Novels by Circeleari

Bang.Bang.Bang.The sound tears me straight out of sleep. This house feels shitty than my old apartment. What the hell is that?My heart slams against my ribs. For one stupid second, I'm rammed back to years ago when he would lose control of his wolf dead int he night. I think it’s him—think Dante’s wolf has surfaced and is tearing through the house again. I shoot upright, sweat cold on my back. My throat’s dry, my pulse an explosion in my ears.Then—another crash. Something shatters.“Fuck.” I throw the blanket off and stumble out of bed. My feet hit cold marble. The air smells faintly of cedar and smoke. I’m half-blind with panic as I grab my robe and swing the door open.Voices echo down the hall. Dangerously low for me, if I say so myself. That’s not a sound you would want to hear in a place as this.I sprint barefoot toward them, the hem of my robe catching my knees. The servants are all gathered in the foyer, lined up as terrified statues. One is shaking so hard she drops the

The door shuts behind me with a sound that doesn’t echo—it’s too thick for that.The air in this place feels . . . staged. It’s as if someone tried to build a home from the memory of one. I look around. This place doesn’t really scream as if it’s someone not from the human race. The marble floors swallow my footsteps, the walls gleam with too much polish, and even the scent—faint citrus mixed with antiseptic—smells rehearsed.Are the servants here all werewolves too? Is Dante not really afraid?Rafe said they sent their Alpha away because of the amnesia. But I think a part of it was also that they can’t let the pack know that their strong King has fallen short and lost his memories.A servant, or perhaps an Omega in black and gray bows slightly before gliding past, her shoes making no sound. Another man carries one of my boxes as if it’s contaminated. Their faces are masks—polite, efficient, and like their boss, cold.And here I am, clutching my bag in both hands, standing in a mansion

His shadow stretches long across the doorway before his body does.For a second, my brain blanks.I forget to breathe. Forget to move. The only thing I remember is the way his eyes look when he’s about to kill someone and I know that look al too well. And that’s the exact look he’s giving me now.“Dante.” My voice cracks around his name.He doesn’t answer. Just stands there, hands in his pockets like he owns the fucking place — which, technically, he does now. His gaze flicks to the phone in my hand, the dark screen reflecting both of us: me, pale as a ghost, and him, beautiful and furious in the quietest way possible.He tilts his head slightly. “That sounded . . . intimate.”His tone is soft. Too soft. The kind that doesn’t need to raise volume to be terrifying.My pulse stumbles. “What—what do you mean?”He steps forward, and I instinctively step back. My spine hits the doorframe. His scent hits next — cedar and smoke and something darker that crawls under my skin.“The call,” he s

Hell. No.The second those words leave his smug-ass mouth—“Welcome home, Doctor”—I know I’ve officially reached the seventh layer of hell. And Dante’s the devil lounging at the bottom with a glass of scotch and that stupid fucking smirk.I snatch the contract off the table and storm out of the office before I accidentally stab him with the pen I’m still holding.He hisses and I roll my eyes at him before turning to the guards. “I can get back to my quarters, thank you.” I murmur.I’m going back to my apartment, damn it.Cohabitate. With him.As in, breathe the same air again. Sleep under the same roof again Possibly die in my sleep if he decides I look “edible” again.Yeah, no thanks. I’ve gone through that hell before and I am not doing it again.The elevator ride down feels suffocating. My reflection on the steel doors looks like a woman moments away from committing tax fraud just to afford a one-way flight to anywhere else. My hair’s a mess, my hands are shaking, and my chest feels

The silence after I said I’ll agree feels as though the air itself forgets how to breathe.Dante’s hand is still braced against the desk, veins tense beneath his skin, eyes locked on mine like I just agreed to sell him my soul instead of signing a contract.Maybe I did.The assistant, unfortunately, the same one I had seen him mooching off when I first came into his office—tall, pretty, legs-for-days—recovers first. “That’s wonderful news, Dr. Eris. I’ll have the paperwork drawn up right away.”Her voice is too smooth and far too practiced, too damn interested when she glances at Dante for approval.He doesn’t look at her now does he even blink. His eyes stay on me, dark and unreadable, as if he’s dissecting my pulse beat by beat.I swallow. “So, uh . . . just a standard contract, right?”My voice comes out thinner than I like.He finally leans back in his chair, the motion lazy and predatory. “You really think anything involving me is ever standard?”A humorless laugh escapes me. “Yea

It’s about to be midnight and I’m still in the hospital. The smell of antiseptic still clings to my skin.No matter how many times I wash my hands, I swear I can still feel his blood on them.The fluorescent light above me buzzes, flickering once—twice—like it’s just as exhausted as I am. I’m sitting on the edge of the hospital cot, staring at the medical chart in my hands that I’ve been pretending to read for the last ten minutes. My mind’s not here. It’s still in that room, with his voice, his stare, the weight of everything he said.“Don’t run away every time I lose control, Eris.”The memory of that line makes my chest tighten all over again. I wish I could say I didn’t want to. But the truth would be different. I want to run so damn bad my legs are already halfway there.I exhale, shove the chart back onto the table, and grab my bag. I need air. Space. Maybe a few hours without those crimson eyes following me like a spotlight.I get out of the office and out the door. “Ah!” My he

The fireworks are still cracking in the sky behind me, but the world’s gone dim.It’s as someone shoved me out of the spotlight mid-scene. And handed Irene the mic.She stumbles closer, all dainty steps and calculated breathlessness, clutching her phone like it’s her grandma’s ashes.“I was feeling so much better . . . and I didn’t want to be left behind.”She says it softly, a small smile, big eyes. Straight to Konstantin as her life support. Leonid stiffens at my side. I feel his little hand tighten around mine. Not Konstantin’s.Mine.He glares at her like a pissed-off cat. “I thought you were dying earlier.”I nearly choke on a laugh, but bite it back. Irene laughs it off. A breathy, helpless thing. “I just needed rest . . . but I didn’t want to miss out. We’re family, right?”Sure. Family.The kind that poisons your tea and smiles while you drink it.Konstantin doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t move either. Which is worse, somehow.Because Irene takes that as a yes and latches on

The car ride feels like getting shoved between a live wire and a ticking time bomb. Leonid’s on my left, fidgeting like he’s got caffeine for blood.Konstantin’s on my right, legs spread, arms crossed, brooding like he’s plotting world domination—or someone’s death. Probably mine.I reach for the window latch just to breathe, because the tension in here is thick enough to bottle and sell as an aphrodisiac to desperate housewives. As I lean slightly, my arm brushes his. Hard. Muscle and heat and everything I shouldn’t be thinking about.His voice comes low. Mocking. Dangerous. “You that desperate to breathe near me, zayka?”I freeze. Of fucking course. Before I can bite out a retort, a lollipop hits his shoulder. Leonid doesn’t even blink. “Stop flirting with her, old man.” I snort so hard I choke on my own spit.Konstantin turns slowly, red eyes narrowing on his brat of a cousin like he’s one sarcastic comment away from putting him up for adoption. “Say that again,” he says.Leonid gr

I should’ve drowned myself in the bathtub the moment the words “trio date” left my mouth.Because now, I’m standing in front of the damn closet, regretting everything about my life, my choices, and most of all, this stupid idea.I mutter curses under my breath as I dig through the mess of silk and lace in my section of the closet, trying to find a dress that doesn’t scream “please choke me with daddy’s money” or “take me hostage.” Something nice. Something normal. Something that’ll make me blend in while being third-wheeled by a bratty child and my emotionally constipated captor-husband.And just when I think I’ll finally get three minutes of peace, I hear his voice.“I need to grab a suit.”Konstantin’s tone is dry. Casual. As if he hasn’t avoided stepping foot in this room for weeks like the fucking plague.I whip around. “You have another goddamn closet. Use that.”He shrugs, already walking in like this is his space. Like he didn’t say on our honeymoon night that he couldn’t stoma

The lounge smells like chlorine and sugar. Leonid’s curled up on the far end of the long cream couch, his stupid tablet on his lap, and for once, he’s not scowling at me like I just kicked his puppy. I sit on the opposite end, legs tucked under me, a little awkward.The sun from the giant glass doors spills across the marble floor and catches in his dark hair. We’ve been here the entire afternoon. God, the things I do for this kid already. He keeps pretending he’s not looking at me. But he is. Every few seconds, his eyes flick up from his screen and shoot me a weird little glare that isn’t really a glare.“What?” I mutter, quirking a brow. His lips purse.“You don’t sit like a normal adult.”Okay. That’s . . . new.“Sorry,” I say with a snort, stretching one leg out and resting my arm over the back of the couch. “Is there a formal seating posture you’re expecting from your soon-to-be pool buddy?”Leonid’s head jerks up. “I didn’t say you could swim with me.”“You didn’t not say it,” I

I’m in Konstantin’s office in a heartbeat. I don’t know why I did that. Maybe I just wanna know why. Fuck, what do I even came here for? I slam his fucking desk. Papers, folders, a pen cup—everything jumps.“Was it because of the allergy?” I snap, eyes drilling into the back of Konstantin’s head as he types something on his laptop though I didn’t just barge in like a lunatic. “The reason you told me to ‘get the fuck away’? Was it because Irene’s skin condition is contagious?”He doesn’t flinch. Not even a twitch. He just closes the damn laptop with a slow, deliberate motion that pisses me off more than if he had just screamed at me. Then, he leans back in his chair, fingers steepled, and looks at me as though I’m a fucking puzzle he already knows how to solve. His lips twitch into a smirk.“Why? Did that get you wet, kotyonok?” His red eyes trail down slowly, unapologetically. “Knowing I was protecting your delicate little skin?”I blink. Blink. What the actual fuck? I mean, I stormed

The hallway’s silent when I pass through it. Not that it’s unusual—this place is built like a fucking mausoleum, all polished floors and pristine chandeliers, so quiet you can hear your own regrets echo off the goddamn marble.I don’t bother going back to the office tonight. Carlos didn’t say anything, but I know he’s starting to notice how often I work overtime. It's not as though I enjoy swimming in spreadsheets for fun, but . . . it’s easier than going back to a cold room where a certain red-eyed psychopath sometimes sleeps.I head straight to our bedroom. I use that word lightly. It's more his territory than mine, like a cage I’m allowed to dress pretty in. He’s not there. Of course he’s not.I stare at the empty side of the bed—the one I don’t touch, don’t breathe near, don’t even let the blankets wrinkle toward. Still perfectly made, as no one even exists on that side. He’s probably still with her. Irene.My throat tightens. It shouldn’t sting. Not after everything. Not after th