The Rejected Mate's Rebirth

The cold didn't kill me. The betrayal did. The cold just finished the job. I remember everything about my death. The way the stone floor of Liam's prison sucked the heat from my bones. The way my wolf whimpered inside me, too weak to shift, too weak to save us both. The way Selene's laugh echoed through the bars as I took my last breath. Four hundred thirty-seven days locked in the dark. For what? For loving the wrong man? My eyes were closing for the final time when I heard a voice—not from the cell, but from somewhere deeper. Darker. "Do you want another chance?" I couldn't answer. My lungs had already frozen. "Speak, little wolf." "Yes." Then nothing. I woke up screaming. Not from pain. From sunlight. It poured through lace curtains, warm and golden, stabbing my eyes like a thousand tiny knives. I sat up so fast my head spun. White silk canopy above me. Roses on the nightstand. My wedding dress hanging on the mannequin across the room. Size four. White. Virginal. A joke. "Three years," I whispered. My voice cracked. Real. Raw. Mine. The clock said 8:00 AM. October twelfth. Three years before I froze to death. Three years before Liam threw me away like garbage. I swung my legs off the bed. My body was young again. No bruises. No frostbite. My wolf stretched inside me, confused but alive. "Oh, you're awake." The voice made my blood turn cold again. Selene stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame like she already owned the place. She wore a silk robe—my silk robe—and her blonde hair was messy in a way that was supposed to look effortless. "He wanted me to check on you," she said, smiling. "You looked so pale at breakfast." Breakfast. Right. In my first life, I'd eaten breakfast with Liam that morning. Smiled at him. Kissed his cheek. Had no idea he'd already been inside Selene the night before. Not this time. I stood up. Walked toward her. Slow. Deliberate. "He sent you?" I asked. "He's so sweet that way." "Is he?" She blinked. My tone was wrong. Too flat. Too knowing. "What's wrong with you?" she asked. "Nothing." I stopped inches from her face. Looked at her lips. Her neck. The faint bruise hidden under her collar. "You should put some powder on that." Her hand flew to her throat. Her eyes went wide. "I don't know what you're—" "Save it." I stepped past her into the hallway. "We both know you're not here to check on me. You're here to make sure I show up to the altar like a good little fool." Behind me, Selene's breath hitched. "I'll be at the ceremony," I said without turning around. "Don't worry. I wouldn't miss it for the world." The church smelled the same as I remembered. Incense and lilies and the faint sweat of too many wolves packed into wooden pews. I walked down the aisle alone. No father to give me away. No mother to cry. Just me and the ghost of the woman I used to be. Liam waited at the altar. Tall. Blond. Dimpled smile. The kind of face that made mothers trust him and daughters fall for him. I'd been one of those daughters. Never again. His eyes found mine as I approached. He smiled wider. Reached for my hand. I let him take it. His fingers were warm. Soft. The hands of a man who'd never done his own killing. "You look beautiful," he whispered. "I know." He blinked. That wasn't what the old me would have said. The old me would have blushed. Stuttered. Thanked him like he'd given me a gift. The new me just smiled. The priest cleared his throat. "Dearly beloved—" I stopped listening. I'd heard this speech before. In my first life, I'd cried during it. Tears of joy, I thought. Tears of stupidity, I now knew. My eyes drifted over the crowd. Liam's father, smirking. His mother, already tipsy. Selene, sitting in the second row, her neck now powdered to hide the bruise. And there. Back row. Leaning against the stone pillar like he owned the air he breathed. Damon Vane. Alpha King of the Northern Wilds. Liam's deadliest enemy. The monster they whispered about at pack gatherings. The wolf who'd never attended a wedding in his life. Until today. His eyes met mine. Dark. Unreadable. Hungry. He came to watch Liam lose. The priest droned on. "Do you take this man—" I dropped Liam's hand. The bouquet followed. White roses scattered across the stone floor like bones. "Sera?" Liam's smile faltered. I turned away from the altar. Walked past Liam's father. Past his mother. Past Selene, whose mouth fell open in perfect, horrified slow motion. Every step was mine. Every breath was mine. For the first time in two lives, I wasn't walking toward someone else's future. I stopped in front of Damon. He was taller than I remembered. Broader. Scars on his knuckles. A shadow of stubble on his jaw. His scent—pine and smoke and something wild—wrapped around me like a promise. "Marry me instead," I said. Behind me, chaos erupted. Liam was shouting. Guards were surging forward. Selene was shrieking something about hysteria and bridal nerves. Damon didn't move. Didn't blink. Just looked at me with those dark, searching eyes. "You're serious," he said. Not a question. "I want to ruin him." I tilted my head toward the altar where Liam was now being held back by three guards. "You want to ruin him. Let's ruin him together." Damon's lips curved. Slow. Dangerous. "You don't even know me." "I know you're his enemy. That's enough." "Not for marriage, it's not." I stepped closer. Close enough to feel the heat rolling off his body. Close enough to see the pulse ticking in his throat. "Then get to know me," I whispered. "I'm not the woman everyone thinks I am." His hand came up. Fingers brushed my jaw. Rough. Calloused. Electric. "I can see that." "Sera!" Liam's voice cracked through the church. "Get away from him!" Damon didn't look at Liam. Didn't acknowledge him at all. His eyes stayed on mine. "Last chance," he murmured. "Walk away now, and I'll pretend this never happened." I grabbed his collar. Pulled him down until his forehead nearly touched mine. "I died in his prison," I said, low enough that only he could hear. "Four hundred thirty-seven days. I froze to death while he toasted his mistress. So don't ask me if I'm sure. Ask me how fast we can make him bleed." Something shifted in Damon's expression. Not shock. Not pity. Hunger. He kissed me. Not gentle. Not romantic. It was a claim. A brand. His mouth hot and demanding, his stubble scraping my skin, his hand sliding into my hair and pulling just hard enough to make me gasp against his lips. When he pulled back, the church was silent. "She's mine now," Damon announced. Then he swept me into his arms and carried me down the aisle. The carriage was black. Iron-trimmed. Pulled by two massive wolves the color of charcoal. Damon set me on the leather seat and climbed in across from me. The door slammed shut. The wolves took off before I could catch my breath. He didn't speak. Just watched me. Those dark eyes tracing my face like he was memorizing every line. "You kissed me," I said. "You asked me to marry you." "I asked. You kissed." "Would you have preferred I didn't?" I thought about it. About his mouth on mine. The way my body had reacted—not with fear, but with fire. "No," I admitted. His lips twitched. Almost a smile. "Good." The carriage hit a bump. I slid toward him. He caught my waist. Steady. Warm. Too close. "If we're doing this," he said, his voice lower now, "there are rules." "Tell me." "Rule one. You don't lie to me." "I won't." "Rule two." His thumb traced slow circles on my hip. "You don't touch another man." I laughed. It came out breathier than I intended. "Rule three?" I asked. He pulled me onto his lap. His hands settled on my thighs. His eyes never left mine. "Rule three," he said, "is that when I kiss you again, you don't pretend you don't want it." "I won't," I whispered. "Good girl." Then he kissed me again. And this time, I kissed him back like I meant it.