3. Reborn

CLARA.

"Do you take Alaric Voss as your lawfully wedded husband?”

The priest’s voice echoes, distant, unclear.

I can’t breathe. Blood—there’s my blood… my flesh—ah—it’s tearing, hot, wet, slipping through my fingers.

Wolf… its claws, teeth, ripping me.

I’m… my—

My fingers twitch, and I’m back, my eyes snapping open.

The world snaps into place. There’s soft music playing somewhere around, and flowers—the faint scent of roses and polished wood.

I look down at myself. I’m wearing a white dress, layers of it, too fluffy, too floral for my liking, but I have seen this before… I have.

My eyes snap up and my breath stills.

Alaric.

He’s standing before me, in a perfect black tux, that same calm expression.

My wedding.

It’s my wedding.

The bouquet slips from my hands, gasps rippling through the crowd as I stumble back.

No—no, no, no—

I don’t wait. I turn and run, the doors, the people—everything blurring past me. My heartbeat thunders in my ears as I gather my dress in my hands.

I don’t stop until I reach the bridal room and slam the door shut.

Silence.

My chest heaves. Slowly—too slowly—I open my eyes.

A girl stares back at me, unharmed, unbroken, alive.

My fingers rise, trembling as I touch my cheek—no blood, no bruises, just warm, smooth skin.

“No…” My voice cracks. “No, this—”

This isn’t—

Tears blur my vision.

“I’m alive…”

The words feel wrong and real at the same time. It’s impossible.

A knock startles me.

“Clara? What happened? Clara?”

The door opens before I can answer, people rushing in. My friends, my cousins.

Their worried voices overlap, filling the room, but all I can see is them—alive and safe.

My throat tightens. I cross the room in seconds and grab them, pulling them into me like they might disappear again.

I can’t lose them. Not again.

“Hey—hey, what’s wrong?” one of them asks, startled.

“Clara?”

“You’re okay…” I whisper, my grip tightening. “You’re all okay…”

“Clara, you’re scaring us.”

I pull back, forcing myself to focus. I failed them once, not again. I will not lose them. Not a single human.

“Listen to me,” I say, voice low, urgent. “You cannot trust him.”

“Who?”

“Alaric.” The name tastes like poison. “Or anyone here. Do you understand?”

“What are you talking about?” Emily frowns.

“I’ll explain later,” I say quickly. “I promise I will. But right now, you need to stay alert. Stay together. Don’t believe anything they tell you.”

They exchange confused looks.

“Wait…” one of my friends says slowly. “Are you calling off the wedding?”

My lips part.

For a moment, the memory flashes again—teeth, blood, his voice.

Then die.

My fingers curl, and I force the word out. “No.”

They all stare at me.

“No,” I repeat, steadier now. “I’m going to marry him.”

“Clara, but you told us we shouldn’t trust them.”

“Yes,” I say, voice dropping colder, sharper. “And that’s exactly why I need to marry him.”

Keep your enemies closer, right?

And this time I’ll do it properly.

The music starts again when I return, all eyes turning to me, whispers rippling through the crowd—both human and wolves. I force a smile, ignoring the way my pulse pounds in my throat, and keep moving until I reach the altar.

And then I see him—my father.

My chest tightens in a way I don’t have a name for. My body moves before I can think, my eyes locking onto him checking for cracks, for blood, for proof this is all real.

He's not chained, not kneeling.

He's still here, standing tall among wolves and humans, upright, as if he still believes in peace like it’s something clean.

He moves toward me as soon as he sees me and takes my hands in his, his rough fingers tightening slightly.

“Don’t worry, it’ll be fine,” he whispers.

His grip tightens. “Don’t cause a scene,” he adds quietly, warning more than comfort, before stepping back.

No, father…

Even now you don’t care for me, if I want this or not.

Anyways.

“I’m sorry,” I say softly to the crowd. “Just nerves.”

A few chuckles and a few relieved smiles.

Then he moves towards me—Alaric. All my nerves spike violently this time for real, sharp and suffocating, my body screaming run, run now, and it takes everything in me not to turn around and run again, not to break right here in front of him.

Calm the fuck down, Clara.

Every step he takes is measured, controlled—like he owns the room, like he owns everything in it. God, I used to fucking admire that. Now it just makes me want to break something.

He stops right in front me and takes my hands in his. I nearly flinch when he does that, but instead force myself to smile and look at his shitface.

"It's going to be fine," he says.

Oh, you have no idea, Alaric Voss. How fine this is going to be.

"Of course," I say.

The ceremony continues, and when the ring slides onto my finger, it feels heavier than it should.

My turn. I take his hand, forcing my trembling fingers to steady and slide the ring onto his finger. A promise, a lie, and now a weapon.

“...you may kiss the bride.”

Fuck, here it comes.

Alaric smiles a little, his hands reaching behind my head. I lean in just enough and pull back just as fast.

A brief, meaningless peck, nothing more. His lips barely brush mine, but it's not like he cares or I do.

So yeah, a win.

___

The room is quiet—too quiet. The very same room I have been caged in for a year.

That fucking fluffy dress is gone now, replaced with something lighter, a bit too light and revealing. But I don't give a fuck.

I already know how this night’s gonna end.

The door opens, and there he is. Alaric. My husband, my traitor, and my killer. He steps inside, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

“I think,” he begins, loosening his cuffs, “we should take some time to get to know each other.”

I huff a snort at that. The very same dialogue, the very same smooth voice, controlled, like nothing in the world could ever shake him—like he didn’t just sign my death sentence in another life.

“I don’t believe in rushing things,” he continues, voice even. “You’ll have your space.”

Space? How generous. What a gentleman. Truly. Should I applaud now or later?

That's what I thought the first time I heard this. But now?

I know very well what he means by that space.

Him and Emma.

And now it's crystal clear why his best friend didn't attend our wedding. Not because she was sick or some bullshit—she couldn't fucking watch the love of her life marry another woman.

How tragic. StarCrossed lovers forced apart… while I played the perfect idiot in the middle.

They really played it well.

"Clara?" His voice brings me back and I blink, standing up immediately.

"Yes, sir," I say blankly.

And he smiles—a smile that's filled with so much warmth that it could fool me. Well, it did once.

"You can call me Alaric."

Oh, I prefer shitface. Because that's what suits you—always calm and composed like shit.

"Sure." I nod.

“I’ll be in the study if you need anything.”

Oh, I know.

Plotting, scheming, or fucking your so-called best friend. Busy night ahead, I suppose.

I just nod silently and he watches me for a second longer, his gaze lingering like he’s assessing something—me, maybe, or how much I’m worth this act before he takes a step forward and grabs my hand.

My eyes widen as he raises my hand, slowly pressing his lips into the back of it. His touch is warm, careful, like I'm something delicate.

How. Fucking. Romantic.

Too bad I know those same hands can order me torn apart without blinking.

I look at him, masking how disgusted I truly feel, and smile a little.

I sigh as the door finally shuts and he leaves.

Thank God. I need some good soap or handwash, and I hope I don't get rabies.

Maybe bleach. Yeah, definitely bleach.

Once I am sure he's gone, I change quickly into my gym clothes and open the window.

Cool night air hits my face in sharp bursts, biting against my skin, grounding me, real—so painfully real compared to everything else as I climb onto the ledge. The drop isn’t too far, even if I fell, I would still manage. I have done a lot worse things and I have to do this.

I have to go to his office—the one on the ground floor. That shitface has offices on each floor, but he never allows anyone to go there.

“Easy…” I murmur to myself.

One step.

Then another—my footing slips.

“Shit!”

My heart jumps into my throat—

A hand clamps around my wrist, firm.

I gasp, my body jerking to a stop as I just hang there, suspended in the air, breath stuck in my lungs, cold air rushing past me as gravity threatens to pull me down and the hand holds me up, against it all.

I look up slowly.

And meet a pair of dark brown eyes. Too dark that the night felt lighter in comparison.

Fuck.