The Fated Mate of the Ruthless Lycan Prince

Clio POV:

The phantom pain of a silver blade piercing my heart was the last thing I knew.

A scream tore from my throat, but no sound came out. Then, a gasp.My own.

My eyes flew open. I was lying on a bed and clawed at my chest, expecting torn fabric and a gaping, bloody wound.

There was nothing.

Only the smooth, cool feel of a silk nightgown and skin that was completely, impossibly, whole.

I sat bolt upright. The room was vast and opulent, draped in shadows and moonlight.This wasn't my room. This wasn't anywhere I knew.

A scent hit me then, thick and overwhelming. Pine needles after a storm, the sharp, clean smell of ozone, and something else. Something wild and dominant that made the hairs on my arms stand on end.

A name slammed into my mind. Conrad Vanderbilt IV. The Lycan Prince.

My breath hitched. In my past life, Bradford, my mate, his hand gentle on my cheek. His soft voice, telling me it was just for one night. "For us, Clio. For our future."

After that, he brought me here. He had served me up like a piece of meat to the most powerful, most feared Alpha in North America to secure a business deal.

And later, when the deal went sour, when I was no longer useful, he had stood by and watched as his new allies drove a silver blade through my heart.

I squeezed my hands into fists, my nails digging so deep into my palms that the sharp sting of pain was a welcome anchor to reality. This wasn't a dream. This wasn't some afterlife.

I was alive.

I had been reborn.

I was back in the Lycan Prince's bedroom. Back on the night it all began. The night my life was sold.

The heavy wooden door across the room swung open with a soft click.

A silhouette filled the doorway, so large it seemed to block out all the light from the hallway behind it. He stepped into the room, and the moonlight caught the gold in his eyes. They glowed, feral and predatory, pinning me to the bed.

Conrad Vanderbilt IV.

Just then, another voice slid into my thoughts, this one familiar and cloying. Bradford's mind-link.

"Clio, darling, is everything alright? Remember, this is for us."

A wave of nausea washed over me. I wanted to scream at him, to tell him I knew what a lying, worthless snake he was.

But I didn't.

I took a shaky breath, forcing the inferno in my chest down to a cold, hard ember. I would not be his hysterical, broken little Omega this time.

I met Conrad's piercing golden gaze. Slowly, deliberately, I pushed the silk sheets away and swung my legs over the side of the bed. The nightgown slid off one shoulder, exposing the pale skin of my collarbone.

My violet eyes held his. I let him see the stillness in them, the dead calm of a lake after a storm.

He took another step into the room, then stopped. His brow furrowed in a flicker of confusion. This wasn't the reaction he expected.

I thought of his face in my last moments. In my memory, as the life bled out of me, I saw him. He had been there, fighting the ones who killed me. And in his eyes, I'd seen something that looked devastatingly like regret.

That memory gave me the strength to open my mouth.

My voice was a dry rasp, raw from a scream that had died in another life.

"I'm thirsty."

The simple request, not a curse or a plea, hung in the oppressive silence.

Conrad's eyes widened slightly. The predatory gleam flickered, replaced by a flicker of stunned surprise. He stood frozen for a long moment, just watching me.

Then, wordlessly, he turned. He walked over to a crystal decanter on a nearby table and poured a glass of water. His movements were stiff, unnatural, like a predator trying to perform a delicate, unfamiliar task.

He walked back and held the glass out to me.

I reached for it, my fingers brushing against his. A jolt, sharp and electric, shot up my arm. My whole body went rigid. I saw his hand flinch, his knuckles white as he gripped the glass. His golden eyes darkened, swirling with an emotion I couldn't name.

I took the glass, my hand trembling slightly. I brought it to my lips and drank, the cool water a balm on my parched throat. It helped to douse the fire of my hatred, banking it for later.

I knew, with a certainty that chilled me to the bone, that my revenge started here. It started with this man. The most powerful piece on the board.

I lowered the glass and looked up at him.

"Thank you," I said, my voice a little stronger now.

Bradford's voice whined in my head again, laced with impatience. "Clio? Answer me!"

A cold smile touched my lips, one I was sure no one could see. In my mind, I pictured a door, and I slammed it shut on his voice, cutting the link.

Silence.

I held Conrad's gaze, my own calm and unreadable.