The Rejected Mate's Defiant Return To Power

Elara Thorne POV:

A headache split my skull open. It wasn't a dull ache; it was a blinding, searing pain that brought with it a flood of memories. Snow, cold and biting. The glint of yellow eyes in the darkness. The sound of tearing flesh—my flesh. The last thing I remembered was the agonizing pain of being ripped apart by wild beasts, abandoned in the wilderness by my own husband, Lycus.

My eyes snapped open.

The sharp, musty smell of mildew and stale sweat filled my nostrils. It was a scent I knew better than my own. I was lying on a hard, lumpy mattress, the familiar feel of rough-hewn wooden planks beneath it.

"Is that useless Omega dead yet?" a sharp voice shrieked from outside the door. "The sun's high in the sky, who does she think is going to serve her!"

Astrid. My mother-in-law.

A tremor of pure rage shot through my body. My inner wolf, a presence that had been a faint whisper for a decade, let out a low, guttural growl in my mind. The clarity of it was staggering.

I pushed myself up, my muscles screaming in protest. My body was weak, frail. I caught my reflection in a cracked piece of mirror hanging on the wall. A pale, gaunt face stared back, but it was young.

It was sixteen years ago. I was back.

The door slammed open with a loud crack, making the whole flimsy wall shake. Astrid stood there, her face pinched with disgust as she saw me awake. "So you're alive. Get up and make breakfast! Magnus needs to go hunting!"

Her hand came up, a familiar motion, ready to shove me out of the bed as she had done every single day for as long as I could remember.

But this time, my hand shot out like a viper, clamping around her bony wrist.

Astrid gasped, her eyes widening in shock. The pain made her wince. "You... you dare to fight back?"

I didn't waste a single word. My other hand swung up, and with every ounce of strength my weak body possessed, I slapped her across the face.

The sound was sharp, a deafening crack in the silent, miserable room.

Time seemed to freeze.

Astrid clutched her cheek, a red handprint already blooming on her pale skin. Her mouth hung open in disbelief. She had never imagined, not even in her wildest dreams, that I would ever touch a hair on her head.

A young boy, my eldest son Magnus, rushed into the room, drawn by the noise. He froze in the doorway, his eyes wide as he took in the scene.

Astrid's shock finally melted into a screeching rage. "You bitch! You dare hit me! Magnus, tear her apart for me!"

Magnus frowned, taking an instinctive step forward to pull his grandmother away, a peacemaker role he had been forced into his entire life.

My gaze, cold as a winter grave, shifted to him. "Magnus," I said, my