Reborn for an Alpha's Fall

Vera

A phantom kiss of cold steel slices across my neck and I awaken with a gasp, my own scream caught in my throat. My hands fly to my throat, expecting the gush of warm blood, the final, rattling breath. But there is only smooth skin. My heart hammers against my ribs like a trapped bird. The air smells of lavender and lemon polish, not the coppery tang of my own execution.

My eyes snap open. I’m not on a wooden platform, staring into a sea of accusing faces. I’m in my bed. My old bed, in my old room, tangled in sheets of ridiculously expensive silk. Sunlight streams through the leaded glass window, catching dust motes dancing in the air. This is the room of a girl, not a condemned traitor.

Panic gives way to a chilling, impossible clarity. It is the morning of my Mating Ceremony. The morning it all began. The morning my life spiraled into a nightmare of humiliation and betrayal, ending with Alpha Felix, my intended mate, watching impassively as his executioner’s axe fell.

“My lady? Are you awake?” A soft voice comes from the door. Lyra. My sweet, timid handmaiden who tried to sneak me food in my cell and was whipped for her loyalty. She peeks inside, her face a mask of nervous excitement. “It’s time to prepare. The whole pack is waiting.”

She steps in, followed by two other maids, and they carry it between them. The Gown. A monstrous confection of white silk and silver thread, so heavy it could anchor a ship. It’s a cage made of fabric, designed to make me look pure, docile, and ornamental. I wore it the first time. I smiled and simpered and played the part of the perfect, grateful Luna-to-be.

I remember the feel of this silk against my skin as Felix ignored me at our own celebration, his hand resting on Bianca’s lower back. I remember a rip in the hem from when a guard shoved me to the ground. I remember it being torn from me before they threw me into the dungeons, stained and ruined.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Lyra breathes, her eyes wide with innocent reverence.

My voice is a low rasp, rusty from disuse or maybe from a scream that crossed the barrier of death itself. “Take it away.”

Lyra freezes, her hands hovering over the silk. “My lady?”

“I will not be wearing that,” I say, my voice gaining strength. I swing my legs out of bed, the cool floorboards a welcome shock against my bare feet. I stand before them, clad only in a thin chemise, and for the first time in what feels like a century, I am not afraid.

“But… but the Alpha commanded it,” one of the other maids stammers, her eyes darting toward the door as if Felix himself might materialize. “This is the ceremonial gown. Every Luna for a hundred years has…”

“Then it’s time for a new tradition,” I interrupt, my gaze locking with Lyra’s. “Go to my old training chest. At the very bottom, you will find a set of black leathers. The ones I wore during my warrior trials. Bring them to me. Now.”

Lyra’s face is pale with terror. “Warrior leathers? For your Mating Ceremony? Vera, he will be furious. He will punish you. He’ll punish all of us.”

I give her a small, hard smile. The memory of her loyalty in the face of Felix's wrath is a hot coal in my chest. This time, I will be the one to protect her. “Let him be furious. His moods are no longer my concern. Do as I say, Lyra.”

She hesitates for a heartbeat, searching my eyes. She must see something new there, something unbreakable, because she gives a short, sharp nod and hurries out of the room, the other maids scrambling after her.

When they return, the worn, supple leather feels like a second skin. It smells of oil and sweat and freedom. There are no delicate silver threads, only reinforced stitching and straps for holding knives. As I buckle the last strap on my thigh, I meet my own eyes in the mirror. The girl who cried in the dungeons is gone. The woman who faced the axe remains. Her eyes are ancient, filled with a cold, burning purpose.

Whispers follow me down the Great Hall’s central aisle like a cloud of insects. The entire Shadowclaw Pack is here, packed onto the long wooden benches. Visiting dignitaries from allied packs line the walls, their faces a mixture of confusion and disapproval. I ignore them all. My focus is on the raised dais at the front of the hall, where two figures stand before the ancient hearthstone.

One is the pack Elder, his face already a deep, troubled red. The other is him.

Alpha Felix. He looks exactly as I remember, devastatingly handsome, radiating an aura of power and supreme arrogance. His black hair is artfully tousled, his ceremonial silver armor gleams in the torchlight. He hasn’t turned to look at me yet. He’s too busy accepting the adulation of the crowd, a smug smirk playing on his lips. He thinks this ceremony, this mating, is about him. A confirmation of his status.

Beside the dais, in the front row, sits Bianca. Her crimson dress is a slash of color in the muted hall. She catches my eye, and her perfectly shaped lips curve into a sneer of contempt as she takes in my leathers. She thinks I am a pathetic, classless fool making a scene. Good. Let her think that. Let them all underestimate me. It’s the last mistake they’ll ever make.

I come to a halt at the foot of the dais. The hall falls silent. Finally, Felix deigns to turn. His eyes rake over me, from my practical boots to my braided hair. His smirk falters, replaced by a flash of irritation.

“What is the meaning of this, Vera?” his voice is a low growl, meant only for me, but it carries in the silence. “Where is your gown? Did you think to make a joke of our mating day?”

“I am here, as summoned,” I say, my voice steady and clear.

The Elder clears his throat, his gaze flicking nervously between us. “Let us… let us begin. Alpha Felix, Vera. Step forward and join hands. Let the Moon Goddess bear witness to this sacred union, a bond of strength and fealty that will fortify the Shadowclaw Pack for generations to come.”

Felix’s arrogance returns, smoothing over his anger. He sees this as a childish tantrum, a final, fleeting act of defiance before I am his to command. He extends his hand, a gesture of ownership, not partnership.

“Come, Vera,” he commands, his tone dripping with condescending patience. “Your little display is over. Take my hand.”

I watch that hand. The hand that signed my death warrant. The hand that held Bianca’s as I was dragged away. The memory is so sharp, so real, it feels like it happened a second ago. A fire ignites in my soul, burning away the last vestiges of the girl I was.

I do not move.

His eyes narrow. “I will not repeat myself again.”

The entire hall holds its breath. This is it. The first stone of the avalanche.

I take a single step back.

“No,” I say. My voice doesn’t tremble. It rings through the hall, sharp and cold as the executioner’s blade.

A wave of shocked murmurs ripples through the crowd. Felix’s face darkens, the mask of the magnanimous Alpha slipping to reveal the tyrant beneath. “What did you say to me?”

I lift my chin, meeting his furious gaze without flinching. I project my voice so that every single wolf in this hall can hear my words, my judgment, my vow.

“I said no,” I declare, the words a liberation. “I, Vera of the Shadowclaw Pack, do not accept this union. Before the Goddess and all witnesses, I reject you, Alpha Felix.”

His jaw drops. Bianca leaps to her feet, her face a mask of outrage. The Elder looks like he might faint.

I am not finished.

“I sever this bond before it can be formed,” I continue, the power in my own voice stunning me. “I sever all ties, all claims, all duties associated with it. Now and forever.”

The silence that follows is absolute, a deafening void where a sacred vow should be. It is the silence of a world cracking apart. I can feel hundreds of eyes on me, feel their shock, their disbelief, their fear.

But all I see is Felix’s face. The arrogant confidence has been wiped away, replaced by a look of pure, undiluted, public humiliation. His rage is a physical thing, a wave of heat rolling off him. He thinks I am a hysterical girl who has just signed her own death warrant.

He has no idea. This isn't my execution. It's his.