Novels by Janne Vellamour

About an hour later, she heard the garage gate open. Such intense relief flooded her that she almost cried. Moments later, Hector walked into the kitchen. He looked tired, his shoulders a little hunched, but his eyes were alert, scanning the room immediately."Everything all right?" he asked, his gaze instantly detecting her anguish."Mr. Almeida called. The police were at the hospital. They want to speak with you. Formally."Hector's face went still, a mask of granite. He didn't seem surprised, just... resigned."So that's how it's going to be," he murmured. He picked up his cell phone and went straight to his office, closing the door behind him. Theresa heard the low murmur of his voice but couldn't make out the words.When he came out half an hour later, his plan was in motion."I'm meeting with Almeida tomorrow morning. Then, I'll go to the station voluntarily. It's the best approach. To seem cooperative.""But what if they... what if they arrest you?""They won't. They have no ev

Chapter 39Hector's voice echoed in the silent kitchen, a firm and unquestionable command. He placed his own cell phone on the marble table with a sharp click."Do not open the door for anyone. Not even people you know. The security system is activated."He paused, his dark eyes fixed on hers, ensuring every word was absorbed."If anything, and I mean anything, seems off to you, call me immediately. Don't think twice."Theresa nodded slowly, feeling the physical weight of that responsibility on her shoulders. The house was a modern fortress, bulletproof glass, sensors at every entrance, but at that moment, she felt as if she were on the front line, unarmed and exposed. The air conditioner whispered, but it was the only sound."Be careful," she asked, and her voice came out as little more than a stolen whisper, almost choked by the emotion insisting on rising.Hector, who had already turned to leave, stopped. For a brief and fragile moment, the mask of strategic coolness, that armor he

Chapter 38Theresa succumbed instantly. A low, raspy moan escaped her throat—a primitive sound she didn't recognize—as her hands rose to grip his shoulders, his arms, anything to anchor her in the whirlwind. Her mouth responded with equal fervor, not a kiss but a claiming, an affirmation, her fingers digging into the thick fabric of his coat, trying to pull him closer as if to fuse their bones.He kissed her voraciously, his tongue tracing the line of her lips before invading, savoring her taste—coffee, wine, Theresa. His hands slid from her face, mapping the side of her body like a cartographer rediscovering beloved territory, skimming her waist, then settling on her thighs, fingers pressing into her flesh through the thin fabric of her dress.In one fluid motion, he lifted her into the air."Hector," she sighed, the name escaping like a fragment of a prayer.Theresa gasped a small breath of surprise against his lips, her legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, her thigh muscle

Chapter 37Hector drove with fierce concentration, his white knuckles gripping the steering wheel. The facade of tranquility they had maintained on the beach crumbled as soon as they got into the car. Now, only the raw tension of the reality that awaited them remained."You need to go straight home," Hector said, his voice sounding strangely loud in the quiet environment of the car. "We're not going to the hospital, we're not going anywhere. Until I understand what's happening."Theresa turned her head to him, a pang of pain in her chest."But my father… I need to see him. I need to know how he is.""I know. And you will know. But not today. Today, your safety is the priority."The suggestion made Theresa shudder. She hadn't thought of it, but she agreed with a nod."And you? What are you going to do?""I'll take you home, make sure everything is safe. Then I have some things to take care of." I need to hear other versions of the story. The official police version and the real versio

Chapter 36Theresa was speechless. The image of Johan, furious and violent, filled her mind. She looked at Hector and saw the same understanding in his eyes. This wasn't a random robbery. This was a message."Who... who did this?" Theresa asked, her voice trembling."The police don't know. There were no cameras," Albia stated.The air seemed to leave Theresa's lungs. She stammered, unable to form words.Hector, seeing her expression, extended his hand."Give me the phone."Theresa handed it to him, her hand trembling."Albia, it's Hector," her voice was calm. "What exactly is going on?"On the other end, Albia seemed to shrink back."Hector, hi... Look, I'm just repeating what I heard. The police still don't know who did this, but they have some suspects.""And who are their suspects?" Johan and you."And you believe that?" Hector's question was direct and dangerous."No! Of course not!" Albia exclaimed. "I know you're not like that. But... but people know you were angry with him. An

Chapter 35He straightened slowly and helped her to her feet. Her legs were trembling. He grabbed a paper towel from the counter and wiped himself and her with a strange tenderness, a stark contrast to the fury of moments before.Theresa nodded, knowing it was a promise made against all odds. But at that moment, with his taste still in her mouth and his scent on her skin, she believed it."My God," Theresa gasped, her heart pounding wildly.Hector chuckled, a low, satisfied sound, and rolled to the side, pulling her against his body."Now that's an appetizer."She gave a laugh, a light, liberating sound that echoed in the kitchen. For a moment, the threat had receded.They stood up, straightened their clothes, and, with a newfound complicity, resumed preparing lunch. This time, their movements were synchronized, full of casual touches and secret smiles. Hector taught her how to make a simple yet perfect tomato sauce, his hands guiding hers over the tomatoes, his body brushing against

The late afternoon sky painted the mansion's windows with deep, almost liquid orange tones that dripped down the immaculate white walls as if luxury itself were breathing. The automatic gate closed behind Lucas with a metallic boom that echoed briefly, imposingly.He entered with firm steps, though anxiety danced beneath his skin, pulsing in discreet beads of sweat at his temple. His sports bag slid comfortably on his back, an almost light weight compared to what awaited him. His simple uniform—a very tight black t-shirt, outlining his muscular chest, and shorts that exposed his firm thighs—seemed less like work clothes and more like a disguise of seductive armor.He had never set foot in a house like that, imposing, silent, with an air of a luxurious temple where power was worshiped in every detail. Luck had not brought him there. Nothing about it was chance. His profile had been chosen with almost surgical precision: young, healthy, handsome. And most importantly... obedient.Lucas

The loft was submerged in a dense half-light, as if the very space had been saturated by the intensity of what had happened minutes before. The shadows of the sculptures remained elongated, cast by the wall sconces that still glowed softly, but now they seemed less threatening, more complicit. Silence reigned, broken only by their ragged breaths gradually finding a calmer rhythm, like waves receding after a storm.Savanah lay on the sofa, her body still warm and trembling, her damp skin sticking to the rough fabric of the blanket Sebastian had pulled over them in an almost absent-minded gesture. The contrasting texture scraped lightly against her sensitive skin, but there was no discomfort—only a tactile memory of the rawness of this place and the man now breathing beside her.She couldn't close her eyes. The high ceiling seemed to turn slowly, as if the air were too heavy. Her heart still hammered in her chest, and every nerve seemed to vibrate like a tensed string. Vulnerable. Expos

The loft was plunged into a calculated half-light. The wall sconces remained on, casting golden, oblique beams that cut through the vast space, turning sculptures into elongated shadows and walls into canvases of dramatic texture. Dinner was over, but the taste of wine and the unresolved tension still hung in the air. Between them, their breathing seemed louder than the silence, warmer than the cold, raw expanse of the room.Savanah walked beside Sebastian, her heels marking an irregular rhythm on the polished concrete floor. With each step, she felt her heart accelerate, not from fear, but from an anticipation that seemed to swell from within, overwhelming her with an impossible urgency. He guided her without speaking, just with a firm hand at the small of her back, pressing her lightly forward, leading her toward the more open area of the loft.The low sofa was there, an almost insolent invitation, but Sebastian did not hurry toward it. Instead, he stopped her before one of the conc

He sat across from her, his chair creaking softly. For a long moment, they simply looked at each other across the flickering candle flame. The silence was thick, heavy with everything left unsaid."Your sanctuary," she finally managed to say, her gesture encompassing the space around them. "It's... different than I imagined.""What did you imagine?""More order. Fewer... tools.""Tools are extensions of the hands," he replied, picking up a strawberry. He did not eat it. He merely rolled it between his fingers, watching the light reflect off its damp, red surface. "They are what leave the mark of intention on the material. A chisel can create a gentle curve or a sharp edge, depending on the pressure, the angle. The force applied. Every tool leaves its own scar, its own story on the piece. It's those marks that make the work true. Alive."Savanah felt a twinge of familiarity. She picked up a piece of cheese, a creamy brie. Her own hands, her own tools."In the kitchen, we have our tools

The metallic groan of the heavy door shutting behind her was like the sound of a cell being locked. A final sound, severing the connection to the outside world, to rules, to safety. Savanah stood still for a moment, her eyes adjusting to the gloom.The loft was a universe of its own. The ceiling, lost in the heights, was supported by rusty steel beams. Immense windows, checkered like those of an old factory, let in the ghostly light from the streetlamps, painting pale stripes on the stained, worn concrete floor. The air was dense, charged with a symphony of primitive scents: the sweet, musty odor of aged wood, the pungent smell of machine oil, the penetrating metallic tang of iron, and, beneath it all, an earthy note of damp clay and peat.It was chaos. An organized chaos, or perhaps merely tolerated. Sculptures covered with white sheets rose like gigantic ghosts, their hidden forms suggesting slumbering bodies. Heavy workbenches were cluttered with tools she couldn't name—sanders, bl

It was at that exact moment that the doorbell rang.The sound, sharp and intrusive, made her jump. Who could it be? She wasn't expecting any deliveries. She had no meetings. Her heart, still racing from anger, gave a strange lurch. An absurd, electrifying premonition shot through her: it was him.Abandoning the ruined counter, she walked to the intercom by the apartment entrance. Her reflection in the hallway mirror startled her: her face pale, her eyes overly bright, the impeccable bun that now seemed more like a prison than a hairstyle. She took a deep breath, composing herself."Hello?""Delivery for Ms. Phillips," a young, neutral voice replied.Relief and an inexplicable stab of disappointment pierced her. She opened the apartment door. A young delivery driver in a motorcycle courier uniform was holding two things: a bouquet of flowers wrapped in raw brown paper, without any of the usual ribbons or plastic, and a thin, long envelope the color of old straw."Do I need to sign?" sh

The bar seemed to be shrinking, the walls closing in as the air grew increasingly thin. Andreas couldn't take his eyes off Sam, feeling like a satellite trapped in the orbit of a massive, dark planet. The challenge he had thrown down in the previous chapter—that declaration of lack of judgment—still hung between them, vibrating like a guitar string stretched to its limit. Sam didn't respond with words. Instead, he took a step forward, eliminating the little space that remained, pressing Andreas against the wooden edge of the bar.Sam's hand, large and charged with a temperature bordering on feverish, rose quick as a snake's strike, burying his fingers in the hair at the nape of Andreas's neck. The grip wasn't gentle; it was firm, almost painful, forcing the young man's head back and exposing the vulnerable line of his throat. Andreas gasped, but before he could process the shock, Sam's lips collided with his.It wasn't a movie kiss, choreographed and smooth. It was a collision of teet

The bar continued to pulse around them, but for Sam, the world had narrowed to the frantic rhythm of Adreas's heart. Each beat echoed in his ears with deafening clarity, a persistent drumming that stirred centuries of instincts he fought to keep under control. Being a one-hundred-and-seventy-year-old shapeshifter meant bearing the burden of a patience no human would ever understand, but here, mere inches from that fair-skinned youth with the defiant gaze, his willpower felt like a frayed rope about to snap.Sam smelled the adrenaline mixed with desire emanating from Adreas. It was an intoxicating scent, more potent than any drug, making his canines throb at the gums and his senses sharpen to the point of pain. He watched the way Adreas's Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard, the curve of his neck where the pulse was most visible. The beast within him, the wolf that lived beneath the surface of his twenty-nine-year-old skin, scratched at the walls of his consciousness, demanding to

The air in the bar was thick, a mixture of cheap tobacco smoke, the sweet smell of spilled alcohol, and the sweat of bodies crowded under the low red lights of the basement. Adreas felt out of place, but strangely alert. At twenty-five, he had a raw beauty, something he didn't yet know how to handle with complete confidence, which translated into a constant motion of running his fingers through his dark, slightly unruly hair. He just wanted a drink, a break from the monotony of his design routine, something to make his blood run faster through his veins. What he didn't expect was that the blood wouldn't just run, but would boil the moment his eyes met that stranger in the darkest corner of the bar.He was there, isolated from the frenetic crowd, like a marble statue carved with dark intentions. Sam looked like a man in the prime of his twenty-nine years, with broad shoulders that seemed barely contained by a worn leather jacket and a posture that emanated a silent, dangerous authority

EpilogueFive turns of the seasons had passed since the Night of the Healing. What were once rigidly divided pack territories now formed a vibrant tapestry of interconnected communities. On the plains where bloody battles were once fought, children of different lineages played together, their laughter ringing like bells under the afternoon sun.Aurora watched the scene from the porch of her home—not a fortified mansion, but an open, spacious structure built on the site where the Moon's Cradle had once shone. Her silver marks no longer shone with intensity, but pulsed softly, like the quiet breath of the world. In her arms, she rocked a baby with hair as silver as her own, but with golden eyes that belonged to the father."She dreams of the stars," Cael's voice came from inside the house. He emerged onto the porch, a little grayer at the temples, but with the same commanding Alpha posture. "Just like you used to."Aurora smiled, stroking little Elara's cheek."She dreams of different t

Chapter 50The entities responded not with words, but with images: ages of endless war, conflicts that fed their distorted power, the pain that had become their sustenance."We can restore your true purpose," Aurora offered, extending not her physical hands, but her spiritual essence. "Instead of feeding on conflict, you can nourish yourselves on balance."The resistance was immediate and violent. The darkness contracted around her, threatening to crush her. Outside, the others could see the black shapes writhing violently, hear the howls of pain that were not entirely animal."She's dying in there!" Marcos shouted, charging toward the darkness.Cael held him back, his face a mask of agony."Wait," he ordered, though every moment was torture. "She knows what she's doing."Inside the darkness, Aurora felt her consciousness unraveling. The entities had no malice, only an insatiable hunger that blinded them to everything except the need to feed."I offer you something different," she ins

Chapter 49The full moon hung like a silver disc in the night sky, bearing witness to the historic gathering taking place on the sacred plains between the once-divided territories. Hundreds of wolves from all packs were assembled, their forms shifting between human and lupine, all eyes fixed on the natural stone platform where Aurora stood. Her silver marks shone with increasing intensity, reflecting the moonlight."Tonight," Aurora's voice echoed over the silent crowd, "we do not celebrate a victory, but a new beginning. We do not honor a leader, but a truth that was long forgotten."Cael watched from his position at the foot of the platform, his Alpha instincts alert for any sign of danger. Beside him, Jarek and Marcos exchanged looks of awe—Aurora's transformation from a cowering omega to the spiritual leader of their people was nothing short of miraculous."For generations," Aurora continued, her words charged with an energy that made the air vibrate, "we have fought shadows we ou