Buried Alive, Reborn to Rule: The Wolfless Omega's Ruthless Revenge

Clara POV:

The single word from the man in the second-story window had paralyzed the street. Butler's guards stopped in their tracks, their hands suspended inches from me.

Butler himself spun around, his eyes wide with disbelief. When he recognized the figure in the window, the color drained from his face, leaving it a pasty white.

"T-Travis... Alpha Travis," he stammered, bowing his head in a clumsy show of respect. "What are you doing here?"

The name Travis unlocked another fragment of Clara's memories. Kane Travis—the "Hell Lord" of the Northern Ridge. He was one of the most powerful Alphas in the Northern Ridge Dominion, a ruler who controlled his own independent territory and commanded forces loyal to him alone. His authority rivaled that of the oldest noble families, and even high-ranking Alphas thought twice before crossing him.

Fear moved through the crowd the moment Butler spoke his name. People lowered their heads and averted their eyes, suddenly unwilling to risk attracting Alpha Travis's attention.

Alpha Travis ignored Butler completely. His molten-gold eyes remained fixed on me, and something almost like amusement flickered across his face.

My own internal alarms were screaming. What did he want? Why was a man of his stature intervening in a petty street squabble? Was he going to expose my lie for his own entertainment?

Then, he moved. In a single, fluid motion, he vaulted over the balcony railing and dropped to the street below. He landed silently, with the predatory grace of a panther, not a speck of dust disturbed.

He walked towards me, each step deliberate and unhurried. The air crackled with his power, a palpable pressure that made it hard to breathe. The lower-ranking wolves in the crowd visibly flinched under the weight of his Alpha presence.

I held my ground, forcing my trembling legs to obey. I would not show fear. Not to him.

He stopped directly in front of me, so close I could feel the heat radiating from his body. He was taller than I'd realized, a mountain of a man who blocked out the morning sun. He looked down, his gaze raking over my filthy face and torn dress, and a slow, dangerous smile touched his lips.

"Alpha Travis," I began, my voice still a rasp. "I was just—"

He raised a single finger and pressed it lightly against my lips, silencing me. The touch was electric, a jolt of heat that shot through my entire body and made the hair on my arms stand on end.

He leaned in close, his breath warm against my ear, and murmured in a voice only I could hear, "Don't explain. It ruins the fun."

Then he straightened and finally looked at the pale, sweating Butler. His voice remained lazy and conversational, but the authority behind it silenced the entire street. "She said her heart belongs to another. Do you have a problem with that?"

Butler's shoulders jerked. His hands began to tremble at his sides, but he kept his head lowered and said nothing.

Kane's gaze returned to me. He looked me up and down one more time, and then, loud enough for everyone on the street to hear, he said, "You have good taste."

The words dropped like a bomb.

A collective gasp swept through the crowd. I could almost see them piecing everything together—my declaration, the glance I had cast toward the restaurant window, Alpha Travis's intervention, and now his unmistakable approval. Within seconds, everyone appeared to have reached the same conclusion: he was the man I had meant.

I was utterly stunned. My brain struggled to process what was happening. He wasn't exposing me. He was playing along. But why? What was his angle?

Butler stared at us, his expression shifting from disbelief to fury before settling into naked fear. His eyes moved between Kane and me, as though he could not reconcile the filthy, wolfless woman he had just mocked with the Alpha now standing at her side.

The faint curve of Kane's mouth suggested that the confusion around us pleased him. With deliberate slowness, he shrugged off his long black coat.

It was made of fine wool, impossibly soft. He draped it over my shoulders, covering my ruined dress, enveloping me in his scent. It was a clean, sharp smell, like pine needles after a storm and something darker, like smoke.

Butler's gaze snapped to the coat around my shoulders. His jaw tightened, and a vein pulsed at his temple. Whatever fear kept him cautious was clearly losing ground to wounded pride. He drew himself up and reached for the one weapon he still believed could protect him: Pack law.

"Even if... even if she has caught your eye, she insulted me first!" he blustered, his voice cracking. "By Pack law, she should kneel and apologize for her disrespect!"

My fingers curled into the soft wool at my shoulders. He was right. An Omega, especially a wolfless one, could be punished for showing disrespect to a royal.

But Kane didn't get angry. He laughed. It was a low, rumbling sound that held no humor, only a chilling promise of violence.

He patted my shoulder, the gesture unexpectedly steadying. Then he turned back to Butler, and every trace of amusement disappeared from his eyes.

"Kneel?" he repeated softly. "An excellent idea."