Buried Alive, Reborn to Rule: The Wolfless Omega's Ruthless Revenge

Clara POV:

The jarring bump of my head against something hard dragged me from the darkness.

My lungs burned. A scream was trapped in my throat, choked off by a piece of rough, damp cloth tied tightly in my mouth. My wrists and ankles were bound.

Panic, cold and sharp, shot through me. I was in a hole. A narrow, freshly dug hole.

The scent of damp earth and rotting leaves filled my nostrils. It was suffocating. Above me, I heard a rhythmic scraping sound. Shhhk. Thump. Shhhk. Thump.

The sound of a shovel.

Someone was burying me alive.

A woman's voice, low and grumbling, drifted down from above. "Don't blame me, girl. Blame yourself for getting in Lady Annabella's way."

The name Annabella struck something buried deep inside this body. Memories burst into my mind, colliding with my own so violently that for a moment, I could no longer tell where one life ended and the other began.

They belonged to Clara Adkins, the disgraced, wolfless Omega of the Stonecrest Pack. Annabella was her stepsister, the daughter of her stepmother, Debora. Clara's memories also gave me the identity of the woman standing above the grave. Agnes. An old servant who obeyed Annabella without question.

I saw Clara's life in sharp, painful fragments. The constant sneers and whispers of the Pack. Her pathetic, all-consuming crush on an Alpha's son named Butler Gregory. The cloying sweetness of Debora and Annabella's false kindness. They had spent years breaking her spirit, preparing her to accept every humiliation without resistance.

Her final clear memory was of Debora handing her a cup of "calming tea." Clara had drunk it because some part of her still wanted to believe that someone in that house might care whether she lived or died.

She had been wrong. The original Clara Adkins was dead, and my soul had awakened inside her body. I had inherited her pain, her enemies, and the lesson she had paid for with her life: never mistake cruelty wrapped in kindness for love.

Dirt rained down on my face, stinging my eyes. The weight on my chest grew heavier, pressing the air from my lungs. This body was about to die for a second time.

Debora. Annabella. Agnes. Their names burned through the panic and left only rage behind. I would not let them kill this body again.

I forced my body to go limp, my frantic struggles ceasing. I conserved every ounce of oxygen, every flicker of strength. I had to make her think I was gone.

My bound hands scrabbled desperately in the loose dirt beneath me. My fingers, numb and clumsy, brushed against something hard and sharp.

A rock. Jagged-edged.

The instant my fingers closed around it, my old instincts snapped into place. Years of physical conditioning, Krav Maga, and self-defense training from my former life guided every calculation. This body was weak and unfamiliar, but I still knew the right angle, the force required, and exactly where to strike. This wasn't about strength. It was about precision.

The shoveling stopped. Agnes let out a tired grunt above me. "There. That should be deep enough," she muttered. "No one's going to find you out here." Her footsteps shifted closer, careless now that she believed the job was done. Then she leaned over the edge of the pit, her silhouette blocking out the sliver of moon as she checked her work.

It was my only chance.

My eyes snapped open. With a guttural roar muffled by the gag, I surged upward, using the last of my energy to slam the sharp edge of the rock against the side of her head.

Bone cracked beneath the blow.

Agnes shrieked. "You-you're alive!" The words broke apart into a thin, panicked scream as she lost her balance and tumbled into the grave with me.

I didn't hesitate. I scrambled on top of her, straddling her chest, and brought the rock down again. And again. I struck her temple, then her jaw, until she stopped struggling and my hands were slick with blood.

Silence.

My entire body trembled with the aftershock of violence, but my gaze was like ice. I used the sharp edge of the rock to saw at the ropes binding my wrists, the fibers biting into my skin until they finally snapped.

I freed my ankles, tore the gag from my mouth, and gasped in a lungful of cold, night air. It tasted like freedom.

Clawing my way out of the shallow grave, I collapsed onto the damp ground, my body screaming in protest. The moon cast a pale, unforgiving light on my hands. They were caked in mud and blood, my fingernails broken and raw.

I checked Agnes's body. No purse, no identifying marks. Just a plain servant's dress.

I couldn't leave her in the open. A body would start a hunt. A missing servant would create confusion, questions, delays. Those delays were the only thing I had.

So I dragged Agnes deeper into the grave meant for me, ignoring the hot pull of pain in my shoulders. I kicked loose earth over her body until the dark shape disappeared beneath mud and leaves. It was a crude burial, rushed and ugly, but it would keep her hidden long enough. Let them wonder where she went. Let them waste their time.

A sharp pain throbbed at the back of my skull where they must have struck me. My limbs felt heavy, my movements sluggish. The poison. Debora had been slowly poisoning this body for years.

I staggered to my feet, my legs shaking. I had to find my way back to the Pack lands, back to civilization, before I collapsed.

A cool weight against my neck caught my attention. I reached up and my fingers closed around a crescent-moon-shaped pendant. The Lunar Locket. A memory, clear and sharp, surfaced: Clara's mother, Jeannie Adkins, placing it around her neck years ago. Her only real memory of love.

I clutched it tightly. A faint, almost imperceptible warmth seeped into my skin, easing the bone-deep exhaustion just a fraction.

A distant howl echoed through the trees. I couldn't stay here.

I ripped a strip of fabric from the hem of my ruined dress and clumsily wrapped it around my bleeding hand. Leaning against a tree, I tried to get my bearings, forcing myself to put one foot in front of the other, moving towards the faint glow of lights I could see through the dense woods.

Each step was an agony, a promise.

Debora. Annabella.

The thought was a silent vow, etched into my new soul with the cold finality of a tombstone.

What you owe her, I will collect. With interest.

The trees cast long, jagged shadows across the ground as I forced myself onward. I didn't know how long I walked, only that the forest floor eventually gave way to a gravel path, and the glow of lights grew brighter.

I had almost reached the edge of the town when my knees finally buckled, my body hitting its absolute limit.

Clara POV:

I finally stumbled out of the woods, my body screaming in protest. The first light of dawn painted the sky in shades of grey and pale pink. The town was just beginning to stir.

My legs gave out, and I slumped against the cold brick wall of a closed bakery, the rough texture scraping against my back. I was a nightmare made real. Caked in mud and blood, my dress in tatters, my hair a wild, tangled mess. I looked like something the earth had tried and failed to keep.

The few early risers on the street gave me a wide berth, their faces a mixture of fear and disgust. I didn't care. I just needed to breathe.

A carriage, far too ornate for this early hour, thundered down the street, its wheels sending a spray of muddy water from a puddle directly onto me. The cold shock of it was just another misery.

The carriage door swung open. A young man stepped out, dressed in fine, tailored clothes. He was handsome, in a polished, arrogant way that set my teeth on edge. Two guards flanked him.

He took one look at me and recoiled, pinching his nose dramatically. "Gods, is that the Adkins' disgrace? What have you been rolling in now, Clara?"

Butler Gregory. The Alpha King's son, and the man the original Clara had once adored. She had given him every scrap of sincerity she possessed, only for him to mock her devotion and turn it into the Pack's favorite joke.

I felt nothing but a profound, weary disgust.

He chuckled, a cruel, condescending sound. "Trying a new tactic to get my attention? Playing the damsel in distress? Save it. I'm only interested in a true jewel, like Annabella."

A small crowd was beginning to gather, drawn by the spectacle. Their whispers were like the hissing of snakes.

"Look, it's the wolfless Omega."

"I heard she'd do anything to get Prince Butler's attention."

I pushed myself off the wall, my body trembling with weakness, not fear. I slowly lifted my head. My violet eyes, once filled with fawning adoration for him, were now as cold and empty as a winter sky.

My voice was a raw, hoarse whisper, but it cut through the morning air. "I think you're mistaken, Your Highness."

Butler blinked, taken aback. I had never spoken to him with anything but a stuttering blush.

I forced myself to stand straighter, my spine a rod of defiance despite the filth and ruin of my appearance.

"I was blind," I said, each word deliberate and clear. "But now I see. My heart... belongs to another."

A stunned ripple passed through the crowd. The Pack's most persistent fool had moved on?

Butler's face flushed a deep, ugly red. His pride, the only thing he truly possessed, had been wounded. "You? Who would possibly want damaged goods like you?"

I didn't answer him. To make the lie believable, to sell the performance, I let my gaze drift past him, over the heads of the gawking crowd, as if searching for someone.

My eyes scanned the street and then lifted, snagging on a figure in the second-story window of a restaurant across the way.

He was tall, cloaked in the shadows of the room, but the morning light caught the glint of his eyes. They were the color of dark gold, like molten amber, and they held an unnerving intensity. He wasn't just looking; he was dissecting. Assessing.

A jolt went through me, not of attraction, but of pure, primal alarm. It was the feeling of a mouse realizing it had caught the attention of a hawk.

I tore my gaze away, my heart pounding a new, more dangerous rhythm. I couldn't tell how much he had heard, but the steady focus of those golden eyes made me suspect he had noticed my lie-and exactly where I had looked.

Butler, following my gaze, saw nothing but the glare of the sun on the windowpane. His failure to see the powerful figure only fueled his rage. He thought I was mocking him.

"You're making things up!" he spat, his face contorted with fury. He gestured to his guards. "Get this lunatic out of my sight! Throw her in the trash where she belongs!"

The crowd murmured, their gossip already sharpening around me. "Did you see where she was looking? That high-end restaurant..." "Could the 'another' she mentioned be... someone important up there?" The rumor had already begun to spread before either of Butler's guards even touched me.

The guards advanced, their faces set in cruel sneers.

My body tensed. I was weak, but I wouldn't go down without a fight. I prepared to use what little strength I had left, consequences be damned.

Just as their hands were about to grab me, a voice drifted down from the second floor. It was low, lazy, yet it carried an absolute, chilling authority.

"Stop."

Every person on the street froze, including Butler's guards. It was as if the single word had wrapped an invisible chain around their throats.

I snapped my head up, my eyes locking again with the shadowy figure in the window.

Clara POV:

The single word from the man in the second-story window had paralyzed the street. Butler's guards stopped in their tracks, their hands suspended inches from me.

Butler himself spun around, his eyes wide with disbelief. When he recognized the figure in the window, the color drained from his face, leaving it a pasty white.

"T-Travis... Alpha Travis," he stammered, bowing his head in a clumsy show of respect. "What are you doing here?"

The name Travis unlocked another fragment of Clara's memories. Kane Travis-the "Hell Lord" of the Northern Ridge. He was one of the most powerful Alphas in the Northern Ridge Dominion, a ruler who controlled his own independent territory and commanded forces loyal to him alone. His authority rivaled that of the oldest noble families, and even high-ranking Alphas thought twice before crossing him.

Fear moved through the crowd the moment Butler spoke his name. People lowered their heads and averted their eyes, suddenly unwilling to risk attracting Alpha Travis's attention.

Alpha Travis ignored Butler completely. His molten-gold eyes remained fixed on me, and something almost like amusement flickered across his face.

My own internal alarms were screaming. What did he want? Why was a man of his stature intervening in a petty street squabble? Was he going to expose my lie for his own entertainment?

Then, he moved. In a single, fluid motion, he vaulted over the balcony railing and dropped to the street below. He landed silently, with the predatory grace of a panther, not a speck of dust disturbed.

He walked towards me, each step deliberate and unhurried. The air crackled with his power, a palpable pressure that made it hard to breathe. The lower-ranking wolves in the crowd visibly flinched under the weight of his Alpha presence.

I held my ground, forcing my trembling legs to obey. I would not show fear. Not to him.

He stopped directly in front of me, so close I could feel the heat radiating from his body. He was taller than I'd realized, a mountain of a man who blocked out the morning sun. He looked down, his gaze raking over my filthy face and torn dress, and a slow, dangerous smile touched his lips.

"Alpha Travis," I began, my voice still a rasp. "I was just-"

He raised a single finger and pressed it lightly against my lips, silencing me. The touch was electric, a jolt of heat that shot through my entire body and made the hair on my arms stand on end.

He leaned in close, his breath warm against my ear, and murmured in a voice only I could hear, "Don't explain. It ruins the fun."

Then he straightened and finally looked at the pale, sweating Butler. His voice remained lazy and conversational, but the authority behind it silenced the entire street. "She said her heart belongs to another. Do you have a problem with that?"

Butler's shoulders jerked. His hands began to tremble at his sides, but he kept his head lowered and said nothing.

Kane's gaze returned to me. He looked me up and down one more time, and then, loud enough for everyone on the street to hear, he said, "You have good taste."

The words dropped like a bomb.

A collective gasp swept through the crowd. I could almost see them piecing everything together-my declaration, the glance I had cast toward the restaurant window, Alpha Travis's intervention, and now his unmistakable approval. Within seconds, everyone appeared to have reached the same conclusion: he was the man I had meant.

I was utterly stunned. My brain struggled to process what was happening. He wasn't exposing me. He was playing along. But why? What was his angle?

Butler stared at us, his expression shifting from disbelief to fury before settling into naked fear. His eyes moved between Kane and me, as though he could not reconcile the filthy, wolfless woman he had just mocked with the Alpha now standing at her side.

The faint curve of Kane's mouth suggested that the confusion around us pleased him. With deliberate slowness, he shrugged off his long black coat.

It was made of fine wool, impossibly soft. He draped it over my shoulders, covering my ruined dress, enveloping me in his scent. It was a clean, sharp smell, like pine needles after a storm and something darker, like smoke.

Butler's gaze snapped to the coat around my shoulders. His jaw tightened, and a vein pulsed at his temple. Whatever fear kept him cautious was clearly losing ground to wounded pride. He drew himself up and reached for the one weapon he still believed could protect him: Pack law.

"Even if... even if she has caught your eye, she insulted me first!" he blustered, his voice cracking. "By Pack law, she should kneel and apologize for her disrespect!"

My fingers curled into the soft wool at my shoulders. He was right. An Omega, especially a wolfless one, could be punished for showing disrespect to a royal.

But Kane didn't get angry. He laughed. It was a low, rumbling sound that held no humor, only a chilling promise of violence.

He patted my shoulder, the gesture unexpectedly steadying. Then he turned back to Butler, and every trace of amusement disappeared from his eyes.

"Kneel?" he repeated softly. "An excellent idea."