My Alpha tore out my throat. He forced Wolfsbane into my lungs and left me dead. The day I was reborn, he was deep in rut, moaning my name. In my last life, I loved him past reason. For three years, I was his secret, a plaything kept in the dark, until there was nothing left of me to bury. This time, I called in his first love. I handed in my migration writ and walked. He spoiled her. He destroyed what I treasured and trampled on whatever I felt for him. When clarity finally found him, he came begging. But whatever I had once felt was long dead. His regret meant nothing to me, and I wanted none of it.