Revenge Of The Reborn Omega

In the quiet corridor of the Montclair mansion, Lysandra nervously traced her trembling fingers over the silk of her sky-blue dress. Hunter had always said the color brought out her lilac eyes.

A spark of hope and joy fluttered in her chest. Today, she was finally going to tell her husband the news: she had perfected the formula that would give them their long-awaited heir.

But first, Dyana had asked to see her.

"We need to talk, Lysandra," her sister had said, her voice sounding strangely tight over the intercom.

Lysandra hadn't hesitated. Even after they had both married, the bond between the fraternal twins remained strong.

Besides, lately-ever since their grandmother's death and the tragedy surrounding Dyana's husband, Logan Montclair-her sister had been irritable and volatile.

The door to Dyana's bedroom-now a widow's room-stood slightly ajar. Lysandra pushed the heavy wooden door.

"Dy? Is everything okay?" she called out, stepping inside when she received no answer.

The room was a lavish display of purple and gold, a testament to her sister's ostentatious taste. Dyana stood by the unlit fireplace, her back turned. She wore a burgundy silk peignoir that cascaded over her slender frame like a dark river.

"Come in and close the door," Dyana said, her tone freezing.

"What's wrong?" Lysandra asked, shutting the door behind her.

Dyana turned slowly, keeping her hands concealed within the wide sleeves of her robe. Her golden eyes, which usually sparkled with such warmth, were entirely dead. A thin, blood-red smile stretched across her lips, devoid of any real joy.

"Today, finally, I get to be myself. And I get to take what is rightfully mine."

Lysandra frowned in confusion.

"Dy, just tell me. I need to go speak with Hunter now, it's important-"

"Ah, yes. The big announcement." Dyana took a slow step closer. "You whipped up a new formula and actually think it's going to give Hunter an heir, don't you?"

"How did you...?"

"Gossip travels fast, Lysandra. But let's be realistic here," she began, her voice dripping with venom. "A fragile, useless recessive omega can't breed. Everyone knows you're as barren as a desert. Hunter only puts up with you because you're the heir to the Dubois family. He laughs at your attempts. Did you know that? He laughs at your pathetic hope."

The sheer malice in her sister's voice felt like a physical blow.

"Dy, why are you talking to me like this? What did I ever do to you?"

Then, a sudden thought struck her. "If this is about Logan... I know it was horrible. I know he was a monster, but we stopped him. We're safe now. Me, Hunter, and you-"

"You and Hunter," Dyana cut in, her smile twisting into a sneer. "Always you. You get to choose first. You get him. You inherit the damn house and all the Dubois money just because you were born five fucking minutes earlier! You, you, YOU!"

The last word tore from her throat in a hoarse, echoing scream. Dyana's right hand slipped out from the folds of her sleeve.

It wasn't empty. The crafted silver hilt of a dagger gleamed, its short blade razor-sharp.

Lysandra froze. Her brain simply refused to process the sight. It was a nightmare. It had to be.

"Dy... this isn't funny," she murmured, her voice trembling as she took a step back.

"Funny?" Dyana let out a dry, hollow laugh. "Naive little Lysandra. This isn't a joke. It's the end. Your end."

With terrifying speed, Dyana lunged forward and buried the blade deep into Lysandra's abdomen.

An explosion of pure agony ripped a muffled scream from Lysandra's throat as Dyana wrenched the dagger free. She doubled over, her hands instinctively flying to the wound. Hot, thick blood instantly soaked through her fingers.

"Wh-why?" she gasped, her eyes wide with terror and disbelief as she stared at her sister's gleeful face.

Her legs gave out. Lysandra collapsed to her knees on the plush rug, a dark, wet stain rapidly spreading across her sky-blue dress. The pain gnawed at her insides as she tried, and failed, to stem the bleeding.

Another laugh echoed through the room. It was deep, masculine, and sickeningly familiar, coming from the doorway of the en-suite bathroom.

Lysandra forced her head up. Her vision was already starting to blur at the edges, but she easily recognized the man leaning casually against the doorframe, arms crossed over the chest of his guard captain's uniform.

Hunter. The man she had chosen as her mate just one year ago.

"Hunter..." His name slipped past her lips like a desperate plea. "Help... she... she..."

Hunter Renaud uncrossed his arms and walked toward her. He ignored her bloody, outstretched hand. Instead, he kicked her squarely in the shoulder, sending her sprawling flat on her back.

His green eyes, which had once looked at her with such tender devotion, now studied her like a repulsive insect.

"Ah, my sweet, useless Lysandra," he murmured, his voice sickeningly gentle. "Always so slow to catch on."

He stepped over her and walked straight to Dyana, who was still clutching the bloody dagger. He didn't take the weapon from her. Instead, Hunter pulled her in and crashed his lips against hers in a bruising, passionate kiss.

Lysandra watched in absolute horror as they finally broke apart. Dyana nestled comfortably into his embrace, a triumphant, wicked smirk on her face.

"You... you two..."

"We're lovers, darling," Hunter declared, entirely devoid of shame. "Have been for a long, long time. Long before our ridiculous arranged marriage."

"But... you love me..." Lysandra choked out, a fresh wave of agony-sharper than the blade-cleaving through her chest.

"I love the heir to the Dubois family," he corrected icily. "I took the easiest path to money and status. But my heart..."

He pressed a quick kiss to Dyana's lips. "...has always been hers. Always. She's the one who will give me strong children. Worthy Alphas. You?"

His face twisted in disgust. "You're nothing but a barren, recessive omega who couldn't even manage to give me an heir."

Dyana stared down at her dying sister, her features contorted with pure, unadulterated rage.

"You took everything from me, Lysa. Hunter. My position. My pride. You condemned me to a marriage with that animal who wouldn't even touch me. All because of five minutes!"

Her voice pitched higher, bordering on euphoric. "But look at us now. In the end, I get everything. The man. The Montclairs' fortune-thanks to your handy little homemade poison. And soon, I'll have the Dubois fortune, too."

She offered the dagger to Hunter. He took it, his cold gaze dropping back to Lysandra's bleeding form.

"Goodbye, Lysandra. Your usefulness has come to an end. Now, the true Dubois heir and I can finally start our life together, without your pathetic presence getting in the way."

Before Lysandra could even process the sheer monstrosity of his words, Hunter crouched down and delivered a second strike. Precise. Deep. He twisted the blade and left it buried just below her heart.

The scream that tore from Lysandra's throat didn't even sound human. It was the sound of a soul shattering, of an entire reality collapsing. She tried to move, to crawl away, but her limbs felt like lead. The pain was a dark, heavy tide, dragging her under.

Through tear-blurred, fading lilac eyes, she stared up at the two figures standing over her. Hunter and Dyana, their hands intertwined-hands stained slick with her blood.

They were laughing. A loud, shared, intimate sound of absolute victory. They kissed and caressed each other, completely oblivious to her agony.

The betrayal swallowed Lysandra whole. It tasted like copper on her tongue and burned behind her eyes, mocking her eternal naivety.

She had given everything for her sister. She had trusted her husband implicitly. She had even helped them kill a man-a monster, or so she had believed-just to keep them safe. All in the name of love. All for loyalty.

And in return, they had butchered her.

The cold seeped into her bones, spreading from the inside out. The darkness crept closer, welcoming and absolute.

But as her gaze drifted to the balcony doors, catching the light of the full moon shining down on her ruined body, one final spark ignited. A burning, desperate coal of pure hatred.

She stared at the moon through the glass, impassive, a silent witness to her ultimate betrayal.

Lysandra's blood-stained lips moved soundlessly. Then, a ragged whisper escaped, carrying every ounce of her agony, her humiliation, and her rage.

"Moon... Goddess... Please... I beg for... justice... Give me... a chance for... revenge..."

The darkness swallowed her completely, sweet and absolute...

And then-an explosion of blinding white light seized her. It wrapped around her, warming her frozen skin, before violently throwing her back...

Lysandra gasped, her body jerking violently as a sharp pull of air flooded lungs that were no longer drowning in blood. Her eyes snapped open. Instead of the oppressive, bloody gloom of Dyana's bedroom, she was blinded by the soft, golden light of a late afternoon.

Was she sitting?

Yes!

She was sitting in one of the high-backed chairs in her family's dining room.

Right in front of her sat the polished oak table. And resting on that table were two photographs: One was a proud, smiling portrait of Hunter Renaud in his crisp guard captain's uniform. The other was a serious, intense shot of Logan Montclair.

Exactly like a year ago...

"Lysandra, darling." Her father's voice drifted in, sounding like an echo from a distant dream, thick with paternal concern. "I know this choice is important, but we can't delay any longer. Hunter or Logan? Who do you choose as your mate?"

The question. The setting. The timing.

Was she back to the exact day she and Dyana had chosen their mates?

Lysandra felt the world was a blur of disjointed, violent sensations.

The soft fabric of the yellow dress brushed against her skin, a sensation so real it seemed impossible that, mere seconds ago, she had felt her body growing cold beneath the blood-soaked silk of her sky-blue gown.

Her father, Maurice Dubois, leaned close, his face etched with worry and love. His graying eyebrows were furrowed, his golden eyes-identical to Dyana's-filled with genuine concern as she struggled to respond.

"Sweetheart, are you alright?"

The color suddenly drained from her face.

His voice echoed through the dining room as if traveling down a long tunnel.

Lysandra stared down at her trembling hands resting in her lap. She clenched them into fists, letting her nails bite into her palms. The sharp, grounding pain was an anchor.

It was real. She was alive! The Moon Goddess heard her prayers.

A relieved smile touched her lips as she found no bloodstains on her clothes, no agonizing pain piercing her chest.

Her lilac eyes, still wide with shock, scanned the room with a hyper-awareness born of trauma.

Everything was exactly as it had been the first time. The photographs on the table. The afternoon light streaming through the tall windows...

And then, her gaze landed on Dyana beside her. A shudder ripped through her, but she masked it, forcing her attention back to the photographs laid out before her.

That soon proved to be a mistake. The moment she caught sight of Hunter's smiling face, her stomach violently churned. She had to take several deep, shuddering breaths to quell the panic spreading like icy fire beneath her skin.

In her previous life, she had eagerly chosen Hunter, setting into motion a chain of betrayals that ultimately ended in her death.

"I know you're nervous," Maurice said, rubbing a soothing hand over his daughter's back.

"It's merely a formality," he commented with a gentle chuckle. "Everyone knows your mate will be Captain Hunter Renaud."

"No!"

Lysandra's hand flew to her throat, startled by the shrill, desperate voice. But she quickly realized the outburst hadn't come from her.

With a harsh scrape of wood against the floor, Dyana shot to her feet, slamming both hands flat onto the tabletop.

"I choose Hunter," Dyana blurted out, her voice trembling with anxious energy.

Lysandra stared at her sister, hit by a fresh wave of shock. That reaction and request had not happened the first time around.

Dyana wasn't looking at the photos, nor at their father, who sat appalled by the interruption.

Her eyes were locked dead on Lysandra. Intense, furious, and glacial. It was the exact same look she had worn right before plunging a dagger into Lysandra's heart.

A chilling realization began to take root in Lysandra's chest. Had Dyana gotten a second chance at life, too?

"Dyana, this is... highly inappropriate," Maurice stammered, utterly bewildered. "Tradition dictates... the right of the firstborn-"

"I'm younger by a damn five minutes!" she snapped. The outburst left their father stunned, but Lysandra felt nothing. She had heard that exact same bitter complaint right before her sister murdered her.

Dyana lowered her gaze in a gesture Lysandra would have once mistaken for timidness, but now recognized as pure theater. When she looked up again, her eyes brimmed with tears that were sickeningly convincing.

"I know it's not my place. I know Lysa is the eldest daughter... but I can't hide how I feel anymore," she whimpered, thick tears spilling down her cheeks. "I love Hunter Renaud. I always have. And... I think he feels something for me, too. Being forced to watch him with someone else... even my own sister... it would kill me."

Lysandra fought the urge to slow-clap at the performance, silently letting Dyana continue her pathetic whining.

"I'm begging for a gesture of love and mercy. Let me choose first. Let me have Hunter," Dyana added.

Maurice looked at Lysandra, his face torn between his duty to tradition and his love for his daughters.

"Lysandra, what do you say?"

Before she could even open her mouth, Dyana seized control of the narrative again, lunging forward to grab Lysandra's hands and press them dramatically to her chest.

"Lysa, you've always been so good to me... I know you'll be happy with Mr. Montclair. I... I..." She took a dramatic, shuddering breath, her voice cracking with manufactured pain. "I wouldn't survive it... Please..."

Through her tears, Dyana shot Lysandra a poorly concealed glare of pure defiance. She was secretly wishing Lysandra would take the monster Logan Montclair.

Lysandra took a slow, steadying breath. If Dyana had pulled this stunt in their first life, Lysandra would have stepped aside and given Hunter up, even if it broke her own heart.

But she was no longer that sweet, trusting girl. She was a ghost clawing her way back for revenge. And she was now absolutely certain that Dyana had also had the second chance at life, hellbent on rewriting history to her own advantage.

On that front, at least, they were in total agreement.

Lysandra stood up. Though she was a good four inches shorter than her twin, she met Dyana's gaze dead-on, ready to deliver the exact answer both her sister and their father expected.

"Father, Dyana is right. Love shouldn't be a competition. Especially not between sisters who care for each other so deeply," she began, dripping with the same sickening sweetness she had once fallen victim to.

She turned to her sister and offered a gentle smile, masking her absolute disgust.

"If you love Hunter this much-to the point of shattering tradition for him..." She let the subtle accusation hang in the air for a second. "Then I will pray to the Moon Goddess that you get the exact union you deserve."

Maurice's eyes widened. "Lysandra, you don't have to make this sacrifice... You've always been in love with Hunter!"

"Just a childhood crush, Father." She brushed it off, a sad, deliberately fragile smile touching her lips-a little touch of theater to match her sister's. "Dyana is clearly suffering, and I refuse to be the cause of her unhappiness."

"But that means you will be with Logan Montclair," her father reminded her, his voice tight. "Are you sure?"

Lysandra looked down at the photograph of Logan Montclair.

The stern face, the dark hair, the calm eyes. The monster. The beast. The man who had slaughtered her father and grandmother... And the man she had helped kill.

She didn't want him. Obviously. But here on Isiflora Island-and in the world at large-an unbonded woman, especially an Omega, was nothing but fresh meat for predators.

Unfortunately for her, there were only two Alphas deemed worthy of House Dubois. One she had chosen in her previous life, only to die by his hands. The other...

A slow smile-strange and entirely out of place on her soft features-curved Lysandra's lips. It held no sweetness. It was the first spark of something cold and ruthless, rising from the ashes of her shattered, betrayed heart.

She was going to rewrite her destiny and save the people she loved. But to do that, she needed a vicious, terrifying ally.

Her father's question hung heavy in the air, carrying the weight of two lifetimes-the one she had already suffered through, and the one she was about to rewrite...

"I choose Mr. Montclair."

A heavy silence settled over the room.

Dyana looked triumphant, though a flicker of suspicion marred her expression. Lysandra had surrendered far too quickly.

"Lysa... are you sure?" Dyana asked.

Maurice frowned. "Logan Montclair is a complete stranger. He lives isolated up in that cliffside estate... People say strange things about him and his relatives..."

"Every family has its secrets, Father," Lysandra replied smoothly, before adding, "But I do have one condition."

She turned to him, finally letting a flash of genuine emotion-a fierce, protective desperation-bleed into her gaze. "Grandma Lucylle comes with me."

"What?" Dyana blurted out. "Lysa, Grandma is sick! The climate up on that cliff is brutal, and the isolation-"

"Exactly because she's sick," Lysandra cut in, not even glancing at her sister. Her gaze remained locked on Maurice. "I am the one who takes care of her. I know every single one of her medications and every shift in her mood. Separating us now would be cruel to her, and irresponsible of me. Besides, it would do Mr. Montclair some good to show the island that he accepts not just a wife, but the family ties she brings with her. It proves he has the humanity people claim he lacks."

The argument was sharp. It played perfectly to Maurice's obsession with status and reputation. He stroked his beard, mulling it over.

"And if he refuses?" Dyana pressed, her mask of sisterly concern cracking just a fraction around the edges.

"He values his privacy. He only keeps two companions in that mausoleum of his... or so I've heard," she added, quickly looking away.

"Then there is no marriage," Lysandra declared. Her voice held a quiet, absolute finality that left no room for debate. "That is my one and only condition."

"And you'll just be left alone?" Dyana asked, her face twisted in distress.

Lysandra knew exactly what her sister was actually worried about. If Lysandra didn't have a suitor, their father would force Hunter to marry the eldest daughter to secure the future of House Dubois.

"Another suitor will come along. Even if I have to leave the island to find one," she said, turning back to her father with unwavering resolve. "Mr. Montclair's answer doesn't matter. I refuse to stand in the way of Dyana and Hunter's marriage."

Maurice stared at his eldest daughter as if seeing her for the very first time. There was a new, hardened strength to her-a steel he had never witnessed before. That, more than anything else, seemed to win him over.

"All right," he murmured, finally relenting. "I will send word to Mr. Montclair. I'll inform him of Dyana's match with Hunter, your choice of Logan, and your condition."

~~

The smell and taste of blood were the first things to hit him. Warm and sharply metallic, it flooded his mouth and coated his throat.

Then came the pain. A deep, piercing cold bloomed in his chest, draining the last dregs of strength from his limbs.

Finally, the faces materialized-Dyana's cruel smirk, Hunter's cold eyes as he drove the sword through his heart... and Lysandra. Her lilac eyes wide, but utterly unsurprised.

Logan jolted awake, a choked roar tearing from his throat. He lunged forward in his heavy leather office chair, his claws snapping out and shredding the thick armrests as if they were wet paper. He dragged in ragged, rapid breaths, his heart hammering violently against his ribs.

For a disorienting second, his own office-his ultimate sanctuary-felt completely alien. Late afternoon sunlight spilled through the floor-to-ceiling windows. It was the exact same light from the day he died, but... he was alive.

His chest still burned as if the blade were buried to the hilt, but when he checked, there was no wound...

The click of the office door opening sent him leaping to his feet, muscles coiled and ready to slaughter the traitors he had foolishly welcomed into his home. But the tension instantly drained from his shoulders when the fresh, salt-kissed scent of the sea hit his nose. It was Kael, his most loyal shadow.

"The choosing ceremony just wrapped up, and the bride made a demand-" Kael cut himself off, freezing in the doorway as he took in Logan's frantic state. He quietly shut the door and kept a respectful distance. His calm gray eyes swept the room, taking in the shredded chair, his boss's heaving chest, and the lingering, dangerous red glow in Logan's eyes. "Did you have an episode?"

"Those bastards tried to kill me!" Logan roared, his voice raw. His canines had fully descended, digging sharply into his lower lip. A boiling, feral rage clawed at his insides, threatening to rip through his skin and let the beast loose right there in broad daylight.

"Who exactly are you talking about?" Kael asked, tracking Logan as he paced the floor like a caged predator.

"Dyana. That treacherous woman I took as my wife. Her sister, and her brother-in-law-the ones I let into my home out of pity for their mourning."

"With all due respect, sir, you aren't married to anyone," Kael replied, using the slow, measured tone of someone explaining basic facts.

"The marriage contract with Lysandra Dubois won't be signed until next week. And that's only if you agree to her terms," he added.

"Have you lost your mind? I married Dyana a year ago-" Logan's voice abruptly died in his throat as his eyes locked onto Kael's neck. The skin was perfectly smooth. "What happened to the cut?"

"What cut?" Kael frowned, forcing himself to hold his ground when Logan-a man who despised physical contact-suddenly closed the distance, grabbed his shoulders, and intensely inspected his neck.

"The one you got earlier this week, when we inspected the factory," Logan muttered, speaking more to himself than to his bodyguard. "That's why you weren't at the lunch my damned wife dragged me to," he growled, his furious glare snapping back to the door. "Where are they? Where is Dyana and the rest of those bastards who tried to murder me?"

Kael firmly caught his boss by the arm before Logan could storm out into the hallway.

"Sir, I didn't get hurt last week, and we never went to the factory," Kael said calmly, though a flicker of genuine concern crossed his face-worry that the curse was finally rotting his Alpha's mind. "And you aren't married yet. I came in here specifically to tell you that Maurice Dubois's messenger just left. Lysandra Dubois chose you as her mate. But she demanded that her grandmother come live here with you."

The air punched out of Logan's lungs. He blinked hard, a violent wave of confusion washing over him as his vivid memories collided with Kael's words.

"What? No. That... that isn't right," he stammered, shaking his head as if he could physically dislodge the contradiction. "I married Dyana... We've been together for a whole year... And Lysandra... she helped them kill me."

Kael didn't flinch, though a deep crease formed between his brows.

"Sir, until yesterday, you didn't even know which of the Dubois sisters would be offered to you. It was just a nightmare. Probably brought on by the stress of your grandfather's dying wish and your condition."

"It wasn't a nightmare, Kael!" Logan's voice boomed, rattling the glass in the windows. "It was real. I lived through an entire year of it! Dyana was my wife on paper, but she was screwing Hunter behind my back. And Lysandra... she was always hovering around, reeking of that scent of hers..."

He sucked in a harsh breath, desperately trying to anchor himself. "They poisoned me. Slipped something into my food or my drink. And then Hunter drove his sword straight through my chest! I felt my life bleed out on the floor... I watched her stare into my eyes as I died... And then, suddenly, I woke up here!"

Kael silently studied his Alpha's agonized fury. No man could just invent that level of detail, or fake such visceral, bone-deep pain. But logic was logic.

"Logan, think about this," Kael urged gently. "If any of that actually happened, you'd be dead. I'd be planning your funeral right now, not your wedding. It's impossible."

"I know it's impossible!" Logan roared. His fists clenched so tight his claws bit into his own palms, sending the sharp tang of fresh blood into the air. "But it happened. It was as real as you standing in front of me right now."

"Maybe it's a side effect of the curse. Premonitions. Or hallucinations brought on by the stress of returning here and being forced into this marriage," Kael suggested, choosing his words with extreme care. "Your bloodline's connection to the moon and the cycle of life and death runs deep. What you saw... it could be an echo of a future that might have been, had the choices played out differently. In your vision, the bride was Dyana. But in reality, it's Lysandra."

Logan squeezed his eyes shut, the rigid tension slowly draining from his broad shoulders.

"Maybe," he finally grated out, his voice dropping to a low rumble as his claws slid back into his fingertips. "Maybe that's all it was. But the feeling... the absolute certainty of their betrayal... it's still burning in my veins."

"And what do you intend to do with this 'certainty'?" Kael asked, ever the pragmatist. "Lysandra Dubois chose you. Not Dyana. But she came with a condition. Her sick grandmother, Lucylle Sage, has to move into the estate with her. Are you going to accept this bride and her demand?"

Logan turned back to the window. Far below, the village lights were just beginning to flicker on against the gathering dusk, looking perfectly innocent.

Lysandra. The wolf in sheep's clothing. The woman who, in his "dream" or "premonition," had stood at the very epicenter of his brutal downfall.

Hers was the last face he had seen before the darkness swallowed him whole... And now, she was coming here to be his wife?

A slow, utterly joyless smile curved one corner of Logan's mouth. The crimson glow that had nearly faded from his eyes flared back to life-no longer burning with blind rage, but with a cold, predatory hunger.

Deep inside him, the Beast rumbled. Alert. And thirsty for blood.