Alpha King’s True Luna：After Being Burned to Death

Chapter 1: Sorry, Bella, I'm Late

The acrid smell of gasoline was the last thing I expected on my mating night. It filled my nostrils, sharp and suffocating, as Julian Volkov’s hands tightened around my throat. His amber eyes, the same eyes that had looked at me with adoration just hours ago, now burned with a hatred so pure it stole my breath.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. Hours ago, we had our grand wedding at Silverwood Manor. I was the happiest woman alive, finally united with my childhood sweetheart, my fated mate.

Now, he was trying to murder me.

“Julian, please… Why?” I choked out, my fingers clawing uselessly at his wrists.

His face, the face I had loved for more than a decade, twisted into a vicious snarl. “You killed her,” he hissed, each word a drop of poison. “Elena is dead because of you!”

The name hit me like a physical blow. Elena. The Omega scholarship girl he’d fallen for. The reason for all our fights, all our tears. I thought that was over. I thought he had chosen me.

“Every moment I spent with you, pretending to be your mate, I wanted to kill you,” he whispered, his voice a venomous caress against my ear. “You destroyed the only person I ever truly loved.”

He released me abruptly. I collapsed to the floor, gasping, my lungs burning. The smell of gasoline was stronger now, and I watched in horror as Julian methodically poured the contents of a red canister all over our beautifully decorated mating chamber. The silk sheets, the white roses, the expensive rug—all soaked in fuel. He was erasing us. He was erasing me.

The motivation behind his actions was suddenly terrifyingly clear. This wasn't a spur-of-the-moment rage. This was planned. The serene, loving man I had married hours ago was a mask, hiding a monster bent on revenge. He had been waiting for this moment, the moment our mating bond was sealed, to make my death as painful as possible.

“What are you doing?” I screamed, scrambling backward on my hands and feet.

Julian didn’t answer. He pulled a silver lighter from his pocket, the metal gleaming in the dim light. His lips curved into a cruel, triumphant smile. “I’m sending you to HELL!” he roared.

The lighter flew from his hand.

Flames erupted with a hungry whoosh, racing across the floor like demons unleashed from the underworld. I lunged for the door, my only escape, but a brutal kick from Julian sent me flying back into the inferno. My body slammed against the far wall as he stepped out of the room.

“Goodbye, Arabella Thorne,” he said, his voice cold and final.

The lock clicked. Trapped.

Panic seized me. I rushed to the windows, pulling desperately at the heavy velvet curtains and rattling the handles. They wouldn’t budge. He had planned this perfectly. Smoke filled the air, thick and black, making it impossible to breathe. Then, another smell mixed with the smoke, something metallic and bitter.

Wolfsbane.

He had poisoned the very air. My wolf whimpered inside me, terrified and weakening by the second. I lost control, my body contorting as I shifted into my wolf form. My silver-gray fur was immediately singed by the heat. Wolves fear fire above all else. Every instinct screamed at me to run, but there was nowhere to go.

The flames licked at my paws. A pain so intense it felt like my soul was being torn apart shot through me. I collapsed, my strength fading. The wolfsbane coursed through my veins, a poison dulling my senses, making my wolf retreat deep inside me.

So this was how I would die. Burned alive. Betrayed by the man I loved most.

Just as darkness began to claim me, a tremendous crash echoed through the room. The door exploded inward, ripped from its hinges.

Through the smoke and flames, a figure rushed toward me. He was a blur of power and desperation.

“Sorry, Bella, I’m late.”

Alistair Blackwood. The Alpha King of the Midnight Sun Pack. The man who had confessed his love to me on my twenty-second birthday, only to be rejected because my heart belonged to Julian.

He scooped my burning body up in his arms, his strong form a shield against the flames. Even in my weakened state, I could feel his power, a soothing balm against the tearing pain.

“Alistair,” I whispered, my voice barely a rasp. “Why are you here?”

He didn’t answer. He just held me tighter as he forged a path back toward the shattered doorway. But the fire was too intense. The heat was overwhelming. I tried to warn him about the wolfsbane in the air, but my voice was gone. My consciousness was slipping away.

The last thing I saw was Alistair shifting, his magnificent silver-black wolf form covering me protectively as the ceiling collapsed and flames consumed everything around us. Even as the fire burned us both, he never let go.

Foolish, selfless love.

Darkness finally swallowed me whole.

But it wasn't the end. A warm, brilliant light enveloped my spirit. A voice, ancient and powerful, echoed in the void of my mind. It flowed through me like liquid starlight.

“Child of the moon,” the Moon Goddess spoke. “Your fate was stolen from you. I offer you a chance to reclaim it.”

A desperate, primal hope surged within me. This was a chance Julian didn't deserve for me to lose. A chance Alistair had died to give me. Yes, my soul screamed. Please, let me go back.

“Change your destiny,” the Goddess commanded. “Take revenge on those who wronged you. Cherish those who truly love you.”

“I will,” I promised, my spirit clinging to her words. “I’ll make them all pay.”

The warmth intensified, and I felt myself being pulled backward, a dizzying rush through time itself.

When awareness returned, it came with the sound of shouting.

“Where is that boy?” my father, Alpha Arthur Thorne, boomed. “How dare he abandon his engagement ceremony!”

“Old pal, please calm down,” another voice soothed. It was Victor Volkov, Julian’s father. “I’m sure there’s an explanation.”

“Explanation?” My mother Marianne’s voice was sharp with anger. “Julian left our daughter standing at the altar! This is humiliating!”

I opened my eyes slowly. The elegant ballroom of Thornfield Estate stretched before me, decorated with white roses and golden ribbons for my engagement party. The one Julian had abandoned five years ago.

The fire, the pain, the betrayal—it all came crashing back. Tears streamed down my face, hot and silent. The weight of what had happened—and what would happen—settled in my chest like a block of ice. I wasn't just a jilted fiancée anymore. I was a woman who had been murdered by her husband. That knowledge, that memory, was the ultimate driving force. It changed everything.

Beneath the grief, something else grew. A cold, sharp, and unforgiving rage.

Julian Volkov had destroyed me once. Never again.

This time, I would be the one in control.

I stood up slowly, my legs shaky. I wiped the tears from my face with the back of my hand, and my amber eyes hardened with a resolve forged in fire and death. The arguing voices fell silent as I approached the group of parents. They all looked at me with pity and concern. They saw a heartbroken girl. They had no idea they were looking at a ghost.

“Let’s cancel the engagement,” I said firmly, my voice cutting through the tension like a blade.