His Secret Reborn Warrior Fated Mate

ora

I tried to scream, but the heat had stolen the air, leaving only a raw, silent agony. The last thing I saw w

y nightgown, clinging to my skin like a second, icy layer. My heart hammered aga

ursts. I clutched my chest, feeling

ve. My ski

readbare rug on the floor, the single, narrow window showing a sliver of the pre-dawn sky. This was

could

t of bed. The wooden floorboards were cold against my bare feet.

s. My silver hair, a trait of the Carlisle lineage, fell in a tangled mess around my shoulders, not a singed ruin. I

eal. I w

her Sterling, so brilliant and kind, executed for a crime he didn't commit. My real mother, Adeline, wasting away under Genevieve's s

ng back with an intensity that burned. Hate. It was a physical thing, a coil of ice and fire tightening in my stomach. I dug my nails

on the door

wake? The Matron i

nt as I remembered, dripping with the casual disda

it into a tight, hard knot in my chest. When I spoke, my voice was a strange

kno

already set in its usual pinched expression of disap

iting. She wants to speak with you

oday. This was the day it all began. The day Genevieve would "persuade" me to petition the Alpha King, to

hly believing that this sacrifice would earn me a place in the family. That single act of submission had

t was a plain, gray dress, clean but faded from

o look humble when you'

ol of my weakness, my compliance. A cold, sharp

looked at Louisa, my gaz

. I need to

bedience, not this unnerving stillness. She saw the look in my eyes and, for the first tim

bluster sounding hollow. She backed out of the room, clo

the door, listening until her footsteps fade

yielding in my hands. The dress of a girl who knew

't put

ripped the fabric. The sound was loud in the quiet room, a satisfying shriek

as even. My ha

apped in oilcloth, was the uniform I had earned. It wasn't a dress uniform, but the practical, durable fatigues I wore in

on my shoulders like a second skin. I pulled my long silver hai

t, pleading eyes of a girl desperate for love. They were the eyes o

cold fireplace. I watched the strips of cloth lie there, a pathetic heap of my

my reflection, "I, Aurora Carlisle, will

e hallway. When she saw me, her jaw dropped. Her eyes widened in disbelief,

ou wearing? The Ma

ead the way. I have something to

is on the word "mother." It dripped with a

eer force of my presence, that she forgot to argue. S

was solid, deliberate. I could feel the cool morning air on my

, the war had