The Alpha Marshal's Regretful Annulment

A scream clawed its way up Georgia Shields's throat, but died as a strangled gasp.

Her eyes flew open.

The first thing she registered was the searing pain. Not a physical wound, but a phantom agony tearing through her neck-a ghostly memory of teeth and claws ripping her apart. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat of pure terror. It felt like it was trying to escape her body.

Her breath came in ragged, shallow bursts.

She shot up from the plush mattress, the silk sheets pooling around her waist. Her hand flew to her neck, fingers frantically probing the smooth, unbroken skin.

Nothing. No fatal wound.

Cold sweat, slick and chilling, soaked through the thin fabric of her designer nightgown. The room was dim, lit by the soft, ambient glow of the city skyline outside the panoramic windows of The Plaza's top-floor suite.

Then she heard it.

A low, guttural growl, vibrating through the floor from the direction of the master bathroom. It was a sound of pure, unrestrained animalism, and it sent a wave of primal fear through her, making the fine hairs on her arms stand on end.

Her head whipped toward the sound.

The frosted glass door of the bathroom exploded outward.

Shards of glass rained down on the marble floor as a towering figure stumbled out. Lantis Kensington. His uniform was half-torn, his usually immaculate blond hair was a mess, and his golden eyes-those cold, imperious eyes-were shot through with a terrifying network of blood-red veins.

Georgia's gaze flickered past him, landing on the sleek electronic calendar mounted on the wall.

Stardate 2045.

The numbers burned into her brain. A cold dread, far worse than the phantom pain, washed over her. Her stomach lurched. She was back. Back to the night it all began.

This was the night she'd tried to force Lantis to honor their marriage contract. In her past life, she'd gone to the black market and bought a male Pheromone Inducer-a banned substance that sent a male's psyche into immediate, violent overdrive, requiring a female's soothing pheromones to stabilize. She'd slipped it into his drink. When he'd stumbled back to his room, lost in the haze, she'd knocked on his door pretending to bring an antidote. She'd seduced her way inside.

One night of madness.

The next morning, Lantis's psyche bore her mark. He could never accept another female's touch again. So he'd swallowed his pride and accepted her as his雌主-his female master-through gritted teeth.

And she was a Null-Female. Worthless. No healing power at all. Lantis became a laughingstock because of her.

In this world, females ruled. Males bowed. Male psyches were volatile, always teetering on the edge of collapse, requiring a female's soothing pheromones just to stay sane. When a male's mental breakdown value hit 90, he began to revert-fur, fangs, claws, the beast rising to the surface. At 95, he was dragged to the Beast Tower, caged like an animal until he forgot he'd ever been a man.

So males submitted. They begged. They crawled.

And she'd had seven fiancés-seven powerful, decorated war heroes-who'd all tried to wriggle out of their contracts with her. She'd felt the sting of their rejection like a slap to her royal pride. How dare they? How dare these beasts defy her?

So she'd broken them. Bent them. Married them one by one through manipulation, blackmail, and sheer, vicious will. And afterward, she'd made their lives a living hell. She'd cursed them. Struck them. Let their psyches rot while she watched, cold and satisfied.

"So what if you're an Imperial Marshal? So what if you command a fleet? You still come crawling to me like a dog begging for scraps!"

High and mighty on the battlefield. On their knees at home.

She'd walked them through the palace on leashes.

The memory washed over her-the cruelty, the pettiness, the sheer, spectacular talent she'd had for destroying everything she touched. Her eyes burned. If self-destruction were a gift, she'd been a prodigy.

In the end, her seven husbands had banded together. They'd exiled her to a dead planet, sacrificing half their lifespans just to sever the bond with her. And Lantis-her primary husband, the one she'd ruined first and worst-had driven a sword through her heart on the transport ship.

She could still feel it. The cold steel. The crushing betrayal. The look in his eyes.

She shuddered, forcing herself back to the present.

She was back. Back to the night she'd burned everything to the ground.

She could still smell the Pheromone Inducer clinging to the air. In her past life, she'd been the one who spiked his drink. But this time-this time she hadn't done anything yet. She hadn't even opened the little black-market vial.

So why was Lantis like this?

Her mind raced, but there was no time to find answers.

The air in the suite grew thick, heavy with the scorching heat of his pheromones. Lantis's breathing was a harsh, rasping sound, each exhale a blast of hot air that seemed to raise the room's temperature. A tiny red light on the ceiling smoke detector began to blink-a silent alarm against the impending inferno.

She had to get out.

Now.

Georgia threw back the covers, her legs tangling in the expensive silk. She tried to stand, but her limbs were jelly, shaking uncontrollably from the shock of rebirth and the raw terror Lantis's presence inspired. Her knees buckled.

She collapsed onto the thick, soft carpet with a soft thud.

The sound, though small, was enough.

Lantis's head snapped in her direction. He moved like a predator that had just located its prey. His bloodshot eyes locked onto her form on the floor, and a new, more focused intensity burned within them.

His throat worked, a difficult swallow.

"Get... out," he rasped, the words torn from his throat. Each syllable was a struggle against the beast clawing at his sanity. "Now."

Last time, she had crawled toward him, babbling about her love.

This time, Georgia scrambled backward, her hands and feet finding purchase on the plush rug. Her eyes, wide with a terror he had never seen in them before, were fixed on him. It wasn't the look of a seductress. It was the look of prey.

She retreated until her back hit the cool leather of a sofa. Her hands fumbled, grabbing a heavy velvet pillow and clutching it to her chest. A flimsy, pathetic shield against a god of war.

Lantis stared, a flicker of confusion cutting through the haze of red in his eyes. This reaction... it was wrong. Georgia Shields was a parasite, a vain, cloying creature who lived for his attention. She was supposed to be throwing herself at him, not recoiling as if he were a monster.

A fresh wave of agony ripped through him. The Pheromone Inducer-cheap, filthy, vicious-surged through his system. He let out a choked roar of pain and fell to his knees, his powerful hands digging into the carpet, his knuckles white.

His nails threatened to tear the thick fibers apart.

Then, something impossible happened.

From the top of his head, a pair of fluffy, white tiger ears popped into existence, twitching with distress. It was a sign of catastrophic failure-a high-tier Beastkin losing the battle to maintain his human form. His Psyche-Core was on the verge of shattering.

Georgia knew what that meant. If she didn't calm him immediately, he would die. Or worse-his mind would be permanently destroyed, leaving only a mindless beast.

But she was a Null-Female. Worthless. Useless. Trying to soothe him would be suicide. His rampaging power would tear her to shreds.

Lantis lifted his head. The last vestiges of his reason were gone, replaced by pure, desperate instinct. His body craved the only other living being in the room. He swayed, pushing himself to his feet, and began to lurch toward her.

"Stay back!" Georgia screamed, her voice trembling but laced with a command she didn't know she possessed. "Lantis, get a hold of yourself!"

He paused for a single, shuddering heartbeat. The authority in her tone, so alien coming from her, seemed to pierce through the fog. But the beast was stronger. He took another step.

She scrambled to her feet, her eyes darting around the room for an escape, a weapon. Anything. The door was too far. The windows were sealed. She was trapped.

Then, faintly, from somewhere beyond the suite's door, she heard it. The distant chime of the elevator arriving on their floor. The memory slammed into her with brutal clarity. Meredith. The reporters. They were coming.

The sound seemed to reach Lantis too. His slitted, bestial eyes flicked toward the door for a single heartbeat. A growl rumbled in his chest-a territorial warning.

Georgia didn't wait. She sprinted for the bedroom area, putting the massive four-poster bed between herself and the beast that had once been the Imperium's most feared Marshal. She needed a weapon. A plan. Anything.

Lantis stalked around the bed with an unhurried, predatory patience that made her blood freeze. He was herding her. Playing with her.

In her desperation, she did the one thing her past self would never have done. She straightened her spine, looked directly into those inhuman eyes, and spoke with every ounce of command she could muster.

"I am not your prey. And I am not your cure."

Her voice cracked on the last word, but the defiance in it was unmistakable.

Lantis stopped. His massive frame went utterly still. For a single, suspended moment, something flickered in those slitted eyes. Confusion. Recognition. And then-fury.

He lunged.

Georgia dove sideways, crashing into the nightstand. Her fingers found the drawer, ripped it open. The first-aid kit was there, just as she remembered. In her past life, she'd hidden it there for a much more pathetic reason-to fake an injury and milk sympathy. Now it was her only lifeline.

She fumbled with the zipper as Lantis whirled, his claws gouging deep furrows in the hardwood floor. Bandages and antiseptic wipes scattered. And there, at the bottom-the auto-injector. Military-grade Suppressant.

Lantis's body tensed for another attack. His muscles bunched, his haunches lowering in a predatory crouch. She knew she wouldn't be fast enough to dodge this time.

She didn't try.

Instead, as he launched, she threw herself toward him, using the bed as a springboard, colliding with his chest in a move so reckless and unexpected that his momentum faltered. For a single heartbeat, he was stunned. And in that heartbeat, Georgia drove the needle into the side of his neck and slammed the plunger home.

The effect was instantaneous.

Lantis went rigid. His slitted eyes widened with shock. Then his massive body crumpled.

A brilliant white light engulfed him.

When it faded, a magnificent white tiger lay unconscious on the ruined carpet, his breathing deep and steady. The beast was subdued.

Georgia lay beside him, gasping for air, her body trembling with the aftershock of terror and adrenaline. She forced herself to roll away, to put distance between herself and the unconscious predator. Her entire body ached. Her wrist, she noticed with a wince, was already darkening with the imprint of his grip-a brutal, undeniable bruise.

She looked at the quiet tiger, then at the bruise blooming on her skin.

In her past life, she hadn't run. She'd stayed-and been caught by the reporters, her reputation destroyed in a single night.

This time, she could still run. The door was right there.

But she didn't move.

Because the footsteps outside were getting closer.

"Are you sure this is the room, Meredith?" a man's whisper.

"Positive." Meredith's saccharine tone. "I saw them go in myself. He looked... unwell."

Reporters. Meredith had brought them, just like last time.

Georgia's mind raced. In her past life, she'd panicked. Fled. Been caught in the hallway, guilt written all over her face for everyone to see.

Not this time.

This time, she would let them come to her.

She looked at the unconscious tiger. The shattered room. The bruise darkening on her wrist.

The scene told a story. She just had to let it speak for itself.

Georgia sat down among the wreckage, pulled her torn nightgown a little tighter around her shoulders, and waited.