Novels by Janeee

Chapter 5.Nova’s POVCassian doesn’t let me sleep.Not because he touches me—he doesn’t. Not after the bite. He sits across the room, bare chest, gold eyes lit in the barely lit room like a god chained underground. Watching me. Watching himself unravel, maybe.The mark on my shoulder burns. I can still feel his teeth there, deep, like he has branded himself into my ribs as much as my mind. The mate bond hums every time my heart beats, a pull tying me to him so tight I feel the echo of his breath before I hear it.And yet, morning comes.The desert doesn’t care that my world ended and began last night. It just…carries on.I don’t know what to feel because it feels like my emotions are everywhere. Scattered across my mind.And I barely had time to process it.I just wanted to take pictures of the dessert then call it a day with photography but my car had brought me here. Into the arms of a man that actually howls.Talk about a horror romance film only in this case, I doubt Cassian feel

CHAPTER FOUR.Nova’s POVI should have ran when I had the chance.Cassian hasn’t said it, but I can feel it in the way he won’t meet my eyes, the way his jaw works like he’s chewing down on something. Every step he takes toward the clubhouse feels final. Heavy. Like he is dragging me into the kind of secret you don’t walk away from alive.My chest is still beating frantically with what I saw—the silver-eyed wolf, the impossible fight, the way my heart didn’t break in fear but split open in admiration. I keep replaying it, as if I can scrub it into logic. I can’t.He leads me through a door I didn’t notice before, it was too hidden even to be. Tucked in the back hall of the clubhouse, away from the noise, smoke and fights. The air feels strange..“Where are we going?” I try to be casual and fail.Cassian doesn’t answer. He just grips the handle of another door and pulls it open. A stone stairwell goes downward, lit by torches that shouldn’t exist in a world with electricity.Every par

CHAPTER THREE.Nova’s POVThe night feels wrong.I don’t know how else to describe it. The desert is supposed to have noise crickets, wind skimming over dry brush, the occasional things. Instead, it’s dead quiet, the kind of silence that prickles my skin and gives me goosebumps.Cassian walks ahead of me, his stride loose but his shoulders are tight, like he’s waiting for something. He hasn’t said much since we left the clubhouse. He doesn’t have to. His shoulders do the talking, tight beneath the leather. His head tips every so often, like he’s catching sounds I can’t.Every instinct in me wants to ask what’s wrong. Every ounce of survival says keep your mouth shut.I hug my arms tighter, staring at his back. He looks untouchable like that, black jacket gleaming faintly under the rising moon, boots crunching over dirt. Untouchable and already half gone, like he is sensing things I can’t.Weird“Stay close,” he says suddenly.I jolt. He hasn’t turned, hasn’t slowed, and the sound of

CHAPTER TWO.Nova’s POVCassian had taken me in while his men worked on my car.Kept me in a room that I haven’t had the privilege of exploring. I had assignments to do. Things to take pictures of. Documentary to film.That was what brought me to the dessert.I held my camera tightly with my elbow and stepped out.The Crawl moon clubhouse doesn’t look like much from the road.From a distance, it could be any biker hangout you would rather not get caught dead in—a warehouse squatting on the edge of the desert, its windows blacked out, its parking lot filled by rows of bikes lined up beside each other. There’s a sign on the chain-link fence: No Trespassing. Underneath, in smaller red spray-paint: Seriously. Don’t.So naturally, here I am.The front door opens with a creak that feels like a warning than a faulty door. The smell hits me first—beer, smoke, leather, and different kinds of perfumes or none at all. The kind of smell that tells you no good thing has ever happened past this t

CHAPTER ONE.Nova’s POVThis evening has a cruel sense of humor. I realize that just as my car starts moving slowly, pushing me forward with every gallop.I watch as my car dies the way every bad relationship I’ve ever had does—loud, dramatic, and right when I need it least.Steam curls from the hood in a hiss while I sit behind the wheel“Perfect,” I mutter, hitting the steering wheel. “Absolutely perfect.”I lean back in my seat and stare up at the horizon. It looked like evening was setting. It would almost be beautiful if I weren’t stranded in the middle of nowhere with no cell service and a car that decided it was going to stop functioning.I check my phone anyway—one bar, mocking me. I hold it up like some kind of sacrificial offering. The bar flickers. Then dies.“Of course. Why would you help me?” I say to the phone, to the desert, to whatever malicious deity is running the script of my life.I laugh under my breath. It sounds too loud, almost wrong. “This is exactly how girls