Reborn: Marrying My Cheating Ex's Uncle

Elara POV:

I didn't spare Seraphina a second glance as she crumpled to the floor. I turned on my heel, my back straight, and walked out of the suite. The gawking faces of the reporters blurred into a meaningless backdrop. My focus was singular: escape.

"Elara, wait!"

Julian's voice, sharp with a mixture of anger and confusion, cut through the air. His hand clamped around my wrist, his grip painfully tight. "Stop. This isn't over."

I wrenched my arm from his grasp, the force of it making him stumble. I spun to face him, letting all the ice in my soul pour into my gaze. "What is there left to say, Julian? She set a trap, and you were her willing accomplice."

The raw hatred in my eyes seemed to physically strike him. He flinched, a flicker of shock crossing his features. He had never seen this version of me. The compliant, adoring girl he took for granted was gone, replaced by a stranger made of steel and frost.

"I just... I didn't think Seraphina would..." He trailed off, for once in his life, at a loss for words.

A pathetic, choked sob came from behind him. "Julian... my face hurts... she hit me..."

Seraphina. Always the victim.

Julian's head turned at the sound of her cry. His jaw tightened, and I saw the familiar conflict in his eyes-the pull between his duty to me and his instinct to protect her.

He hesitated for only a second.

But in that second, I saw his choice. I saw it as clearly as I had seen the Rogue's fangs descending toward my throat.

That tiny, flickering ember of hope I hadn't even realized I was still carrying, the one that whispered he might, just might, finally see the truth-it was extinguished. A puff of smoke in the hurricane of his betrayal.

A dry, bitter laugh escaped my lips. It was a sound devoid of any humor. "Go on," I said, my voice flat. "Go comfort your precious Seraphina. Just stay the hell away from me."

I didn't wait for a reply. I turned and walked toward the elevators, each step a final nail in the coffin of our relationship.

The elevator doors began to slide shut, and through the closing gap, I saw him. He had turned his back on my retreating form and was kneeling beside Seraphina, his arms gently helping her up.

The last thing I saw was his look of tender concern, directed at her.

The doors closed, encasing me in a mirrored box. The reflection that stared back was a stranger with a chilling, empty smile.

Julian Thorne. Utterly, hopelessly, irredeemably lost.

The rage hit me the moment I slid behind the wheel of my sports car. It was a physical force, a tidal wave of betrayal and grief from two lifetimes crashing down on me. My hands trembled as I jammed the key into the ignition.

The engine roared to life.

I slammed my foot on the accelerator. The car shot out of the hotel's underground garage and into the rain-slicked streets of the city. Streetlights blurred into streaks of neon. The world became a tunnel of speed and noise.

I was running, but there was nowhere to go. The pain was inside me, a screaming, clawing beast that I couldn't outrun.

A sharp turn loomed ahead. I took it too fast.

The tires lost their grip on the wet asphalt. The world spun in a sickening lurch of metal and momentum. I yanked the wheel, but it was useless.

The car slammed into the guardrail with a deafening crunch of tearing metal.

The airbag exploded from the steering wheel, a violent, powdery punch to the face. My head was thrown forward, then snapped back. A starburst of pain erupted on my forehead as it connected with something hard.

Darkness fringed my vision. Warm, sticky liquid trickled down my face. Blood.

Through the haze of pain and disorientation, a scent cut through the smell of burnt rubber and rain. It was clean and sharp, like a pine forest after the first snow. It was a scent of power, of cold, ancient authority.

A pair of headlights sliced through the downpour, stopping beside my wrecked car. A black Bentley.

A tall figure emerged, shielded by a black umbrella. He moved with an unnerving silence, a predator cutting through the storm.

He pulled open my crumpled car door.

And I was staring into a pair of deep, familiar golden eyes. The same eyes from the alley. The same eyes that had haunted the last moment of my first life.

Caspian Thorne. The Alpha King.

Julian's uncle.

—Caspian POV:

The moment I saw her, my inner Lycan roared.

Mine.

The single word was not a thought. It was a primal, soul-shaking declaration that vibrated through every cell of my being. For centuries, I had felt a hollowness, a missing piece of my own soul. Now, looking at the bleeding, dazed girl in the wrecked car, that void was filled with a sudden, shocking completeness.

The Moon Goddess had finally delivered my mate.

Her scent, a delicate fragrance of white roses after a summer rain, was nearly drowned out by the acrid smell of blood. The sight of the gash on her forehead, the crimson trail marring her perfect, pale skin, sent a spike of protective fury through me so intense it was a physical pain.

I wanted to tear apart whatever had caused her this distress.

But I saw the confusion in her wide, green eyes. The wariness. She was a wolfless, my mind supplied, a fact I'd known from Pack reports. She couldn't feel the bond. She couldn't recognize me. To her, I was just a stranger. A powerful, dangerous stranger.

I forced my Lycan down, banking the fires of possession, burying the instinct to pull her from the car and mark her as mine in front of the entire world.

Patience.

I shrugged off my suit jacket, the fine wool instantly soaking up the rain, and gently draped it over her trembling shoulders. The fabric was a poor substitute for the warmth of my own body, but it was all I could offer without terrifying her.

My fingers brushed against the skin of her neck.

A jolt, like a lightning strike, shot up my arm. I felt it, and I saw from the way her eyes widened that she felt it too. A gasp escaped her lips.

The touch brought a flicker of clarity to her gaze. She looked at me, her head tilted, a new alertness in her eyes. "Who are you?"

My gaze was fixed on the cut above her eyebrow. I kept my voice low, stripping it of any possessive growl. "I am Caspian Thorne. You're injured. I'm taking you to a hospital."

She was my fated one.

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