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

Dallas POV:

Time seemed to slow down. The water was freezing, numbing my limbs, dragging me down like lead weights were tied to my ankles.

I treaded water, my head barely above the waves. I saw Desmond. He had surfaced, shaking the water from his hair. He looked frantic.

"Dallas!" he shouted? No.

"Chelsea!"

He swam right past me.

He was so close I could have reached out and touched his foot. He didn't even look. His eyes were locked on the shimmering silver dress floating twenty feet away.

"I've got you!" Antone yelled, swimming alongside his brother.

They both converged on Chelsea, who was thrashing and screaming, keeping herself perfectly afloat. They flanked her, supporting her, cooing words of comfort.

I stopped kicking.

The realization hit me harder than the freezing water. It wasn't just a rejection of a title. It wasn't just a political move.

They didn't care if I lived or died.

Desmond, the man the Moon Goddess had designed for my soul, was swimming away from me while I drowned.

"Help..." the word was a whisper, lost in the roar of the ocean.

My legs gave out. The cold had seeped into my bones. I looked at the yacht, at the lights, at the three figures moving away from me toward the ladder.

Let it end, a voice inside me whispered. It was my wolf. She sounded tired. We have no pack. We have no mate. Let us sleep.

I stopped fighting. I let the air leave my lungs.

I sank.

The water closed over my head, silencing the world. It was peaceful down here. Dark. Quiet.

I was drifting into the abyss when a rough hand grabbed my hair.

Pain flared, waking me up. I was hauled upward, coughing and sputtering. A life preserver was shoved over my head.

"Gotcha, missy!" a gruff voice yelled.

It wasn't Desmond. It was a crew member. A human deckhand with a cigarette dangling from his lip. He hauled me toward a small rescue dinghy.

Two hours later, I was sitting on a hospital bed in the harbor clinic. I was wrapped in three wool blankets, but I couldn't stop shivering.

The door opened. I expected a doctor.

Instead, Marcus Morgan walked in. He didn't ask how I was. He didn't look relieved.

"The plane is waiting," he said.

I stared at him, my teeth chattering. "I almost... died."

"Chelsea is in shock," Marcus said, brushing imaginary lint off his suit. "My sons are with her. You caused quite a scene, Dallas. Dragging the future Luna overboard? You're lucky I don't finish what the ocean started."

I looked at him. Really looked at him. I saw the rot in his soul.

"I'm ready," I said. My voice was raspy, damaged by the salt.

"Good. The car is outside. You go straight to the tarmac. No goodbyes."

"I don't have anyone to say goodbye to," I said.

I stood up. My legs were weak, but my resolve was iron. I walked out of the room.

Down the hall, I saw them.

Desmond and Antone were standing outside a private room. Desmond was pacing, his hands in his hair. Antone was talking to a nurse.

Desmond turned. He saw me.

He froze. For a moment, relief washed over his face. He took a step toward me, his mouth opening to speak.

"Mr. Morgan?" A nurse poked her head out of the room. "Miss Taylor is asking for you. She's very distressed."

Desmond stopped. He looked at the nurse. Then he looked at me.

I didn't wait for his choice this time. I knew what it would be.

I turned my back on him and walked toward the exit signs. I pushed through the double doors into the rainy night.

I climbed into the black sedan waiting at the curb.

"To the airport," I told the driver. "And don't stop."

I pulled out my phone. I opened my contacts. Desmond. Antone. Morgan Estate.

Select All. Delete.

As the car sped away, I felt a physical snap in my chest. It was the last thread of the bond, stretching until it broke.

I wasn't Dallas of the Morgan Pack anymore. I was nobody. And I was going to Seattle to marry a monster.