Alyssa POV:
Constantine Witt. The Alpha King of the Blackwood Pack. Taller than the rumors, and a hundred times more dangerous.
His dark gray eyes were a storm front. The cane in his grip didn't shrink him—it sharpened him, adding a layer of coiled violence to the air.
And I felt it, pulling from the deepest part of my soul. Cedar and winter wind. My Mate.
Fate was a cruel comedian. In my last life I was murdered on the eve of being delivered to this man.
But I was not that naive girl anymore. I had died once. I knew—because I had heard the stories, lived through the aftermath—that this man, for all his ferocity, was the only one who could protect me. The only sword sharp enough to help me take my revenge.
His coldness and mockery were nothing but the growl of a wounded beast. I knew his weakness. I was born to be his cure.
I crushed my grief and hatred into a single, burning point. My goal was simple: secure him.
I straightened my spine and met his gaze head-on. For an Omega to meet an Alpha's eyes was a challenge. I no longer cared for such rules.
A flicker of surprise crossed his face before the ice closed over it again.
"Constantine Witt," I said, clear and firm. "I know I am your fated Mate."
Behind him, his Beta—Nash Mills, if memory served—sucked in a sharp breath.
Constantine's lips pressed thin. He didn't confirm. He didn't deny.
I stepped forward, closing the space until I could smell the cedar and, beneath it, a burning desire he was trying very hard to hide.
I tilted my head back, looked him dead in the eye, and said each word like an oath.
"I, Alyssa Clay, accept this bond. I accept you, Constantine Witt, as my one and only Alpha, my Mate."
The words dropped into the silence like a stone into still water. Nash's jaw nearly hit the forest floor.
Constantine's pupils constricted. He had not expected this. Not the directness. Not the initiative.
The knuckles on his cane went white. He was fighting it.
His wolf was celebrating. His mind was resisting. The war twisted his handsome face.
"Are you insane?" he ground out. "Do you know what you're saying? Do you know who I am? A cripple whose temper is as broken as his ability to shift—or so the rumors go."
He hurled the words like stones, testing me, mocking himself.
I did not flinch. I took another step, so close my body nearly brushed his chest. "I know," I said softly. "But I also know you are my Mate. And that is enough."
I reached out, slow and deliberate, and laid my fingers over the back of his hand where it gripped the cane.
Lightning. It arced between us, and we both shuddered.
His wolf let out a satisfied rumble I could almost hear through our half-formed bond. Ours! Finally!
Constantine tore his hand away—but his eyes betrayed him. Shock. Conflict. And a flame I had just lit.
I smiled, faint. My first objective was complete. The seed was planted.
He stared at me for a long, hard moment, as if trying to see the shape of my soul.
"You're bold, Omega," he said at last.
"I just know what I want," I answered.
Revenge. And a new life. With him.
He gave a cold snort and turned. "Nash. Bring her. It seems the Clay Pack has sent me an interesting toy."
A front. He had agreed.
Nash made a respectful "this way" gesture, awe and curiosity warring in his eyes.
I followed Constantine's back. Straight. Proud. Even leaning on the cane.
My Alpha King. This time, our fates are bound. You will be my sword, and I will be your cure.
