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The Cursed King's Salvation: The Omega's Hidden Power Novel Cover

The Cursed King's Salvation: The Omega's Hidden Power

I was the pack's lowest Omega, scrubbing floors by day, but secretly waiting for the night my Fated Mate, the Alpha Heir Desmond, would finally claim me. Instead, he brought home a billionaire heiress and looked at me with cold, dead eyes. "I choose power," he sneered, rejecting our soul-bond in front of everyone. "An Omega can never be my Luna." To seal his business deal, he sold me off like cattle to Kennedy Simmons—the "Crippled Alpha" rumored to be a broken, rot-filled monster. On my last night in the territory, his new fiancée pushed me off a yacht. As I drowned in the freezing water, I watched Desmond dive in. He swam right past me to save her. That was the moment my heart finally stopped beating for him. They thought sending me to Seattle was a punishment. They thought I would wither away and die in the hands of a beast. But they didn't know two things. First, Kennedy Simmons wasn't a monster; he was a King waiting to be healed. Second, I wasn't a weak Omega. I was a White Wolf, a legend thought to be extinct, capable of miracles. Three months later, Desmond stood outside my gates, bankrupt and desperate, begging for a second chance. I looked down from my balcony, wrapped in the arms of my true Alpha, and smiled. "Get off my property," I commanded, my eyes glowing white. "Or I'll finish what the ocean started."
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Chapter 8

Dallas POV:

I had tried to avoid the party. I had packed my three suitcases—everything I owned in this world—and planned to head straight to the airport.

But Marcus Morgan had blocked the driveway with his SUV. "Change of plans," he’d said, tossing a dress bag at me. "The Simmons family sent a proxy. A lawyer. He wants to verify the merchandise before the wire transfer clears. You're going to the yacht."

So here I was, standing on the deck of a multi-million dollar yacht, the wind whipping my hair across my face. The bandage on my forehead was hidden by my bangs, but the headache persisted. I was being inspected like a prize horse.

Music thumped from the lower deck. Champagne flowed. The elite of the Morgan and Taylor packs mingled, their laughter sharp and biting. I stood in the shadows near the stern, clutching a glass of water I didn't drink.

"Enjoying the view?"

I stiffened. Antone.

He smelled of whiskey and desperation. He had tried to sneak into my room last night, claiming he wanted to 'say goodbye properly.' I had lied, telling him my heat cycle was starting early and was unstable—a condition that terrified males because it could mess with their own hormones. He had fled.

"Leave me alone, Antone," I said, looking out at the dark water. The yacht was miles from the shore now.

"You're making a mistake," he slurred, leaning against the railing next to me. "You think Simmons will treat you better? He's a beast. I'm the only one who cares about you."

"You care about owning me," I corrected. "There's a difference."

"Antone!" A sharp voice cut through the air.

Chelsea walked toward us. She was wearing a shimmering silver dress that looked like fish scales. She held a glass of champagne, her eyes glittering with something dangerous.

"Go get me another drink, Antone," she ordered.

Antone hesitated, looking between us, but the Beta instinct to obey a high-ranking female won out. He scurried away.

Chelsea stepped into my personal space. Up close, she smelled of citrus and rot.

"You think you're clever, don't you?" she whispered.

"I'm leaving, Chelsea. You won. You have the ring, the Alpha, the money. What more do you want?"

"I want him to stop looking at you," she hissed. Her face twisted. "Do you think I'm stupid? I see the way he looks at you. I smell the ozone on him when he's been near you."

My heart hammered. "I can't control that."

"I know what you are," Chelsea said, her voice dropping to a lethal quiet. "You're his Fated Mate. He didn't tell me, but I figured it out. The rejection... it didn't fully work, did it? The bond is still there."

She took a step closer, forcing me back against the railing. The metal dug into my spine.

"As long as you're alive, he'll never be fully mine. He'll always wonder. He'll always feel that pull."

"I'm going to Seattle," I said, gripping the railing. "I'll be hundreds of miles away."

"Not far enough."

Chelsea smiled, and it was the last thing I saw before she lunged.

She didn't use wolf speed. She just used the element of surprise. She shoved me, her hands slamming into my chest with all her strength.

My center of gravity tipped. My heels slipped on the wet deck.

I flailed, grabbing at the air, grabbing at her dress.

"No!" I screamed.

I went over the rail. My hand caught the fabric of her expensive gown, and with a shriek, she was yanked forward with me.

We plummeted.

The dark water rushed up to meet us.

SPLASH.

The cold was instantaneous. It was a shock that paralyzed my lungs. The ocean swallowed me whole, the salt stinging my eyes.

I kicked, fighting the heavy fabric of my dress, fighting the current. Bubbles chaotically swirled around me.

Above me, through the distortion of the water, I saw two splashes.

Two figures diving in.

Desmond and Antone.

Hope, foolish and fragile, flared in my chest. Desmond was an Alpha. He was a strong swimmer. He was my mate. Instinct would drive him to me.

I reached up, my hand breaking the surface for a split second, gasping for air before a wave slapped me back down.

"Help!" I choked out, swallowing saltwater.

I saw them surface. They were ten feet away.

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