After Rebirth, I Ruined His Alpha Reign

Alexandria POV:

The sharp, metallic scent of spilled blood hit my nose, mixing with the heavy smell of pine.

Around me lay the silence of absolute slaughter—fallen soldiers in torn Southern Fang colors, a trampled banner half-buried in the crimson-stained snow. My legion had won. The Northern Crest Dominion was safe.

And Daryle’s path to the throne was finally clear.

I wiped my dagger, my hands trembling slightly from exhaustion, but a soft smile touched my lips. I couldn't wait to see him.

Snow crunched behind me.

My heart leaped. I sheathed my blade and turned, warmth flooding my chest despite the freezing wind.

He stepped out from the shadowy trunks of the tall cedars. Daryle Estrada. My Alpha. The future king I had bled for, built for, killed for. His golden hair caught the moonlight like a crown.

"You came," I breathed, stepping toward him, longing to feel his arms around me.

He held up a hand, stopping me.

I froze. The gesture was a splash of icy water.

There was no joy in his eyes. Only a cold, dark shadow.

"Alex," he said, his voice flat. "We won. But the cost was too high."

"Their sacrifice was necessary," I said softly, trying to reach him. "For the Dominion. For your crown."

I had taken blades meant for him. I had commanded a desperate three-month siege while he recovered from fever. He didn't need to know the nightmares I carried; he only needed to sit on the throne I was building.

Daryle closed the distance between us, pulling me into an embrace. But it was too tight. Hard plates of his armor dug violently into my bruised skin. His pulse against my cheek wasn't the frantic beat of a relieved lover—it was a slow, cold drum.

He leaned down, whispering against my ear with a voice like winter ice:

"And that is why you have to die."

Before my brain could process the words, a searing, holy agony exploded in my back.

Not a claw. Not iron. Silver. A silver fire that burned straight through my muscle, bone, and soul.

A choked gasp tore from my throat. Strength drained from my body like water from a smashed vase. My knees buckled.

I forced my eyes down.

Protruding from the center of my chest was the wet, red tip of a silver arrow.

Slick with my own warm blood, my trembling fingers reached out to touch the shaft. Right beneath the fletching were three familiar grooves carved into the wood—a spiral, and a crescent moon.

My mark.

I had carved this very arrow with my own hands, pressing it into his palm months ago when he swore by the Moon Goddess that it represented our unbreakable bond.

Daryle opened his arms and let me fall.

I slammed onto the icy ground like a broken puppet. "Why...?" I choked out, blood bubbling up my throat.

A rustle of velvet broke the silence. A woman glided out from the trees, a silver bow resting lightly in her delicate hands.

My half-sister. Christal.

A vicious, triumphant smile twisted her sweet face. But it wasn't the bow that shattered what was left of my soul.

It was the silver necklace glinting around her throat—a carved iris flower. My mother’s legacy. The only thing I had left of her. I had slept with it, carried it into every battle. And now, Christal wore it like a prize snatched off a fresh corpse.

She tucked her arm possessively into Daryle’s. "Because you were in the way, dear sister. Daryle's queen can only be me."

I looked at Daryle, silently begging him for a shred of humanity.

He looked down at me as if I were dirt under his boots.

"An Omega commander is a disgrace, Alex," he said indifferently. "Not an honor. You brought me shame."

Disgrace.

Ten years. Thirty thousand men. My youth, my loyalty, my heart. All reduced to a disgrace.

The fading life in me snapped, replaced instantaneously by a black, suffocating rage. My vision flared a blinding red.

"Daryle... Christal..." I rasped, pushing myself up with my last ounce of strength, spitting blood into the snow. "If there is another life... I will destroy... everything you hold dear..."

My breath seized. My vision snapped to black.

Then, a strange, weightless sensation took over.

I floated above the snow, a phantom made of moonlight and mist. Down below, my body lay broken, the silver arrow standing tall out of my bloody chest.

I was dead, yet my hatred chained my soul to the earth.

I lunged down, desperate to pull the arrow out, to claw Daryle's eyes out—but my ghostly hands passed straight through solid wood. I screamed, but no sound escaped. I was a helpless specter, forced to watch my own desecration.

Daryle didn't even glance at my corpse.

"Finally," Christal giggled, her light voice floating up through the trees. "Now we can plan the wedding without her shadow hanging over us. I want the winter solstice. And white northern rose petals."

"Whatever you wish, my love," Daryle murmured softly.

They turned and walked away, leaving me crumpled in the freezing dark like discarded trash. Their light laughter drifted back through the wind, mingling with the falling snow.

Alone in the quiet woods, I looked down at my dead body, then turned my ghostly face toward the full, unblinking moon.

I didn't pray. I didn't beg for mercy.

"Moon Goddess!" I roared into the void, my spectral voice bleeding pure venom. "You took my blood, my sacrifices, my life—and gave me this?!"

The moon hung cold and silent.

"If you have a shred of justice left, SEND ME BACK!" I screamed at the heavens. "Not for peace! For blood! Give me one breath—one chance—and I will burn their world to ash!"