Reborn To Leave The Wolf Who Broke My Heart

Nine years after I became Beta Lincoln Shaw's shadow guard, I decided it was time to break free.

I slipped into a rundown apothecary in the south end of town, trading ten silver coins for a single death-faking pill. The shopkeeper, a grizzled old wolf with eyes like chipped flint, explained it'd make my pulse fade over days, stop my breathing by the seventh, and then—three days later—I'd wake up. A clean escape.

I swallowed the pill, its bitter edge coating my throat, and headed back to the Shaw estate. Snow dusted my shoulders, the cold biting deep. It reminded me of that winter nine years ago, when I was just a pup of seven, starving in a famine that tore through the pack lands. To keep my little sister Julia alive, I sold myself to a trader for five silver coins. But bandits hit our caravan, slaughtering every pup in sight. I crawled out, battered and bleeding, collapsing in the snow to die.

That's when Lincoln's carriage rolled up.

He was only sixteen then, but already a force, his power rippling through the great pack like a storm. He loomed over me, his black cloak snapping in the wind, staring down at the broken she-wolf pup I was.

"Want to live?" His voice was sharp as ice.

I nodded, desperate, clinging to hope.

"From now on, your life belongs to me."

He gave me a bowl of steaming porridge, a warm coat, and a dagger. Over the next nine years, he forged me into his sharpest blade—a shadow guard who killed without a trace.

I don't know when my feelings for him started to shift. Maybe it was the time I came back from a mission half-dead, and he stayed by my side for three sleepless nights. Or when he taught me to write, his warm breath brushing my ear. Or maybe it was that reckless night at the banquet last year, when someone spiked his drink, and he pinned me against the study's screen, all fire and chaos.

After that night, he never spoke of it. Neither did I. Every few nights, he'd come to my room—sometimes tender as a summer breeze, sometimes wild as a beast. He never promised me anything, and I never asked. He was a Beta, ruthless and cold, never swayed by emotion. I had no claim on him, but I'd never seen him show his heart to anyone else either.

Until he carried a she-wolf back to the estate.

I stood on the porch, and the moment I saw her face, my blood turned to ice. It was Julia. My sister. The one I thought the famine had claimed years ago.

Turns out, those five silver coins kept her alive for half a year before a wealthy merchant took her in. But then bandits struck again, wiping out her adoptive family. Only she survived—because Lincoln saved her.

The sobbing pup I remembered was gone. Now, she was a radiant she-wolf, throwing herself into my arms, crying like a pup again. "Yvette, I missed you so much…"

For a moment, I thought the heavens had finally shown mercy.

But then I noticed how Lincoln looked at her. Different. Soft. He didn't train her to kill like he did me. Instead, he brought in the best tutors to teach her music, art, poetry. When she said she was scared of the dark, he hung lanterns all over her courtyard. When she mentioned loving pear blossoms, he had dozens of trees shipped from the southern pack lands.

Then Julia was poisoned by Omega Quentin Joseph.

Quentin, that twisted wolf, made his terms clear: he'd give up the antidote if Lincoln sent me—his most trusted shadow guard—to him for a month. To "play."

Everyone knew Quentin's reputation. The bodies carted out of his den never came out whole.

I looked at Lincoln, praying he'd say no.

"One month," he said, voice flat. "Then I'll bring you back."

That month was the darkest of my life.

Quentin couldn't take me like a mate, but he had a thousand ways to break a she-wolf. He pierced my tendons with steel needles, only to have his healers stitch them back so he could hear me scream. He hung me in an ice cellar for three days, watching me thrash like a dying fish. The worst day, he had his wolves bring a vat of venomous ants, dipped my hands in honey, and plunged them into the swarm. The agony of a million bites shredding my flesh had me biting through my own teeth.

I woke once, half-conscious, staring at my hands—bones exposed, bloodied knuckles crawling with ants.

The night before I was sent back, Quentin grabbed my chin, sneering. "Lincoln gave up his best blade for a she-wolf. How much do you think he loves her?"

I didn't answer. I couldn't.

All I knew was that the fire I'd carried for Lincoln for nine years flickered out in that month, bit by bit.

I'd signed a blood oath to him. My life was his, my death not my own. The only way out was to die—or seem to.

The fake-death pill was my only shot.

I dragged my broken body back to the Shaw estate as dusk settled. The moment I stepped through the gate, Julia blocked my path, flanked by her maids, her yellow dress glowing like a sunrise. She was breathtaking.

"Hard work, huh, sister?" Her smile was sugar-sweet. "Must be filthy after letting Quentin have his fun for my antidote."

She clapped her hands. "Someone clean her up!"

Before I could move, a maid hurled a bucket of scalding water at me. It hit like fire, blistering my skin red. I stood there, unflinching. Pain? Sure. But compared to Quentin's needles in my nailbeds, this was nothing.

Julia pouted when I didn't scream, her lips curling. "All clean now. Go on."

I limped to my cramped little courtyard, peeling off my clothes to tend my wounds. The door slammed open. Lincoln stood there, silhouetted against the light, his black robe making him look taller, sharper. Nine years, and his face still made my heart race—even if that heart was dead.

"You're back?" He strode closer. "Let me see the damage."

I turned, baring my scarred back.

His fingers traced a jagged whip mark. "How'd this happen?"

"Quentin's snake whip," I said, voice steady.

He pointed to a burn mark. "And this?"

"Hot iron."

With each wound I named, his brow furrowed deeper. Then he saw the fresh burns. "What's this?"

"Julia had her maids douse me with boiling water. Said I was dirty."

His eyes darkened. "What did you say?"

"Julia had me scalded," I repeated, meeting his gaze. "She said I was dirty."

His face twisted, cold and furious. "Julia's the kindest she-wolf I know. She's been crying in her room, hating herself for what you went through to save her. She'd never do this. When did you start lying, Yvette?"

I held his stare. "I'm not."

"Liar!" He shoved me away. "Guards! Twenty lashes!"

The guards hesitated but didn't dare defy him. They dragged me to a bench in the courtyard. The first whip cracked, splitting my skin. Lincoln watched, his face like stone. "This is a warning. Anyone who slanders Julia ends up like this."

The second whip. The third. I bit my lip until blood filled my mouth. I remembered being ten, shaking after my first kill, and Lincoln pulling me into his arms, whispering, "Don't be scared. I'm here."

Now, he was the one tearing me apart.

By the twentieth lash, I was a bloody mess. I lifted my head, wanting one last look at him, but blood sprayed from my mouth, and the world went black.

In a haze, I heard the healer's trembling voice. "Beta Lincoln, her pulse is weak. She… she may not have long."