Reborn As The Cursed Alpha's Bride

Kaelen POV

The echo of my wolf’s possessive roar still rattled in my skull as I stared down at the sun-dappled garden. Elara was still kneeling beside Jaxon. Guilt, sharp and metallic, coated the back of my throat.

Weeks ago, I had asked Hattie about my son’s poor appetite. *"Just a picky eater, Alpha,"* the aging Omega had dismissed. Consumed by Pack politics and border disputes, I had blindly accepted her word, ordering the kitchens to prepare richer, heavier meats. I had actively worsened my own pup’s suffering.

Down below, a gentle breeze rustled the ancient oaks. Elara brushed a stray curl from Jaxon’s forehead and smiled. It wasn't the polite, calculated mask she wore in the Great Hall. It was radiant, genuine, and breathtakingly warm. My heart hammered a violent rhythm against my ribs.

*'MINE!'* my Inner Wolf bellowed, clawing at my chest, demanding I claim the woman bathing in the sunlight.

"She is a true Luna, Alpha," Marcus murmured from the doorway, breaking the heavy silence. "The pup is safe with her."

His innocent observation felt like a direct indictment of my own failures as a father. Heat rushed to my face, a dangerous mix of shame and the raw, untamed desire my wolf was projecting. I needed control. I needed the iron mask of the Alpha.

I turned on my heel, my voice dropping to an icy, lethal register laced with the barest hint of my Alpha's Command. "Is the report on the northern border Rogue activity complete, Beta? Or do you have time to stand here and gossip like an Omega?"

Marcus flinched as if physically struck. The warmth vanished from his eyes, replaced instantly by stoic obedience. "At once, Alpha," he said, bowing his head before swiftly exiting the office.

Alone, the silence of the mahogany-paneled room was suffocating. I forced my eyes onto the tactical maps spread across my desk. *She is a duty. The Pack comes first,* I repeated in my head. But for the first time, my wolf and I were in violent agreement: it was a lie.

Hours later, the shadows in my office had grown long. I summoned Hattie. I needed to know exactly what had transpired after Elara took Jaxon inside. I needed to gauge if Hattie’s earlier negligence was mere incompetence, or a deliberate sabotage orchestrated by my stepmother, Lady Debbra.

Hattie stood before my desk, wringing her hands, her scent sour with fear and a begrudging new respect.

"Report," I commanded.

"The Luna took young Jaxon to her suite, Alpha," Hattie stammered, her eyes downcast. "She dismissed the rest of us. She didn't force him to eat. She... she warmed her hands by rubbing them together, then massaged his stomach. Just gentle pressure. He relaxed almost immediately." Hattie swallowed hard. "Only then did he say he was hungry. She fed him a warm meat broth brewed with specific herbs. He fell asleep with his head in her lap. He refuses to leave her side."

"Dismissed," I growled.

As the heavy door clicked shut, I leaned back in my leather chair, dragging a hand down my face. Elara had completely bypassed my authority, healed my son, and won his absolute loyalty in a single afternoon. The Luna's Suite, a place I had designed to be a cold, political cage, had been transformed into a sanctuary by her mere touch.

A dangerous, possessive longing coiled in my gut, warring with my deep-seated paranoia. I couldn't let my guard down. Tomorrow, I would watch her every move. I would strip away the mystery of Elara Foster, piece by piece, until I uncovered the truth beneath her flawless facade.