His Defiant Omega: The Lycan King's Chosen Mate

Isabela POV:

I pushed open my bedroom door. The hallway was dim, lined with portraits of the Carter family patriarchs. Their painted eyes seemed to follow me, hollow and mocking.

Every step on the plush carpet felt like sinking into a grave. I had walked this path once before, and it had led me to hell. This time, it would be their road to ruin.

My eyes caught on a large oil painting of a winter hunt.

The image snagged me, pulling me back into the icy grip of my last moments.

It was a winter just as cold. They had sent me to "negotiate" with the northern rogues. A negotiation that was nothing more than a trap, with me as the bait. A disposable piece.

I remembered the mission failing. I remembered reaching out through the mind-link, screaming for help.

The only response was a wall of crushing silence.

They had severed the link.

The cold of being abandoned by my entire world was sharper than any blizzard. I was alone, facing dozens of hungry, frenzied rogues.

Their panting breath fogged the air. The sound of their saliva dripping onto the snow. Their yellow eyes, burning with a hunger for blood. It was my forever nightmare.

I shifted, fighting with the desperation of a cornered animal. But I was an Omega. My strength was nothing against theirs.

The first wolf's teeth sank into my left arm. The agony of fang piercing flesh and tearing through muscle ripped a scream from my throat. Then the second came, and the third...

My body was torn to pieces, but the deepest wound was the brand of betrayal seared onto my soul. As I died, my only thought was, Why?

I gave them everything. Why was this my reward?

"Isabela?"

A voice snapped me back to the present. A house servant was looking at me, her expression worried. She had seen my pale face, my vacant stare fixed on the painting.

I quickly composed myself, forcing a thin smile. "It's nothing. I just didn't sleep well."

The pity in her eyes was like a needle against my skin. To everyone in this house, I was just the poor, neglected girl, the bastard daughter who could be sacrificed at any time.

I didn't linger. I continued toward the study. The memory hadn't made me weak. It had forged my resolve into steel.

The heavy oak door of the study was just ahead, a sliver of oppressive light showing from beneath it. My tribunal was waiting.

I stopped at the door, adjusting the collar of my dress, making sure I looked impeccable. I was not here to be judged. I was here to declare war.

My hand rested on the cold, brass doorknob. The fear of my past life battled with the hatred of my new one.

Hatred won.

I didn't knock. I pushed the door open and walked in.

That small act of defiance was enough to startle them.

Alex sat in the master chair. Eleanor and Georgia were on the sofa to his side. My brother, Benton and Brad, stood nearby. Every pair of eyes in the room snapped to me.

Their gazes were a mixture of appraisal, impatience, and in Georgia's case, poorly hidden glee.

I didn't offer the usual timid greeting. I calmly swept my gaze over all of them and asked flatly, "You wanted to see me?"

My tone clearly irritated Alex. His brow furrowed. "Is that how you address your elders?" he growled.

Elders? I thought with a silent, cold laugh. A pack of executioners who sent me to my death hardly deserved the title.

Eleanor, ever the peacemaker, quickly intervened. "Alex, don't be upset. Isabela is just recovering from last night."

She turned to me, her face a mask of loving concern. "Isabela, sit down. We've called you here to discuss a matter of great importance to our family."

Discuss. The word was a bitter irony on her tongue. They had used the same word in my last life before announcing my sentence without any room for argument.

I ignored the small, isolated stool they always had me sit on. Instead, I pulled a lone armchair from against the wall and positioned it directly across from Alex, meeting his gaze at eye level.

The atmosphere in the room grew thick with tension. They could all see it. This was not the same Isabela they could push around.

Georgia couldn't hold her tongue. "You seem different today, Isabela," she said, a sour note in her voice.

I turned my calm, placid eyes to her. "Do I? Perhaps it's because I'm finally wide awake."