The Cursed King's Salvation: The Omega's Hidden Power

Dallas POV:

The morning sun did nothing to warm the ice in my veins. My bags were packed, sitting by the door like silent tombstones marking the end of my life here.

"Ready to go, sweetheart?"

Antone leaned against the doorframe. He was dressed in a casual suit that cost more than a year of my wages, twirling his car keys. His eyes raked over my simple jeans and sweater with a possessiveness that made my skin crawl.

"I need to stop at the mall," he said, checking his watch. "Mother wants me to pick up her dry cleaning before I drop you at the airport. You can come. Maybe I'll buy you something pretty to remember me by."

"I don't want anything from you," I said, grabbing my purse.

"Don't be like that. You're going to a house of cripples and monsters. You'll need something soft to wear."

We drove in silence. The leather seats of his sports car smelled of new money and his cologne, a scent that used to comfort me but now just smelled like betrayal.

When we arrived at the high-end shopping district, the air was thick with the scents of other wolves. This was neutral territory, a place where high-ranking members of different packs mingled.

We walked toward the dry cleaners, but Antone stopped abruptly in front of a bridal boutique.

"Well, look who it is," he muttered.

My stomach dropped. Through the glass display window, I saw them. Desmond and Chelsea.

They were standing near the mannequins. Desmond looked bored, his phone in hand, while Chelsea was directing two terrified shop assistants.

"Let's go," I said, turning away.

"Nonsense," Antone said, gripping my elbow. His fingers dug into my flesh. "We should say hello to the happy couple."

He dragged me inside before I could protest. The bell above the door chimed, announcing our arrival.

Desmond looked up. His eyes locked onto mine immediately. For a second, his pupils dilated—the instinctual reaction of a wolf seeing its mate. Then, the wall came down. His face hardened into the mask of the Alpha Heir.

"What are you doing here?" Desmond asked, his voice low.

"Just passing through," Antone said smoothly, pulling me to his side. "Dallas wanted to see the dresses. Every girl dreams of her wedding day, right?"

It was a cruel lie. Chelsea turned, her eyes narrowing into slits. She was holding a veil, the lace delicate and snowy white.

"Oh, the Omega," Chelsea sneered. She walked over to us, the scent of her expensive perfume overpowering the room. "I suppose you are dreaming. It's a shame your groom can't even stand up at the altar."

I kept my face blank. "I'll wait outside."

"No, stay," Chelsea commanded. Her eyes glinted with malice. She turned to a rack of dresses and pulled out a gown. It was excessive—layers of tulle, rhinestones, and a corset that looked painful. "Try this on."

"What?" I asked.

"Try it on," Chelsea repeated. "I want to see how the style looks on a... lower-class body type. It will help me decide if it's too common for me."

"I am not your mannequin," I said, my voice shaking.

"Do it, Dallas," Desmond said.

I looked at him, betrayed all over again.

"She is the future Luna," Desmond said, his jaw tight. "You will obey her."

The Alpha Command wasn't fully behind his words, but the weight of his authority was enough. I took the heavy dress, my hands trembling, and walked into the changing room.

I stripped down and stepped into the gown. It was tight, constricting my ribs. I looked in the mirror. The white fabric contrasted sharply with my pale skin and the dark circles under my eyes. I looked like a ghost bride.

I stepped out.

The shop went silent.

Antone's mouth opened slightly. The shop assistants stopped working.

But it was Desmond who reacted the most violently. He dropped his phone. His gaze swept over me, from the exposed curve of my neck to the way the dress hugged my waist. A low, guttural growl vibrated in his chest. His wolf was surfacing, furious and possessive, seeing his mate in a wedding dress that wasn't for him.

"Take it off," Desmond snarled.

"Desmond?" Chelsea stepped between us, blocking his view. "What's wrong? Does she look that bad?"

"She is not worthy of white," Desmond said, his voice straining as he fought his own instincts. He stepped around Chelsea, marching toward me. "You look like a mockery. Take it off!"

He grabbed my arm, his grip bruising. He wasn't thinking. His wolf was in control, confused by the severed bond and the visual trigger. He yanked me toward the changing room.

"Let go!" I cried out.

I stumbled over the long train of the dress. My feet tangled in the tulle. I fell forward, hard.

My forehead struck the corner of the gilded mirror stand.

Pain exploded behind my eyes. I collapsed onto the plush carpet, the world spinning. I felt a warm, wet trickle run down my temple, over my cheek, and drip onto the pristine white bodice of the gown.

The metallic scent of blood filled the air.

But it wasn't just metallic. It was sweet. Intoxicating. Like wildflowers blooming in the snow.

The scent of a high-ranking wolf. The scent of a White Wolf, though none of us knew it yet.

Desmond and Antone froze. Their nostrils flared, inhaling the aroma that suddenly dominated the room.