Wretched Self

Kelli Nelson POV:

"Your Majesty, in the name of the fallen Nelson Pack, I humbly beg for your royal decree." The smooth voice of Demonte Wiley, a young Alpha lord of the Ironfang Pack, echoed through the grand ballroom. "I am willing to take Kelli Nelson as my mate, alongside Lady Baylee Snyder, so that our noble bloodlines may protect the Nelson territory together."

The sharp, stabbing phantom pain in my chest ripped me awake.

I gasped, my fingers flying to my sternum. There was no gaping wound. No freezing silver blade tearing through my heart. My hands were intact, the skin unblemished and warm under the brilliant glow of the crystal chandeliers hanging from the vaulted stone ceiling of the royal palace.

I was back.

I was seventeen again, standing in the Great Hall of the Silvermoon Kingdom during the sacred Blood Moon Banquet.

Just two paces in front of me, Demonte knelt on the polished marble floor. He wore his tailored midnight-blue noble tunic, his broad shoulders squared in what appeared to be a posture of supreme chivalry.

To his right stood Baylee, the gentle maiden of the Snyder house, his latest paramour and the beauty of the court. Her eyes were rimmed with delicate red, a silk handkerchief pressed lightly to her quivering lips, portraying the picture of a selfless noblewoman ready to share her future husband out of sheer charity.

High above us, seated upon the twin obsidian thrones beneath the royal banner of the silver wolf, sat Alpha King Adrain Navarro, the sovereign of the Silvermoon Kingdom. Beside him, his mother, the revered Dowager Luna Erla, watched the assembly with sharp, assessing eyes.

"Demonte," the Alpha King rumbled, his voice thick with royal dominance that made the lesser wolves in the hall bow their heads. "You show remarkable grace. The Nelson Pack's warriors died valorously defending our northern borders. To take their orphaned daughter under your protection honors our sacred traditions."

A wave of admiring murmurs rippled through the gathering nobles.

"What a noble Alpha!" a countess whispered behind her feather fan. "Taking a Wolfless girl who cannot even shift, just to preserve her family name."

"And Lady Baylee is so gracious to allow a second bride," another chimed in.

I stared at the back of Demonte's neck, my stomach turning with pure, unadulterated revulsion.

In my past life, I had believed this disgusting charade. I had wept tears of gratitude, accepted the humiliation of being a second-class mate, and handed over the Nelson ancestral lands and military seals—only to be poisoned with silver in a dark cellar once they squeezed every drop of power from my lineage.

Demonte turned his head toward me. He offered a practiced, tender smile and reached out his hand, expecting me to place my trembling fingers into his palm as I had done before.