Reborn to Reject the Supreme Alpha

Seraphina POV:

The following evening, the storm had passed, but the tension inside the castle had only grown thicker. The air was heavy with unspoken threats.

The grand hall of our territory was decorated with heavy velvet curtains and glowing chandeliers.

But the atmosphere felt completely wrong.

At the front of the room, there were two wooden altars set up.

One was decorated with fresh wildflowers for my coming-of-age ceremony.

The other held a large oil painting of Celeste, surrounded by rows of burning white candles.

It looked more like a funeral than a celebration of life.

My mother stood near the stairs, barking orders at the servants.

When she saw me walking down the steps, her eyes narrowed in disgust.

She gestured to an Omega maid holding a folded pile of fabric.

"Take off that red dress," my mother ordered. "You're wearing the pale linen. And use the scent-masker."

Scent is everything to our kind.

It tells others who we are, what rank we hold, and whether we are healthy.

To mask my scent and wear the pale colors of mourning on the day of my presentation was the ultimate insult.

In my past life, I had worn the white linen, and the other wolves had laughed at me, calling me a walking ghost.

I looked at the maid and pointed a firm finger at the dark red dress draped over the banister.

"Bring me the crimson gown," I commanded.

My father, Lord Silas, stepped out from the shadows of the corridor.

He was the Beta of our Pack, the second-in-command, and his authority was absolute in our household.

"Do as your mother says, Seraphina," he warned, his voice thick with irritation.

He did not care about my feelings, he only cared about maintaining a perfect image in front of the visiting guests.

When I did not move, my father released his Beta aura.

It was a pressure meant to bring lesser wolves to their knees. An invisible weight, heavy as a tombstone, settled on my shoulders. A phantom pain shot through the knee he had broken in my past life, and the muscles in my calves quivered beneath my skirts. I drove a thumbnail into the soft flesh of my palm, the sharp, grounding sting the only thing that kept me from sinking to the floor.

I ignored his command, reached out, and grabbed the red dress myself.

I walked behind the folding screen and changed into the vibrant crimson fabric.

When I stepped out, the bright color contrasted sharply with the gloomy candles, and my father's face turned purple with anger.

But the guests were already arriving, and he could not cause a scene.

The Pack Priest, an old man draped in gray robes, cleared his throat nervously.

He stepped up to my altar and began chanting the ancient prayers to the Moon Goddess.

This was the blessing meant to give me strength before my bones broke during The Shift later this week.

As the Priest reached for the ceremonial bowl of blessed water, a hand shot out and stopped him.

It was my mother.

She held up my moonstone amulet, the one she'd snatched last night. It now reeked of toxic silver dust.

"They shared a soul in the womb," my mother announced loudly to the silent crowd. "A twin bond cannot be severed by death. The Moon Goddess demands we honor both daughters tonight."

"She must wear the amulet that honors both the living and the dead."

She lunged forward, trying to force the silver-laced chain over my head.

I took a quick step back and raised my hands to protect my neck.

I turned my fierce gaze to the Priest, making sure every guest in the room could hear me.

"Since when does the Moon Goddess bless the living with the rusted chains of the dead?" I asked sharply.

A collective gasp echoed through the grand hall.

The Priest looked terrified, his eyes darting between my furious mother and the whispering guests.

His hand, hovering over the bowl, trembled for a moment. Then, with a decisive movement that ignored my mother entirely, he dipped his fingers into the blessed water and traced a cool symbol upon my forehead.

"The blessing is complete," the Priest announced, taking a step back.

The ceremony was over, but the tension in the room was thick enough to cut with a knife.

Later, in the quiet stone corridor, my older brother Julian backed me against the wall.

He was a Warrior, a fighter trained to protect the Pack, but his heart was cold.

"You embarrassed our parents over a piece of jewelry," Julian hissed. "You're destroying the Pack's harmony. For what?"

He crossed his arms, looking at me with deep disappointment.

"You shouldn't hold a grudge against a dead girl."

I looked at my brother, feeling nothing but pity for his blind loyalty.

"Dead wolves don't hear complaints, Julian," I said softly. "Only the living ones do."

I pushed past him, leaving him standing alone in the dark hallway.

The real battle was not with my family.

It was with the Alpha who was coming to claim a ghost.

And he was arriving in three days.