Killed By My Mate, Reborn As His Nightmare

“If you twirl one more time, you’re going to trip over that hem and give Kieran a face full of dirt instead of a kiss,” Mira said, leaning against the door frame with a smirk. Elyssa stopped mid-spin, her skirts flaring around her knees. She laughed, the sound bright and genuine. “He wouldn't mind. He’d probably catch me and tell me I’m beautiful even when I’m face-down in the mud.” Mira’s expression softened, that maternal warmth Elyssa had relied on since her mother died radiating from her. She reached out, tucking a stray lock of dark hair behind Elyssa’s ear. “You look beautiful, El. Nineteen suits you... be home by midnight? I don't want to have to send a search party for the future Alpha’s mate.” “I'll be back,” Elyssa promised, kissing Mira’s cheek as she darted past. “Don't wait up!” The forest was alive with the hum of late summer. Elyssa walked the familiar trail, her fingers brushing the silver filigree of the bracelet on her right wrist. It had been a gift from Selene for her sixteenth birthday, a “token of sisterhood”. She never took it off. The scent hit her before she saw him: cedarwood, rain-drenched earth, and the faint, sharp tang of cold iron. Her wolf, Nyra, let out a low, contented purr in the back of her mind. “Thank you,” Elyssa whispered to the Moon Goddess. “Thank you for giving him to me.” She rounded the final bend and stopped. The clearing was transformed. Dozens of paper lanterns hung from the low branches of the ancient oaks, casting a honey-gold glow over the grass. Dozens of candles stood in clusters, their flames steady in the still air. Kieran stood in the center, looking every bit the Alpha he was born to be, his shoulders broad and his eyes fixed on the path. When he saw her, his face broke into that specific smile, the one he saved only for her. “You’re overdoing it,” Elyssa teased as she stepped into the light. “Lanterns? Truly? People will think you’re a romantic, Kieran. It’ll ruin your reputation.” “Let them think,” he said, drawing her into his arms. He smelled like home. He smelled like a promise. They sat on a spread blanket, picking at pastries Mira had helped him source. But as the moon climbed higher, the easy laughter began to taper off. Kieran became quiet, his gaze fixed on the flickering candle flames rather than her face. “Kieran?” she asked softly. “Is something wrong?” He looked at her then, his amber eyes unreadable. “Elyssa... if things ever got complicated. If things went wrong... you wouldn’t fight me, would you? You’d trust that I was doing what was best for the pack?” It was a strange question, but she didn’t hesitate. She reached out, squeezing his hand. “If it’s you, I’m not going anywhere. I’m yours, Kieran. Always.” “Good,” he said. The word didn’t sound like a relief. It sounded like a sentence. A branch snapped in the darkness. “Rogues!” Kieran shouted, shoving her behind him as three massive wolves burst from the tree line. It was chaos. The lanterns swung wildly, casting jagged shadows. Kieran shifted, his brown wolf snapping at the lead rogue, but a second attacker lunged from the side, a glint of steel in its maw, a wolfsbane-coated blade. “Kieran, watch out!” Elyssa didn't think. She didn't have time to be an omega or a victim. She threw herself into the path of the strike. The blade sank deep into her side, the wolfsbane burning like liquid fire the moment it hit her bloodstream. She hit the ground hard, her breath hitching as black veins began to bloom beneath her skin. “Kieran…” she gasped, reaching out a trembling hand. The rogues didn't finish her. They simply... stopped. They retreated into the shadows as if they had finished a job. Kieran shifted back, standing over her. He didn't reach for her. He didn't howl in agony. He just watched her bleed with a terrifying, clinical stillness. “Is it done?” a voice asked. Selene stepped into the clearing, her face pale but her eyes cold. She wasn't looking at Elyssa as a friend; she was looking at her as a resource. “I thought you were my friend,” Elyssa choked out, the wolfsbane stealing her voice. “You were a means to an end, Elyssa,” Selene replied, her voice devoid of pity. “My wolf is dying. I need what’s inside you. I need the Anchor.” A woman in tattered gray robes emerged, the witch. She began drawing a circle in the dirt around Elyssa’s shaking body. The silver bracelet on Elyssa’s wrist began to glow with a sickly violet light, siphoning the last of her strength. “The heart that loved completely,” the witch chanted. “The sacrifice given willingly.” Kieran knelt, finally. But he didn't pick her up. He pressed his hand over her heart, his expression one of grim necessity. “I’m sorry, El. But a pack needs a strong Luna. And you were always meant to be the cure, not the Queen.” The witch’s ritual blade plunged into her chest. Elyssa’s world turned to white noise. Nyra let out one final, agonizing scream that echoed in her soul before the darkness claimed them both. “Rise,” a voice whispered, ancient, silver, and cold as the moon. “Rise and be their reckoning.” — Elyssa’s eyes snapped open. She lurched upward, a raw, ragged gasp tearing from her throat as air flooded her lungs. Her hands flew to her chest, fumbling at the fabric of her nightgown, searching for the hole, the blood, the cold iron. There was nothing. Only the steady, frantic thrum of a heart that should have been in a jar in a witch's hut. She stared at her hands. They were smaller. The callouses from her later training were gone. She looked at her bedside calendar: September. Three years ago. She was fifteen. The clearing was three years away. The memories surged, every touch, every lie, every lantern Kieran had lit to guide her to her death. The warmth that had defined her entire life vanished, replaced by a cold, obsidian clarity. A soft knock came at the door. “El? You awake? You'll be late for school.” Mira. Elyssa took a slow, deliberate breath. She stood up, walked to the mirror, and looked at the girl who didn't know she was a sacrifice. “I'm awake, Mira,” Elyssa said. Her voice was different. It was the voice of a girl who had died and decided that, this time, she wasn't going to be the only one who didn't make it out of the clearing. She started getting dressed. She had three years to dismantle a well-crafted plan. She was already thinking about where to start.