come. In return, I’ll make sure you never want for anything.”
A warning. But I had been so foolishly in love by then that I actually convinced myself that at least my blood gave me a reason to stay by his side. I thought that one day, I could shed the label of “tool” and become someone meaningful to him. I thought I could make him love me.
Three years later, I had failed. Completely.
Calden rarely touched me. Even when we were alone, he kept his distance, never allowing our scents to mingle. At first, I thought it was because of our difference in status-that my Omega scent was beneath his Alpha dignity. Later, I learned the truth: he was saving himself for another woman.
Thessaly Ashmoor. His sister-in-law. And the woman he could never let go.
Even the accident that had brought him into my life-the one that made me fall for him at first sight-he had been so frantic in his rescue efforts because Thessaly had been caught up in it.
He had never truly seen me.
My phone vibrated again. This time, the sender wasn’t Calden.
An anonymous message. With a photo.
My breath caught.
Even in sleep, Calden looked like a god-carved from shadow and steel. His features were sharp enough to cut: a jawline that could draw blood, lashes dark as midnight, lips that seemed designed for sin and cruelty (though I had never tasted either). His body was a weapon-broad shoulders, coiled strength even at rest.
And there she was. Thessaly.
Her head rested on his shoulder, a faint smirk curving her lips even in sleep. The look of a victor.
Beside her, Calden looked utterly at ease. As if he had come home. As if this-with her-was where he truly belonged.
The message beneath the photo slid in like a poisoned blade:
“I bet you’ve never had a moment like this. Know your place, blood bag.”
Anger flashed through my eyes. This wasn’t the first time I’d received such a taunt. It always arrived like clockwork, after every one of Calden’s summons-as if I needed reminding of my place.
A passing car swept its headlights across my window, illuminating my reflection in the glass. I froze, staring at the stranger staring back.
I was an Omega, yes. But I had never looked like this. So bloodless. So drained. My skin stretched thin over bones that seemed sharper each day, threatening to break through. Dark circles carved hollows beneath my eyes, deepening with every lunar cycle. Every time I gave a piece of myself to Thessaly, something inside me withered.
Another healer’s words echoed in my mind: “You can’t keep this up, Zarelle. Even the strongest bloodline has its limits. This intensity will hollow you out. It will kill you.”
Death. A warrior never feared death-my father had taught me that.
But a warrior died with purpose. With honor.
Was this how I would end? Stiff and cold on a transfusion table, drained for a woman who saw me as nothing more than a supply line? For the scraps of attention from a man who had never once loved me?
No.
My fingers curled into fists against the steering wheel.
I had spent three years shrinking myself. Three years bleeding out for him, for her, for a pack that only valued my veins. I had let them hollow me, piece by piece, convinced that if I just gave enough, endured enough, he might finally see me.
But he never had. He never would.
And I was done dying for people who didn’t care if I lived.
My phone buzzed again. Another message. Another leash yanked.
[Zarelle. You’re crossing a line. If you don’t show today, I’ll make sure this city has no place for you.]
I stared at the screen, and for the first time in three years, I laughed. A hollow, broken sound-but a laugh nonetheless.
When would Calden realize what had kept me bound to him all this time? It wasn’t his Alpha authority. It wasn’t that ridiculous contract.
It had been hope. Foolish, desperate, bleeding hope.
And now? That hope was dead.
When I decided to leave, no one-not him, not her, not this entire pack-could stop me.
My fingers tightened around the wheel. I started the engine.
*
The car screeched to a halt outside the hospital. I didn’t wait for the driver to open my door-I pushed it open myself and strode toward Thessaly’s private suite.
I hadn’t even raised my hand to knock when the door slammed open.
That presence hit me like a physical blow-primal, intoxicating; my wolf cowered instinctively before I could stop her.
Calden filled the doorway. Even in his tailored suit, he couldn’t hide the predator beneath. When his gaze landed on me, irritation flickered first-then, as his eyes caught the phone in my hand, that irritation hardened into something far more dangerous.
“Your phone works.” His voice sliced through the air, cold enough to freeze the space between us. “Then why the fuck weren’t you answering my messages? The pack healers have been waiting.”
His scent flooded my lungs-pine and winter and absolute dominion-and I drank it in one last time. The cruel line of his jaw. Those predators’ eyes that could bend an entire pack to his will. The corded muscles of his forearms, tattoos peeking from beneath rolled sleeves, each one marking territory he’d claimed.
This would be the last time.
His hand shot out, fingers closing around my wrist hard enough to bruise. “The transfusion. Now.”
“I know.” My voice came out smaller than I intended, nearly drowned by the blood roaring in my ears. I steadied myself against the doorframe, every muscle tensing. I was no longer the compliant Omega who endured in silence.
Calden’s lip curled into a vicious smile. “Then what the hell are you still standing here for?”
Ancient pack legends whispered through my mind-stories of lone wolves who tore their own bonds rather than live as slaves. My pulse hammered against my ribs, desperate to break free.
“I’ll go.” My voice didn’t waver. “I’ll give her my blood. But first, I want something.”
He raked a hand through his hair, patience fraying. “The money’s already in your account.” He jutted his chin toward his phone. “Check it and go.”
“Not money.” My voice was terrifyingly calm.
“Then what-?” His Alpha command reverberated through the room, rattling glass. “Spit it out!”
I met his gaze and didn’t flinch.
“Sever our bond.” The words cut my throat on the way out. “I want a divorce, Calden Ashmoor.”
Goodbye Alpha, I’m No Longer Your Blood Bag Chapter 2 Welcome home, Heiress Feymere.
_Zarelle’s POV_
The world narrowed to the space between our breaths.
Calden’s mask of control slipped-just for a heartbeat-but I saw it. His piercing gaze swept over my face like he could physically trace the origins of my betrayal. The great Alpha, momentarily stunned by the defiance of his weakest wolf.
I could practically hear his thoughts: The desperate omega who’d bartered her rare blood for protection-what gave her the right to make demands now?
“Explain.” His command vibrated through my bones, thick with Alpha power.
“Nothing left to say.” I kept my voice steady despite the storm in my chest. “I’ll give my blood to Thessaly. But this is my price.”
My fingers curled into my palms, nails biting flesh. I stared at the medical equipment behind him-anywhere but those golden eyes that saw too much.
“We had a deal!” A growl rumbled deep in his chest, his wolf’s amber glow bleeding into his irises.
“And I’m breaking it.” I finally met his gaze, my chin lifting. “Turn me over to the Council. Strip my title. I don’t care.”
For the first time in three years, something flickered across his face that wasn’t anger or disdain. Something almost like… I wouldn’t let myself fall into that trap again.
He’d expected the usual-my quiet submission, my hunched shoulders and averted eyes. Not this. Never this.
A muscle jumped in his jaw as he studied me, his scent turning acrid with conflicted emotion.
“Fine.” The word came out clipped, edged with something that might’ve been reluctance. “Do you have the papers?”
The question struck like a physical blow. Of course he’d ask about logistics before reasons. Efficiency over emotion-that was Calden Ashmoor in essence.
“Not yet.” My voice barely carried.
His stare bored into me, as if trying to decipher whether the fractures in my resolve were real or just another manipulation.
Then, with the finality of a judge’s gavel: “Beta Aldrin-draft the divorce documents.”
The world tilted on its axis.
His immediate agreement shouldn’t have shocked me-yet it did. The finality of it stole my breath, leaving the hospital suite eerily hollow. I blinked back treacherous tears, raising my chin as if I had practiced it a million times.
Beta Aldrin returned too quickly, the divorce papers a death sentence in his hands.
Calden signed without hesitation, his signature a brutal slash of ink across the page. For a fleeting second, I thought I saw something-anything-flicker in those golden eyes. But it was gone before I could name it, replaced by that infuriating Alpha calm.
“Deal.” He slid the document into an envelope with clinical precision. “The Council will process this by sundown. Don’t delay.”
My fingers trembled as I tucked my copy away, the paper burning like ice against my skin. Three years of stolen glances and unspoken wants, reduced to two signatures.
“Thessaly’s waiting.” He turned on his heel, already moving on.
I followed numbly, my pulse a ragged thing in my throat.
That’s it. I shouldn’t have expected anything from him in the first place.
The VIP suite reeked of roses and deception. Thessaly lounged like a pampered queen, her silk robe artfully draped to highlight every curve. The elderly healer dozed in the corner, exhausted from tending to her “critical condition.”
“Calden!” Her voice was honeyed poison, eyes lighting up-until they landed on me. A delicate frown. “Darling, I told you I didn’t need-“
A fake cough. A theatrical sigh.
Calden ignored her performance. “Zarelle’s here. Let’s get this over with.”
I stepped forward before he could order me. Thessaly’s smirk faltered as I leaned in.-
-and ripped the bandage from her forehead.
The scent hit me first: antiseptic and unbroken skin. No blood. No wound.
“Zarelle!” Calden’s roar shook the windows, his grip bruising as he yanked me back.
Thessaly’s shriek was pure melodrama. “How could you?!”
But I was already spinning toward Calden, shoving the pristine gauze in his face.
“Smell that, Alpha? No blood. Just another lie.” My voice cracked with the weight of a thousand unsaid truths. “How many times have you made me bleed for nothing?”
A deadly silence filled the room as Calden’s gaze locked onto the trembling human doctor. The air thickened with the acrid stench of fear-sweat and deception.
“Explain.”
Just one word, but it carried the weight of an Alpha’s wrath. Doctor Patel flinched as if struck, his fingers clutching at his lab coat. His eyes darted to Thessaly-a tell as obvious as a bleeding rabbit in wolf territory.
“Alpha, I…I only followed orders,” he stammered.
Calden took a single step forward. The doctor shrunk back, his pulse jumping visibly in his throat.
“Whose. Orders.” Each syllable dripped with lethal calm.
Thessaly’s perfume turned cloying as she shifted on the bed. “Calden, darling-“
A sharp gesture silenced her. Even the pack’s precious golden girl knew better than to test an Alpha’s patience now.
The doctor broke like dry kindling. “Miss Ashmoor said you wanted the records falsified! Said you needed Luna Zarelle summoned!” His voice cracked. “She threatened my medical license…my family…”
A beat of stunned silence.
Then-“And my blood?” My voice cut through the tension like silver through flesh. “What happened to what you took from me?”
The doctor’s gaze dropped to the floor. “Resold. RH-negative fetches…quite the price on the black market.”
Thessaly’s perfect facade shattered. “Lies! All of it!” Her manicured fingers twisted in the sheets. “Calden, you can’t possibly-“
I didn’t wait for her performance. With a tap, I sent the damning photo to Calden’s phone.
The buzz of his device seemed deafening in the charged silence.
“Your security can trace the sender,” I said calmly, though my pulse roared in my ears. “But I think it’s easy to guess who took that picture.”
Calden’s voice dropped to a lethal whisper. “Where did this come from?”
I met his gaze without flinching. “Ask your future Luna.”
Thessaly’s mask slipped for just a second-a crack in her perfect porcelain facade-before she summoned another wave of calculated vulnerability. Her lashes fluttered like wounded butterflies.
I didn’t wait for the performance. “Our deal is done,” I said, turning toward the door. “Find yourself a new blood bank.”
Behind me, the doctor scrambled for the exit like a rat fleeing a sinking ship.
Then-the dramatic thud of knees hitting linoleum.
“Calden…I can’t…” Thessaly’s breath came in theatrical gasps as she collapsed in a swirl of silk. Her manicured hand clutched at his sleeve. “It’s like…like when Daelen…”
The name hit like a silver bullet.
I felt Calden stiffen before I saw it-the way his shoulders locked, the barely perceptible tremor in his hands. Daelen. His lost brother. A memory about some loyal wolves who never made it home.
Thessaly went boneless against him, the picture of fainting maidenhood.
The elevator dinged.
I stepped inside, counting the agonizing seconds. One. Two. Three.
Silence.
No thundering footsteps. No Alpha command shaking the walls. Just the hollow echo of my own heartbeat.
My lips curled into something too sharp to be a smile. Three years of bleeding for him, and I didn’t even rate a goodbye. It was indeed the right decision to divorce him.
The only thing wrong was that I had wasted three years to make it.
The garage air smelled of gasoline and polished leather. Calden’s Bugatti crouched in its designated spot, sleek and untouchable-just like its owner.
Then I saw it.
The Rolls-Royce Phantom. Smoke-colored. Bearing the crest of the Missatian Pack.
My fingers trailed across the hood ornament-a howling wolf wrapped in thorns. The symbol of my true birthright.
To this pack, I was Zarelle Stormy-the disposable omega.
But the driver bowing before me knew better. “Welcome home, Heiress Feymere.”
Goodbye Alpha, I’m No Longer Your Blood Bag Chapter 3 She took what’s mine.
_Zarelle’s POV_
The tinted window slid down with a whisper of luxury, revealing the face I hadn’t realized I’d missed so desperately.
Cyric Feymere’s dark eyes gleamed with quiet fury and relief-an Alpha’s welcome. His scent wrapped around me, cedar and wintergreen, so different from Calden’s pine-and-iron dominance yet just as powerful.
“Get in, little wolf.”
The locks disengaged with a muted click. I tumbled into the leather seats, my body moving on instinct before my mind could catch up.
Then-
I folded forward, pressing my forehead to my brother’s thigh like a pup seeking solace after a storm. His hand settled between my shoulder blades, warm and heavy with the unshakable certainty of home.
“There, there.” His thumb traced slow circles over my spine, the way he’d done when I’d skinned my knees as a child. “Let it out.”
The Rolls purred to life beneath us, its vibration thrumming through my bones. The tears came then-silent, shuddering things that left dark stains on his Brioni wool trousers.
“I was so stupid,” I choked out, the words scraping my throat raw. “So blind.”
Cyric didn’t offer empty platitudes. Just the steady weight of his palm and a truth that settled like sunlight: “We all chase the wrong moon sometimes.”
I cried until my ribs ached, until the salt of my tears washed clean the lingering scent of that other pack-of him. When I finally sat up, leaving my grief smeared across ten thousand dollars’ worth of tailoring, my brother’s mouth quirked.
“Feel better?”
I swiped at my damp cheeks with the back of my hand. “Thank you. For coming. I hope I didn’t-“
“Council meeting?” Cyric snorted, adjusting his cufflinks with deliberate calm. “Let’s just say they’ll survive the scandal of their Alpha walking out mid-vote to retrieve his sister from that backwater pack.”
The way he said backwater-like Calden’s territory was some flea-ridden outpost rather than one of the strongest southern alliances-made something tight in my chest finally loosen.
Home.
The Missatian Empire didn’t just rule territories-it owned them. Our holdings stretched across continents like gilded roots, boardrooms in London and Tokyo answering to the same ancient bloodline that had once ruled from wolfskin thrones. And Cyric Feymere, my brother, heir to it all, currently had his Brioni-clad arm around my shaking shoulders like I was still the pup who’d followed him through moonlit forests.
“You texted.” His voice carried the weight of a thousand unspoken worries. “The world can wait.”
His fingers carded through my hair, leaving behind the comforting musk of home-vetiver and snowmelt, so different from Sunlight Ridge’s pine-and-iron austerity. The scent alone made my throat tighten.
“Thank you,” I whispered, picking at my sleeve. “For the photo trace. For…everything.”
Cyric’s thumb brushed away a stray tear, his touch lingering like a brand. “Took three calls.” A wolf’s smile-all teeth. “The moment you mentioned Thessaly’s ‘head trauma,’ I had enforcers watching every clinic in their territory.”
The admission cracked something open in my chest. Three years. Three years of isolation, and they’d been watching the whole time.
“Father howls for you.”
The words landed like a physical blow. Our Alpha father’s full moon ritual-a lament for missing pack. My eyes burned anew.
“I was a fool,” I choked out, burying my face in his shoulder. “You warned me. The whole damn pack warned me-“
“No.” His arms locked around me, Alpha strength tempered by brotherly care. “You walked into that fire to prove it wouldn’t burn you. That’s not foolishness-that’s Feymere blood.”
I laughed wetly against his lapel. “Turns out fire burns everyone the same.”
Cyric’s growl vibrated through me. “Calden Ashmoor never deserved our princess.”
He tipped my chin up, dark eyes scanning the damage-the hollows under my eyes, the scars no one could see. “Sunlight Ridge will learn what happens when they play games with Missatian wolves.”
The Rolls crossed the territorial boundary, the air shifting subtly as ancient wardstones recognized their lost daughter. Cyric pressed his forehead to mine, our breaths mingling in the sacred space between Alphas and their kin.
“Welcome home, Zarelle Feymere.”
***
_Calden’s POV_
The sterile hospital air clung to my skin like a second layer of clothing, heavy with the acrid tang of antiseptic and Thessaly’s rose perfume. I strode from her private ward, my knuckles still throbbing from where I’d punched the observation room wall.
Fainted. No crisis. Feigned Luna frailty.
The head healer’s diagnosis echoed in my skull, each word a fresh insult. Three years. Three godsdamned years of emergency transfusions, of watching Zarelle grow paler with each donation-all for theatrics.
My phone burned in my palm.
“Sorry, the number you’ve dialed is unavailable-“
I crushed the device against my ear hard enough to make the plastic creak. When the automated voice repeated its mocking refrain, something primal snarled in my chest.
Gone.
Not just from the hospital. From the territory. From me.
Beta Aldrin materialized at my elbow, his usual confidence frayed at the edges. “No sign of her, Alpha. Security cams show her leaving through the west garage. Alone.”
Alone. The word hooked between my ribs. Zarelle had never gone anywhere alone-not since the pact bound her to my pack. Always an escort. Always my oversight.
“Track her.” The command ripped from my throat before I could temper it. “Every road. Every flight manifest. I want-“
What?
The unspoken question hung between us. What did I want from the omega who’d been nothing but a contractual obligation? We’d never completed the mating bond. She never wore my mark. Our marriage was just on paper. Then why did I want her back?
Aldrin hesitated. “The council will question diverting resources to-“
“Now.” My canines punched through my gums, the taste of copper flooding my mouth.
As Aldrin scrambled to obey, I braced against the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. My reflection stared back-a stranger with wild eyes and a heaving chest.
Zarelle Stormy.
The name tasted wrong. She’d never been Stormy to me. Not really. Just…Zarelle. The quiet shadow who appeared when summoned, who endured my coldness without complaint, whose rare RH-negative blood had saved Thessaly more times than I could count.
And now she was gone.
My wolf raged against its chains as her scent faded from my territory, and her absence carved a hole in my chest.
I whirled toward the elevators, my dress shoes striking the polished floors like gunshots.
“Alpha?” Aldrin called after me.
I didn’t slow. “Call the enforcers. Activate the bloodhound units.”
“On what grounds?”
The elevator doors slid open. I met his gaze over my shoulder, letting my wolf bleed into my eyes.
“On the grounds that she took what’s mine.”