My Mate Betrayed Me_ I'll Make Him Beg for Death!

I gasped awake, my body convulsing as pain tore through me. Not the slow, aching pain of illness, but the sharp, visceral agony of memories—of claws ripping through flesh, of James's boot connecting with my stomach, of Sophie's laughter as she branded my back with the word "TRASH."

My eyes flew open, and I stared at the ceiling above me. Not the dirt floor of the warriors' den where I'd died, but the familiar wooden beams of my childhood bedroom.

"Mom?" My voice cracked as I called out, hardly daring to believe.

"In here, sweetheart!" The voice came from downstairs—my mother's voice, alive and warm.

I sat up slowly, my hands trembling as they traced the outline of my body. No wounds. No scars. No branding iron burns. Just smooth, unmarked skin.

The bedroom around me was exactly as I remembered it from years ago—the pale blue walls, the small desk by the window, the collection of wolf figurines on the shelf. Everything was in place, untouched by the horror that had come later.

I glanced at the calendar on my wall. The date was circled in red—three days before my eighteenth birthday. Three days before James would claim me as his mate.

Three days before my nightmare began.

"Is everything okay?" My mother appeared in the doorway, her face concerned. "You've been sleeping for hours."

"I'm fine," I lied, forcing a smile that felt foreign on my face. "Just... had a bad dream."

She nodded, not pushing further. "You should get some fresh air. The pack gathering is tonight, and everyone's excited about your upcoming ceremony."

The pack gathering. Where James would first approach me. Where he would take my hand and lead me to my doom.

"I'll be ready," I promised, my voice steadier than I felt.

After she left, I sat motionless on my bed, watching the sunlight shift across the floor as afternoon turned to evening. My mind raced with memories—not just of my death, but of everything that came before.

I remembered Sophie's favorite perfume, the one she wore when she came to our den to mock me. I remembered the exact words James had used when he forced me to clean the warriors' boots: "A worthless Omega should be grateful for any attention."

I remembered Nathan's face as he watched me die, the tears in his eyes that no one else saw.

This wasn't just a dream or a hallucination. This was real.

---

The next morning, I slipped out of bed before dawn. The house was silent as I dressed in loose training clothes and soft-soled shoes.

"Where are you going?" My father's voice startled me as I reached the kitchen.

"Just... for a run," I said, avoiding his eyes. "I want to be in shape for the ceremony."

He frowned slightly. "That's not like you, Lily. You've never been one for morning runs."

"I'm trying something new," I replied, forcing brightness into my voice. "Is that okay?"

"Of course it is," he said, though confusion lingered in his eyes. "Just be careful. The forest can be dangerous alone."

The forest. That's exactly where I needed to be.

---

The woods were silent as I pushed myself through the undergrowth, my breath coming in short, painful gasps. Omegas weren't built for strength or speed. We were the healers, the nurturers—the weak ones.

But I wasn't going to be weak anymore.

I found a clearing and began to run, pushing my body beyond what any Omega should be capable of. My lungs burned, my legs trembled, but I kept going. When I could run no more, I dropped to the ground and began doing push-ups, one after another until my arms shook and gave out.

"Again," I whispered to myself, forcing my body back into position.

Blood trickled from my palms where they'd scraped against rocks and dirt. I ignored it, pushing harder, faster.

"Your form is terrible."

I froze at the voice, my heart leaping into my throat. Slowly, I turned my head to see Nathan sitting under a massive oak tree at the edge of the clearing. He was younger than I remembered—his face still held the boyish roundness that would later sharpen into the man I knew.

"Nathan," I breathed, relief washing over me.

"You're going to hurt yourself," he said, closing the ancient book that lay open on his lap. "Omegas aren't built for this kind of training."

"Omegas aren't built for a lot of things," I replied, slowly rising to my feet. "But maybe that's wrong."

He studied me with curious eyes. "What are you doing out here so early?"

"Training," I said simply. "And you?"

Nathan hesitated, his fingers tightening around the edges of his book. "Research," he finally answered. "Ancient texts about wolf bloodlines and hierarchies."

I moved closer, curiosity piqued. The book looked old—its pages yellowed with age, the binding cracked and worn. "What kind of research?"

"About potential," he said quietly. "About whether the divisions between Alphas, Betas, and Omegas are as fixed as we've been taught."

Something stirred in my chest—a flicker of hope, dangerous and fragile. "And?"

He looked up at me, his eyes troubled. "There are references to... exceptions. Wolves who shouldn't have been able to do certain things, but did anyway."

"What made them different?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Blood," Nathan said simply. "Ancient bloodlines with powers we've forgotten about."

I thought of the way my own blood had felt different after my death—how it had burned with something unfamiliar as darkness claimed me.

"Why are you studying this?" I pressed, needing to understand.

Nathan's gaze dropped to his book again. "Because... because I think we've been wrong about a lot of things. About who's strong and who's weak."

There was something in his voice—a weight of guilt I recognized all too well.

"Who made you feel like you were wrong?" I asked carefully.

He didn't answer immediately. When he finally looked up, his eyes held a sadness that seemed too deep for his years.

"I can't explain it," he said finally. "But sometimes... sometimes I feel like I've failed someone. Someone important."

A chill ran through me as I realized—he was feeling echoes of our future. Of my death. Of his inability to save me.

"What if," I said slowly, "you could make it right?"