Omega: Reborn Without Becoming Innocent

CHAPTER FIVE

I'm good at this.

I told myself that as I kept on, kneeling there, feeling every pulse and tremor of him under my lips. I’ve always done this for Derula—hours spent at his feet, my body mapping his pleasure like it was an art form, an unspoken language between us. The rise and fall, the constant rhythm, became something I could lose myself in until the world outside disappeared. My hands, my mouth, my whole being were trained for this. Derula had taught me for years—how to move, how to give, how to make a man feel both wanted and worshipped, whether at a gathering, during meetings, or in the private shadows of his chambers.

Pleasure and devotion had been my craft, my identity. I was a servant, a lover, a muse. I was good at it.

"Ugh..."

He groaned out, shuddering as he released for the third time. That was the moment he finally pushed me away. I stumbled, falling onto the cold tiles, the chill burning through my fevered skin. His hands shot to my jaw, gripping it with force as he squatted in front of me, eyes blazing with something dark, something I hadn’t dared to face before.

"Where did you learn this from?" he demanded, voice low, laced with disbelief and fury.

"What?" I whispered, a twinge of fear coiling in my stomach.

"Don’t kid me," he growled, leaning closer, his glare cutting into me. "It’s true that you’ve been sleeping around with Derreck..."

The words landed like stones. My mind flickered, searching through memories, questioning every touch, every glance, every moment. Had I ever—no. Could I have? The thought itself made my stomach twist.

"What if I have?" I asked finally, smirking despite the tension. "I’m letting you touch me. Isn’t that what you should be grateful for?"

His eyes narrowed, nostrils flaring. The air between us thickened, suffused with raw pheromones that assaulted my senses. My body trembled—not with shame, but with something darker, something thrilling.

Before I could even react, he hauled me toward the bed, throwing me onto the sheets like a predator claiming his prey. His presence was overwhelming, every movement precise, calculated, dangerous.

He smiled, a smile that was both predatory and cold.

"This fall must’ve reset your head," he said, voice low, sharp, slicing through the haze in my mind. "At least I know you’re not pretending about losing your memory. But I need to teach you again… teach you what I’ve been doing since you were a child."

My pulse raced. My body coiled instinctively. Words failed me. The thrill, the tension, the threat—all of it mixed with a dark excitement I hadn’t felt in years.

"You let someone else touch you!" he hissed, every word a blade. "While you’re my mate, you let an Alpha from the rogue claim you!"

I gasped as his fingers moved inside me, swift and precise. Pleasure flared through me in jagged waves, unrelenting, foreign. I had never known Derula to do this—not like this, not with such intensity, such control.

"You never let me see your nakedness," he whispered, moving faster, "yet Derreck did. Guess what will happen to him?"

I smiled despite the sensations, the pleasure and the fear twisting together.

"Please kill him," I murmured, my voice trembling with a mix of defiance and need. "I don’t like the way he addressed me earlier."

He paused, every muscle in his body tense, a silent promise hanging in the air. The pleasure continued anyway, unrelenting, a cruel paradox.

"I should kill Derreck?" he asked, incredulous.

"Why not?" I said, my tone teasing yet deadly. "He touched what was mine. You should be raving—blood hot, teeth bared, running to him with fire in your eyes."

His hand clasped around my throat immediately as he slid his length into me, I buckled. My mouth shouted, he's too big, he was filling me up too much that I forgot to breathe. My stomach felt too full, my eyes rolled into my head.

"Ughhhh!!!" I groaned, my twenty five years of being alive flashing through me like wildfire.

I loved.

Broke.

Rejected.

Betrayed.

Died.

And now, I'm living a second life. That's what it seems to me. Not only am I living a second life, but maybe a worst life harder than the first; To make matters worse, I'm Lucien's bride. His queen, his Luna.

I clasped my hands around his neck, holding him close, demanding more. "Make me lose my senses till I have nothing else to live for."

I should be thinking of my next move.

I should think of ways to destroy both packs and save myself from the abuses I suffered.

Lucien must bend to his knees and worship me.

And as for Derula, he should be ready. He should be ready for me because I am going to be the reason why he loses everything. All that I helped him build, I'm going to take them back.

Lucien must kneel. He must worship me.

Derula must witness it all.

This was my second chance, my rebirth. And I would not squander it on anyone else.

I would bend the world to me.

I would make both packs crawl.

I would take everything.

AUTHOR’S POV

Nyra slept beside King Lucien, her body still, exposed in its vulnerability. Moonlight brushed over her skin, softening the sharpness of her presence—but not erasing it.

Lucien watched her like a man haunted.

Carefully, he pulled the sheets over her, shielding her nakedness as if it were sacred. He brushed her hair back, revealing her face fully.

His breath caught.

That face.

The same face that had ruled his thoughts for twenty-five years. The face that tightened his chest every morning. The one he had never escaped.

The seer’s voice echoed in his mind.

Your wife is dead.

The Moon Goddess walks again.

Lucien scoffed silently.

Impossible.

He kissed her forehead. Her cheek. The corner of her mouth.

“You’re Nyra,” he whispered. “You’ve always been Nyra.”

His thumb traced her cheek, memorizing her anew.

“How did you grow so much?” he murmured. “How did I miss this?”

He lay beside her, instinctively curving toward her warmth.

“You’re different,” he said quietly, irritation threading his voice. “And it angers me that you don’t remember me. That you look at me like a stranger.”

His jaw tightened.

“How am I supposed to tell you,” he muttered darkly, “that you don’t have a brother?”

Silence swallowed the room.

“You don’t remember us,” he continued. “How you clung to me. How you cried for me. How you chose me.”

His eyes hardened.

“How you fell in love with me.”