The Night I Was Reborn

Calla's POV

I didn’t know how long I stayed there in the darkness.

The sound of dripping water echoed somewhere nearby, but I couldn’t feel anything.

Am I dead?

It didn't feel right.

Until then, I jolted awake, choking on my own breath.

Air burned through my throat, ragged and dry as if I hadn’t taken a proper breath in hours. My chest rose too fast, heart hammering in my ears, and for one terrifying moment, I couldn’t tell if I was alive or somewhere in between.

The sheets were all twisted up around my legs, and sweat slicked my skin. I blinked at the ceiling above me, the same cracked plaster, the same ugly light fixture hanging overhead.

I knew this room. Too well.

The scent of incense still hung faintly in the air—spicy, cloying, familiar. My body felt heavy, tingling with a heat I hadn’t invited.

Then I heard it.

The faint click of glass against wood. A bottle. A whisper of fabric being dropped. The low sound of someone breathing—struggling.

I turned my head.

Lucien Thorne, the Alpha of the Nightmoor Pack

He was lying beside me.

Half-naked, sweat glistening down his chest, his expression twisted in discomfort. His brows furrowed like he was fighting something in his own body. The mating heat. The drugs. Both.

I remembered this night from before.

I remembered how we burned—how our bodies moved like strangers under someone else’s control, how I’d reached for him, dazed and confused, while he looked at me like I was part of some sick trap. We were both drugged. Neither of us chose it.

But now?

Now I was fully aware. Fully sober.

And for the first time, I saw it all for what it really was. Just manipulation wrapped in heat and shame—and I wouldn’t let it ruin me again.

His muscles tensed, his hands knotted into the bedsheets. He muttered something under his breath, and then—

"Fucking hell!"

My head pounded.

His hand curled around the base of my neck.

I jerked, startled. But his grip tightened.

"Don't move."

He spoke with a powerful, authoritative voice. His chest was heaving, and the wild look in his eyes was terrifying. And as our eyes met, something unclear passed over his expression.

"You..."

He blinked slowly, like he was waking from a dream.

His hand slipped down the side of my throat, fingers brushing my bare collarbone, then his whole body seemed to tense.

"Calla..."

The way he said my name made my heart skip.

I didn't understand what was happening. But the way he looked at me—it was like seeing me for the first time.

A strange, warm feeling spread across my chest.

Was this a dream?

I closed my eyes.

Maybe it was a nightmare.

His fingers traced my jaw, and his thumb brushed my lips.

My eyes fluttered open.

The way he was looking at me wasn't right. His gaze wasn't cold or angry or disgusted. It was hot and heavy, and he was touching me. Touching my face, my lips. His eyes lingered on my body like he was starved. Like he wanted to devour me.

His hand drifted lower, tracing the curve of my breast, the dip in my waist. My stomach tensed, and heat flushed my cheeks.

He inhaled sharply, his lips parting as if he was drinking in my scent.

My heart fluttered.

His hand slid down my stomach, his palm pressing against my skin.

Heat shot through me, and a soft whimper slipped out before I could stop it.

"Why are you trembling?"

"I'm not—"

He pressed a finger against my lips.

"Don't lie."

"I..."

The words stuck in my throat.

He leaned in close, his lips hovering just above mine.

"I don't understand." His breath fanned across my cheek.

"Neither do I," I whispered.

"I feel..."

"What?"

He exhaled roughly, and his fingers slid lower.

"Like I want to rip you apart."

His hand slipped between my thighs, and he cupped me hard.

"Or fuck you."

My breath hitched.

His mouth closed over mine, his tongue sliding between my teeth. It was rough and demanding.

And I couldn't breathe.

My heart lurched, and the rest of the world went silent.

I felt everything.

Every stroke, every caress, and the heat of his body. The strength in his hands. The taste of his tongue. And suddenly, all I wanted was to be consumed. I wrapped my arms around him and kissed him back.

The feeling was so strong and overwhelming that it was almost painful. And yet, I never wanted it to end.

He growled against my mouth, his fingers digging into the curve of my hips.

I gasped.

His eyes darkened, and he pushed me onto my back, his body pressing hard against mine. He broke the kiss and trailed his mouth down the column of my throat.

I arched against him, heat pooling low in my belly.

"Do you want me?" he breathed against my skin.

I couldn't answer.

He nipped my neck, his teeth scraping along the sensitive spot just beneath my ear.

"Yes," I whispered.

His hands roamed my body, rough and hungry, and then they were everywhere—my hips, my waist, and my thighs.

His fingers tangled in my hair, and his lips crashed against mine. He bit my lower lip, then slid his tongue between my teeth.

I moaned.

His grip tightened, and his body shifted, grinding into mine. I could feel him—his length, his hardness, pressing against me.

My heart raced.

His eyes locked on mine.

"Look at me," he ordered.

My gaze lifted to his, and something inside me shuddered.

I was so close. So lost in the sensation.

And when he pressed himself against my core, I was ready.

My hips rose, and my back arched. I couldn't stop the sound that slipped past my lips, nor could I control the way my body responded to his touch.

He kissed me, his mouth swallowing my cry.

I shuddered, my hips jerking as I fell apart.

"Calla."

My name was a whisper on his lips.

"I can't... I can't wait."

He pressed harder, grinding against me, and his fingers curled into the soft flesh of my ass.

I couldn't think straight. All I could focus on was the pleasure building between us, the tension in my muscles, the heat burning through me.

His eyes closed in pleasure, his mouth parted. His head tipped back, and his muscles tightened. His whole body shuddered as he emptied himself inside me.

"Fuck..."

His breath was ragged.

And by the time it was over, he barely looked at me. He let out a heavy breath, rolled over, and crashed into the pillow without a word. Out cold, like nothing had happened. Like I hadn’t happened.

And I lay there, staring at the ceiling, wide awake… wondering how the hell I ever mistook this for fate.

It was just like last time. Same as before.

My stomach clenched.

Oh no! No, no, no. This wasn’t possible. I remembered falling from the second floor. I remembered the stone. The cold. Marla’s face. The blood. I remembered dying.

So why was I here? Why was I back?

I sat up, my breath coming faster, panic and realization crashing over me in uneven waves.

The same night. The same bed. The same trap.

I reached for the edge of the mattress, grounding myself. The heat crawling under my skin wasn’t just the drugs—it was the fire in my chest, the memories in my blood. I knew what would happen if I let it play out. I knew what my father was about to do—any second now, that door would burst open, and he’d drag the Elders in. They’d see us. Half-dressed. Writhing in heat. And Lucien, even in his dazed state, would hate me for it.

He’d never forgive me.

And I would never forgive myself if it were to happen again.

I swung my legs off the bed, hands shaking as I stood. The floor was cold under my feet, the way it had been that night. My heart pounded as I turned toward the door.

And then I heard voices. Footsteps. Muffled at first, but growing louder—approaching.

It could be my father. Spirits, I knew it was him. And the Elders he dragged along with him like hounds on a leash.

I remembered this part too well. In my previous life, he’d burst through that door with them in tow—acting shocked, pretending it was all a terrible discovery. But it was a trap. One he set that ruined everything.

He wanted to shame Lucien into taking responsibility and force a bond through scandal. And it worked. I was the price—the casualty. But not this time.

This time, I had a second chance—and I wasn’t wasting it.

I jolted fully awake, heart thudding against my ribs like a drum. I threw off the covers, stumbled out of bed, and grabbed my clothes. My hands were still shaking as I tugged it on over my bare skin, tying it tight around my waist.

Lucien was still passed out, the heat still burning off him in waves. He had no idea what was about to happen.

I didn’t stop to think.

Barefoot, I ran out of the room. Not away—but toward the hallway. Toward the moment, everything had spiralled because I had to get there before that door opened. Before they ruined us all over again.

The footsteps were getting louder, and I could hear them—my father's voice.

"Are you sure she's in here? Maybe we should check somewhere else first. Or not at all."

"No, no. The guards say they saw her go in. She's got to be here."

They were just outside the mansion.

I raced down the hallway and kept myself hidden, waiting until they passed before I could step out.