Novels by Kay Voss

SIGRUN"Tell me about your father."I felt him tense behind me in the bath. He was quiet even as his fingers mindlessly drew lazy circles on my shoulder.The warm water sloshed gently around us, the steam rising toward the high stone ceiling of the private bathchamber, but the comfortable, hazy warmth of the room evaporated in an instant. The lazy circles against my skin stopped entirely. His hand remained resting on my collarbone, but it had grown heavy, the muscles in his broad forearm locking up until they felt like solid granite against my back.I bit my lip, instantly wishing I could reach out into the foggy air and yank the words right back into my mouth.Stupid, Sigrun. Really stupid.We had been having such a good evening. After the heavy, heartbreaking weight of the burial ceremony in the Talon Fang valley, we had ridden back to the castle quietly. And when he had carried me into the steaming waters of his private bath, it had felt like a temporary sanctuary from the rest of t

SIGRUNOur destination wasn't a bustling market or a lively village square.As the stallion slowed to a walk, we entered a solemn, misty valley tucked between two massive, jagged cliffs. The air here smelled different…thick with the melancholy scent of burning pine and damp earth.“Talon Fang pack,” Varul informed me. “It is where the dead scouts come from.”We stepped into a wide clearing, and my breath caught.Hundreds of people were gathered in silence. They were dressed in dark, heavy furs, standing in a wide circle around a series of freshly dug graves and stone pyres. The only sound was the crackle of the flames and the low, collective humming of a mourning song that vibrated through the very dirt beneath the horse's hooves.It was a traditional werewolf burial ceremony.Varul dismounted smoothly, then reached up, his large hands wrapping around my waist to lower me to the ground. He didn't leave my side; his hand slid down, his gloved fingers wrapping firmly around mine, anch

SIGRUNThe morning light coming in from the high arched windows in the breakfast hall exposed every single square inch of my bashfulness as I walked in. The stone floors echoed with the soft patters of my shoes while I held my chin up and tried so hard not to look at the sèxy Alpha king dressed in a delightfully sleeveless black tunic and seated at the head of the table. I made to sit at the far end of the long oak table, but his voice stopped me. “Not over there, princess. Come and sit beside me,” Varul drawled, his voice deep voice laced with amusement as he pulled back the chair at his right.I rolled my eyes and made my way down the food-laden table to seat where he asked. I winced slightly when my butt settled into the padded chair. It was still a little sore from his hands last night. I bit the inside of my cheek, totally ignoring his gaze as I served my plate and heaped it with food. What? Given what I’d gone through last night, I was thoroughly famished. Sue me. I sat u

[Author’s Note: This chapter contains light b*on.dage, power play, edging. Reader’s discretion is advised.] SIGRUN He pinned me beneath the crushing weight of his naked body. His hand slid into my hair, his fingers threading deep and tight against the back of my scalp, locking my head in place. Then, he slammed his mouth down on mine. It was a dirty, punishing, consuming kiss. His tongue thrust past my lips with a possessive hunger that stole the very air from my lungs. My head swam, completely intoxicated by the taste of wine on his breath. Beneath him, I was acutely aware of every single inch of his bare skin pressing into mine and the rigid length of his c.o.ck pressing against my lower belly. While his mouth thoroughly wrecked mine, his free hand traveled down the flush of my stomach, sliding effortlessly between my trembling thighs. He easily found the soaking, desperate heat of my center, his thumb beginning to circle my hyper-sensitive cl.i.t in a mind-bending rhythm

[Author’s Note: This chapter contains light b*on.dage, power play, edging. Reader’s discretion is advised.]SIGRUNHe slid his hand lower, his thick fingers tracing the crease where my thigh met my hip. He easily found the dripping, slick moisture pooling at my center.I whimpered, trying desperately again to move. He tsked and held me down even tighter."Look how wet you are. You are making a mess on me," he said, his fingers rubbing the slickness back over my swollen, sensitive flesh. "Your mouth screams protests, princess, but your cu.nt is begging me to tame you.”His thumb applied a slow, circular pressure on my clit that had my toes curling and my vision spinning. He still had my wrists trapped behind me. I pressed my face into the furs.My muffled moans were loud and unhinged, creating an unholy harmony with the obscene wet sounds from his fingers expertly circling the entrance of my p.uss.y.He was teasing me. Deliberately withholding his touch from where I needed it the most.

[Author’s Note: This chapter contains sp.an.king, power play. Reader’s discretion is advised]SIGRUNI made a run for it.With a sudden burst of adrenaline, I slammed both of my palms against his bare, tattooed chest. It was like pushing against a mountain, but the unexpected audacity of the move was enough to throw him off balance for a split second.I scrambled out of the bed and kicked free of the plush dark furs. I tumbled off the edge of the mattress, my bare feet hitting the cold stone floor, and I bolted.As I sprinted toward the massive oak doors, a fleeting, suspicious thought crossed my mind. That was too easy. There was absolutely no way a human-speed scramble should have caught an Alpha wolf off guard. He had let me slip away, deliberately giving me a head start just to see what I would do.I reached the door, my hands trembling as I grabbed the heavy iron bolt. I fumbled, trying to slide it back. I barely managed to crack the door open before—Slam.The heavy wood of the d

Before I can even attempt to form a coherent sentence to explain that no, I don’t know his actual name, but he rescued me from a psychological collapse a month ago, the man in front of me moves.He takes one slow, deliberate step forward. It’s a minimal shift, but it completely alters the geometry of the space. His broad, towering frame cuts off the rest of the crowded bar, effectively trapping me in a private sanctuary of cedarwood, crisp linen, and expensive cologne.Then, his hand lands on the bare skin of my lower back.My breath hitches, a sudden spike of heat melting right down my spine. His touch isn’t like Carter’s. It isn’t frantic or busy or seeking permission to misbehave. His palm is heavy, warm, and utterly proprietary. It rests exactly where Douchebag Carter’s slimy fingers had been just a minute ago, completely erasing the phantom disgust left behind by the real estate heir. It’s an undeniable power play, and my heart performs a frantic, desperate gymnastics routine beh

I take another sip of my champagne and immediately remember why I don’t drink champagne. It tastes like sparkling disappointment. The bartender had assured me it was one of the finest in France. Personally, I think it tastes like someone carbonated sour grapes and slapped a four-digit price tag on it. Then again, maybe my taste buds just aren’t rich enough. Around me, Icarus gleams. Everything about the club screams obscene wealth. The ceiling disappears into darkness broken by cascading crystal lights. Marble floors reflect designer heels and polished Italian leather shoes. Every other person I glance at looks like they either owns a private jet, models for Vogue, or has inherited enough money to casually buy a small country. Probably all three. Women glide past in dresses that undoubtedly cost more than my entire wardrobe combined. One of them is wearing what looks suspiciously like actual diamonds sewn into her dress. I stare for an extra second. Yep. Definitely

Wealth attracts exactly three kinds of people. Those born into it, those who built it, and those desperately trying to be photographed beside it. Icarus has managed to gather all three under one roof tonight. From our glass-walled mezzanine in the VIP section, the entire spectacle looks less like a high-profile launch party and more like a beautifully curated zoo. Downstairs, a world-famous DJ is currently committing crimes against music, blasting bass so loud it vibrates through the leather of our booth. Influencers pose in front of the marble staircase as though they’d personally commissioned the architecture, nepo babies loudly discuss "investments" funded entirely by their parents' trust accounts, and models drift between tables wearing dresses worth more than the average Manhattan mortgage. Luca calls it networking. I call it population density. "If you stare any harder at that railing, Thorne, you're going to burn a hole through the steel," a voice drawls in a cr

**ONE MONTH LATER**There are exactly three things I’ve learned over the last month.One: heartbreak is apparently not a straight line.Two: blocking your ex means absolutely nothing if you’re the idiot who keeps unblocking him at two in the morning just to see if he looks miserable.Three: Kenneth looks annoyingly well-rested in selfies.I block him again.Hopefully for the last time.“…And blocked,” I mutter triumphantly, tossing my phone onto the nearest chair before temptation can strike again.Ria, who’s currently stealing fries off my plate from across the kitchen island, raises an unimpressed eyebrow.“That’s what you said last Thursday, and the Tuesday before that, and the Sunday before that.”I glare at her and she blinks at me innocently. “Well, I mean it this time.”She pops another fry into her mouth. “I’ll believe it when your thumb develops self-control.”“…Rude.”She grins. The annoying thing is…She’s right.Recovery hasn’t been some dramatic movie montage where I cry

"Ria, wait—" My voice comes out as a pathetic, dry rasp, completely lacking the strength to cut through the sudden spike of adrenaline in the air.Ria doesn't hear me. She steps directly into the stranger’s space, her small frame vibrating with a terrifying, protective fury. Her midnight-black hair practically crackles as she glares up at him, her hands clenched into tight fists at her sides.Her shoulders squared like she’s ready to commit a felony on my behalf. God, I love her. “What the fuck are you doing?” she demands.Only then does he take a step back.The movement creates space between us I’d barely realized he’d invaded. I suck in a steadier breath.He doesn’t look offended.Or intimidated.He simply turns to face Ria, one slow movement at a time, until I fully appreciate just how unfairly tall he is.Good Lord.He has at least half a foot on her.He raises both hands, palms open. A universal gesture of surrender. "I'm not touching her," he says. His voice has lost that heav

The numbers on the tablet are clean, logical, and entirely devoid of emotion. That is why I like them. Algorithmic forecasting models don’t have a fragile ego. They certainly don’t call you at midnight to remind you that your older brother has just successfully resected a glioblastoma while you are merely "playing with spreadsheets." I push my glasses up the bridge of my nose, ignoring the faint vibration of my phone in my breast pocket. It is my father. Again. Probably calling to recount the exact details of Julian’s celebratory dinner. The dinner I skipped because a room full of arrogant neurosurgeons is a special kind of hell I lack the patience for tonight. Instead, I sit on my barstool in the dim, leather-scented quiet of the financial district’s most discreet lounge, nursing a neat bourbon. It is supposed to be an escape. Until the air shifts right next to my stool. Two women step up to the very corner of the mahogany bar counter, right in my peripheral vision. One, a