Reborn! Princess Leila's Second Chance | Read Free Preview
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Chapter 1
Leila
The sterile scent of antiseptic stung my nostrils, mingling with the metallic tang of my own blood. I lay on the operating table, its cold surface biting into my skin through the flimsy gown, a slab of ice beneath a dying flame.
Pain tore through me, each contraction a jagged blade twisting in my gut.
I was 27, a Lycan Princess, and yet here I was, unraveling on this frigid bed, my life seeping out in crimson rivers. The room hummed with the relentless beep of machines, a mocking pulse against my fading one.
I clenched my fists, nails digging into my palms, but the physical agony was nothing compared to the hollow ache gnawing at my soul.
With the last scraps of my strength, I reached out through the Mindlink, my mental voice a frail whisper -
"Lucas, please."
The plea trembled in the dark expanse of my mind, but it met only silence, a wall as unyielding as stone.
He had blocked me again, severed the bond that should have tethered us.
My mate, my Alpha, had cast me aside like a discarded rag. Too weak to try again, I rasped his name aloud, "Lucas," the sound barely a breath, scraping past my dry lips. The nurses flinched, their pitying eyes darting away as if my despair were contagious.
One of them, her face soft and lined with sorrow, fumbled with my phone and dialed his number.
My keen Lycan hearing caught the double ring before his voice sliced through the line, sharp and cold as a winter wind. "What is it?" he snapped.
Beyond his words, I heard the sultry wail of jazz, the clink of glasses, the murmur of careless laughter. The Royal Country Club. He was there, sprawled in luxury, no doubt with Josephine draped across him like a prize pelt. Her scent - sickly sweet, like overripe fruit - seemed to coil through the phone, taunting me. My fists tightened, the beep of the machines quickening as rage flared hot in my chest. That green-tea bitch, stealing what was mine, flaunting it for five wretched years.
"How many times have I told you not to call me?" Lucas' voice was a lash, each syllable dripping with disdain.
My heart shattered, fragments scattering like glass across the floor of my mind. The nurse's voice trembled as she spoke, "Alpha Lucas, your wife is about to die due to heavy bleeding. Please come and see her for the last time!"
A trill of laughter spilled from the receiver - Josephine's, bright and brittle as breaking crystal. "What's wrong, Luke? Who's so ignorant to call you so late?" she cooed, her mockery a needle in my raw wounds. More laughter followed, his friends' voices weaving a tapestry of indifference.
Five years I'd endured it - the whispers, the sidelong glances, the shame of being the Luna whose mate paraded his mistress openly. And now, as I bled out, childless and broken, he wouldn't even grant me a final glance.
The nurse's eyes widened, pleading, but Lucas's reply was a death knell.
"Call me when she dies," he said, his tone flat, final, a blade driven through the last thread of hope I'd clung to. The phone slipped from her hand, clattering to the floor, and I turned my face away, unable to bear her pity. What had I done to earn such hatred? The pain - physical, searing, and the deeper, soul-crushing kind - swallowed me whole. The machine's beep stretched into a long, piercing wail, and I died, hatred burning in my veins like wildfire.
Darkness folded around me, and my life flickered past in jagged shards. I saw myself as a child, the Lycan King's spoiled darling, twirling in silk dresses, my laughter ringing through the halls. Then came Lucas, his shadow falling over my college years, his presence a thrill that set my heart racing. At the full moon ball, when the mate bond snapped into place, joy had flooded me, pure and bright. But our wedding night stained that memory - his eyes, once promising love, glinted with possession, control. After that, every look he gave me was laced with disdain, every touch a claim rather than a caress. Five years of sleepless nights, of loneliness so thick it choked me, of shame I swallowed like bitter wine.
My body grew lighter, the pain fading as cold, brilliant moonlight enveloped me. I knew this rite - the Return to the moon, the werewolf's final journey. The Moonlight Goddess would judge me, cleanse my sins, and let me dissolve into eternal light. I braced for it, resigned, when a voice broke through, warm as a summer breeze. "Why are you here?"
Tears welled in my eyes, spilling over. "I couldn't win my mate's love," I choked out. "I couldn't give him a child."
The moonlight shifted, forming hands that brushed my tears away, tender as a mother's touch. "Leila, my child," the voice said, "you are too young, too sad, too angry. You should not die now."
"I hate that I lived my whole life for a heartless mate!" I cried, the words tearing free. "If I could do it again, I'd never repeat that mistake. I'd live for myself!"
A wave of light surged into me, warm and alive, flooding my cold, empty shell. "You have my blessing," the voice murmured. "Go back. Rewrite your life. This time, live for yourself."
-
The moonlight vanished, and my eyes snapped open. The air smelled of fresh linens and faint lavender, a stark contrast to the blood and antiseptic of before. I lay in a bed, soft and familiar, the Luna's chamber in Lucas' house.
Tina, my maid, stood beside me, her voice cutting through the haze. "Luna, tonight Alpha Lucas will take you to the auction. Please choose a dress that suits you."
I stared at her, then at the room - the carved wood, the drapes, the layout unchanged from five years ago. My gaze darted to the mirror. My face was younger, unlined, my body whole and strong.
I pinched my leg, the sharp sting grounding me. It hurt. It was real. I was reborn, tears of disbelief and gratitude pooling in my eyes.
Damn, I'm back.
Chapter 2
Leila
Tina stood before me, her arms trembling slightly as she held up two dresses: one a white mesh cake layered dress like a cotton ball, bulky and cheap, the other a red haute couture flame, all passion and silk stitched into its seams.
I stared at them, my reflection caught in the cracked mirror behind her - pale, sharp-edged, a woman teetering on the brink of something irreversible. My fingers brushed my forehead, the skin there still tender from too many nights spent clawing at memories.
"Why don't you wear this white silk dress, Luna?" Tina's voice was soft, tentative, like she was coaxing a wounded animal. She lifted the white one higher, its folds sagging like a defeated sigh.
I didn't answer right away. My eyes fixed on that dress, that wretched thing. I remembered it - how could I not? The way it had hung on me at the dance, too tight in all the wrong places, too loose where it mattered. I'd worn it for Lucas, aping Josephine's prim elegance, thinking it would draw his gaze back to me. Instead, I'd stumbled through the night, a laughingstock, my mate's eyes sliding past me to her. The white dress was a stain, a mark of my shame, a cheap rag unfit for a Lycan Princess. I'd only chosen it to please him, to mold myself into something he might love again. What a fool I'd been.
"No," I said, my voice cutting through the stillness. I reached for the red dress, my fingers curling around its fabric - smooth, alive, like blood spilled across satin. "Let's wear this one tonight."
Tina's eyes widened, a flicker of worry creasing her brow. "Luna, are you sure you really want to wear this? Will this be too… revealing?"
I turned to the mirror, catching the outline of my body - tight, unyielding, a weapon I'd forgotten I wielded.
"What's wrong with being exposed?" I said, my lips curling into something sharp. "Isn't it a pity not to expose such a good figure?"
She clutched the white dress tighter, her knuckles whitening. "But Alpha might like it when you wear it, after all…"
"After all what?" I snapped, my gaze slicing to hers in the reflection. My voice was a blade, honed by months of swallowing my own bile.
Tina faltered, her mouth opening and closing like a fish drowning in air. She didn't dare finish the thought, but I knew it anyway - after all, Josephine always wears this kind of white street-vendor trash, and Lucas can't keep his hands off her. She dropped her eyes and stepped forward, silent now, helping me shrug off my coat. The red dress slid over my skin, cool and slick, a lover's caress I hadn't earned.
In the mirror, I was a vision - bright, charming, deadly. Every tilt of my head, every shift of my hips, was a rose unfurling its petals, sharp with hidden barbs. I reached for my makeup, brushing rouge across my cheeks, staining my lips crimson.
I picked up the eyeliner, its tip trembling slightly in my grip, and drew a small mole at the corner of my lip - a dark, deliberate mark. I straightened, staring at the femme fatale in the glass, and felt a shiver of power coil in my gut.
"Go throw away all my white dresses," I said, my voice cold as iron. "They're annoying to look at. No non-custom clothes in my wardrobe from now on."
Tina blinked, startled out of her stupor. "Yes, Luna," she stammered. "I'll go right away." She scurried off, the white dress still clutched in her hands like a dead thing.
I turned from the mirror, my heels clicking against the floor as I left the room. The auction awaited, and with it, my reckoning.
-
Outside Mason Hall, the air buzzed with voices, a swarm of flies circling the banquet of the elite werewolves. The crowd parted as I approached, their eyes darting to me, then away, then back again - hungry, curious, afraid. From a distance, I saw them - Lucas, my husband, his arm linked with Josephine's. She wore that white cake dress, the twin of the one I'd nearly chosen, its cotton folds clinging to her like a shroud. A perfect little white flower, plucked from some omega college gutter. The media swarmed them, flashes popping like gunfire, and the whispers grew louder - Josephine, the junior student, invited to a high-end auction; Alpha Lucas, the Kingdom's strongest, parading her on his arm.
I knew what they thought. They saw me as the fool, the Lycan Princess blinded by jealousy in a past life, driven out by Josephine's scheming. They were polite to Lucas' face, bowing and scraping, but behind their hands, they mocked me. They wanted a show - me tearing into the mistress, claws out, blood on the marble. Fine. Let them watch. Let them learn.
Josephine played her part well. That dress - plain, unassuming - was no accident. She had a wardrobe full of the custom gowns Lucas showered on her, but she'd picked this rag instead. She knew I'd worn its match once, knew I'd envied her, hated her, tried to become her to win him back. She'd counted on me doing it again, banking on my shame. In my previous life, I had - stumbled into that auction, a mirror of her, a joke to them all. Not tonight.
My gaze slid to Lucas. The full moon hung heavy overhead, and I felt it - the pull of our bond, a thread of heat tugging at my core. He was perfect, wasn't he? Tall, handsome, rich, a beacon of confidence and power. The kind of man I'd dreamed of as a girl, the kind Josephine had no right to claim. But she had, with her harmless smiles and omega cunning, twisting my mate away from me until I'd died hating them both. Infuriating, yes. But tonight, I'd rewrite the story.
He noticed the stares, the sidelong glances of the crowd. His arm tightened around Josephine's waist, pulling her close. "Jo, don't be afraid," he said, his voice low, warm. "I'm here."
I heard it all, my Lycan senses sharp as a blade. Another woman might have melted into him, but not Josephine. She pushed him away, just enough, her voice quivering with practiced nerves. "Don't… Alpha, I've never attended such a big event before. I have a due to attend, so I might as well go back…"
Lucas didn't hesitate. He yanked her into his arms, his tone firm. "You'll often attend such occasions with me in the future. You'll get used to it, don't worry."
Shame burned in my chest, a familiar ache sharpened by the moon. Betrayal from a mate cut deep, and I knew that wound - knew how it had festered until it killed me. I wouldn't let it happen again.
Then Beta Fred appeared, his face tight with panic. He leaned in, whispering to Lucas, who scowled. "What's going on? Didn't I tell you clearly? You shouldn't tell Leila to come over today."
Fred shifted, awkward, but Josephine jumped in, her voice soft and sweet. "Don't be angry with Fred. I asked him to notify Leila to come over. Today is such an important occasion, and all the Alphas are here. I'm worried about others gossiping, so I thought it's more appropriate for Leila to accompany you…" She dipped her head, a perfect show of submission.
Lucas softened, lifting her chin. "You're really gentle and considerate, always thinking of me and willing to sacrifice yourself. Jo, don't worry, I won't let you suffer any grievances."
She pressed closer, rewarding him with that snuggle. A master at work - show weakness, get what you want, then seal it with a treat. Men like Lucas were no better than dogs in her hands. But I wasn't the same Leila she'd outplayed before.
"Guard the door," Lucas told Fred. "If you see Leila, kick her out."
Josephine's smirk was faint, smug. I stepped forward, my voice ringing out, sharp and loud. "Kick me out? Too late."
Her head snapped up, eyes wide with shock. Lucas froze, his gaze raking over me. I stood there, red as fire, a vengeful Goddess under the moonlight - not her twin, not her shadow, but something else entirely.
The crowd hushed, their stares a weight I welcomed. Let them see. Let them remember.
Chapter 3
Lucas
The silver glow of the full moon sliced through the ballroom's crystal light like an ice-tempered blade. I was bending to fix Josephine's bow tie—part of our plan, letting her play "up-and-coming investment prodigy" at the auction to pave her way into the family business—when a strange scent hit my nose.
Not her usual lily of the valley. Something wild, like white roses, sharp with the hot, wolfish pheromones of a full moon.
My wolf surged in my chest.
When I looked up, my throat went tight. Leila stood in the spin door's glow, her red dress like a blood-soaked battle flag. Its hem stirred a faint wind as it brushed the floor, carrying that scent farther. Her neck was taut, collarbone just visible under her choker; those almond eyes, once dewy, now looked like moon-hardened obsidian, sweeping the room with a cool, almost arrogant calm.
This wasn't my Leila.
Once, she'd worn frilly white dresses, trailing after me, hem brushing my boot heels like a clingy pup. Every full moon, her pheromones turned cloying, anxious; I could smell her unease from three meters off. Back then, it annoyed me—she didn't look fit to be an Alpha's mate. But now? Muscles coiled under that red dress, pheromones sharp with royal authority—like a she-wolf finally baring her fangs.
"Alpha?" Josephine's voice trembled. I noticed my knuckles had gone white. A wolf's mate bond burns hottest on the full moon; my temperature spiked, blood roaring in my ears—stronger than any moon before, a wilder rush.
"Stay calm." I dropped my voice, but my claws slipped out half an inch, scoring my palm. The pain grounded me, just enough. When I looked back, Leila was walking toward us. The swish of her red dress sounded like a countdown, each step hitting a nerve.
She didn't look at me.
Stopped right in front of Josephine, a faint smile tugging her lips. "You must be Josephine." No sharpness in her tone, but a pressure that made Omegas flinch instinctively. Josephine's face blanched, fingers white on her skirt—next to Leila's royal poise, the lace on her cheap white dress looked laughable.
"M-Mrs. Lavoie… hello." Her voice shook like a leaf, deference oozing.
Mrs. Lavoie. I'd never thought twice about the name coming from others. But hearing it from Josephine, watching Leila accept it like it was nothing—my chest squeezed as if a wolf's paw had clamped down. She'd never called herself that. Once, she'd screamed, red-eyed, "Do you even see me as your wife?" Now, she wouldn't spare me a glance.
Reporters murmured, flashbulbs popping like stars.
"That's the Lycan Princess? What presence!"
"Who's the white dress? Looks like the Alpha's servant…"
The words pricked Josephine; her shoulders shook.
Leila acted like she hadn't heard. Suddenly, she held out a hand to Josephine, scarlet nail polish glinting cold under the lights. "Heard Lucas funds a genius at his business school—full scholarship. A pleasure to meet you, Miss Curran. Off to the human world for more studies, I hear?"
Josephine had to let go of my arm. Her fingertips barely brushed Leila's skin before jerking back—Leila ran hotter than most wolves, that royal blood burning. The Omega looked seconds from tears.
"Y-yes…" A whisper, almost inaudible.
I frowned, ready to cut this strange standoff short, but Leila turned to me first. Her eyes were flat as frozen water—no jealousy, no anger, not even a ripple. Like I was some random stranger. "Congratulations," she said, the tiniest sneer under the words. "Luke. Take care of Miss Curran."
Luke. When had she last called me that? Once, it was my full name, or "bastard" when she was mad. This distant nickname stung worse than any insult.
She turned toward the auction hall, red dress carving a path through the crowd. Reporters swarmed like bloodhounds, shouts threatening to blow the roof off. I stared at her swaying back, my wolf thrashing inside—she's my mate, bound by the Moon Goddess herself. Her pheromones still carried my mark. How dare she look at me like this?
"Alpha…" Josephine tugged my sleeve, her fingers ice-cold. "A-are you sure I should hold the bidding paddles for you later?"
I snapped back, realizing my eyes had shifted—wolf-gold bleeding in. Breathed deep, forcing the beast down. Blame the full moon. Blame the bond. I couldn't be feeling this stir for that insolent woman.
But then—over the reporters' yells, past the clink of champagne flutes—our gazes locked across the room. Leila had paused at the auction hall doors, half-turned, as if sensing my stare. For a heartbeat, there was nothing else: not Josephine's quivering, not the cameras flashing. Just her eyes, dark and unflinching, and the sudden, searing heat at the nape of my neck.
That spot. Where I'd sunk my fangs to mark her, years ago. Where her skin still carried the ghost of my claim, a brand even the moon couldn't wash away. It burned like she'd pressed a live coal to it—hotter than the bond, hotter than the full moon's fury.
In that look, there was no trace of the girl who'd cried into my chest, begging for attention. No flicker of the woman who'd flinched when I raised my voice. This was something colder. Sharper. Like she was weighing me, measuring me, and finding me… wanting. A calm so ruthless it sent a shiver down my spine, even as my wolf snarled to fight back.
"Stick to the plan." I straightened my tie, voice back to its usual cold, but my jaw was tight, that burn at my neck lingering. My gaze wouldn't let go of hers, even as she turned fully and vanished into the auction hall. "She'll tire herself out soon enough."
I'll show her. Even if she plays queen, she's still mine—Lucas' mate. Her Lycan power, her royal blood—nothing against an Alpha's raw power. She thinks a new dress and a cold stare make her untouchable? I'll break that calm. I'll make her beg, like she used to. Make her remember who owns that mark on her neck.
She'll admit it. Her fate is to be conquered by me.
But that heat at the nape of my neck won't fade. And a small, screaming part of me knows: She won't stop. This Leila? She's come to fight. And for the first time in years, I'm not sure if I'm the hunter… or the prey.
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