Novels by Vane core

Brielles POVAls ich an diesem Abend nach Hause kam, öffnete ich zum ersten Mal seit der Aufnahme den Ordner, in dem ich das Bild gespeichert hatte. Ich wollte es bearbeiten, bevor ich es löschte. Als ich das Foto sah, wurde mir warm ums Herz. Es war ein wunderschönes Bild. Chases Augen waren ein warmes Blau, wie ein ruhiges Meer bei Nacht.Die Verletzlichkeit und der Schock in seinen Augen ließen ihn noch menschlicher wirken als das Idol, das alle in ihm sahen. Das hier war der Beweis für einen Mann, der all seine Mühe und harte Arbeit in seine Karriere gesteckt hatte, um dorthin zu gelangen, wo er war – ob sein Vater nun der Besitzer des Clubs war oder nicht.Ich war nach Mitternacht mit der Bearbeitung fertig und überlegte, es ihm zu schicken. Aber ich war sicher, dass er es hassen würde, wenn ich das täte, also beschloss ich, es in meinem privaten Ordner zu lassen. Ich löschte es aus allen anderen Ordnern und sorgte dafür, dass selbst die Agentur keinen Zugriff darauf hatte.Nur i

Brielles POV„Ich habe sie doch noch nicht veröffentlicht, oder?“, fragte ich ihn.„Das spielt keine Rolle. Ich will sie einfach von deiner Kamera gelöscht haben.“„Es tut mir leid, das kann ich nicht tun.“Damit drehte ich mich um, um wegzugehen, doch seine Teamkollegen tauchten auf.„Sie ist die Fotografin“, fragte ein blonder Typ.Als Chase nicht antwortete, begriffen sie, dass ich gemeint war.„Er hat dir doch angeboten, dich zu bezahlen, oder?“, fragte einer von ihnen.Ich erkannte ihn als Nate Bryant. Er war der Zweitbeste.„Warum löschst du es also nicht von deinem System und nimmst das Geld?“, fragte Nate.„Weil ich zur Presse gehöre. Ich werde kein Geld annehmen, nur damit ihr euren Willen bekommt.“Ich ging schnell von dort weg, bevor sie merken konnten, wie sehr ich zitterte. Ich wusste, dass ich arrogant wirkte, aber ich konnte nicht anders. Ich dachte darüber nach, alles hinzuschmeißen, aber ich konnte nicht zulassen, dass alles umsonst gewesen war. Das war bisher mein be

Brielles POVAm nächsten Tag wachte ich mit einem Kater auf, weil ich die Nacht zuvor heftig getrunken hatte, um den Schmerz zu betäuben. Paige hatte von dem Vorfall erfahren und mich gestern Abend angerufen, um mir zu sagen, wie enttäuscht sie war, dass ich meine rebellische Natur nicht im Zaum halten konnte.„Ich werde mit Ford für dich sprechen“, hatte sie gesagt, bevor sie auflegte.Ich seufzte. Ich hatte nur versucht, ihr zu helfen, und das war der Dank dafür. Zweifellos war es meine Schuld, dass ich unsere Karriere fast ruiniert hatte, aber ich war doch schon gefeuert worden, oder? Jetzt, da ich keinen Job mehr hatte, wusste ich nicht, was ich mit meinem Leben anfangen sollte. Einen neuen Job in New Jersey zu finden, war nicht so einfach, wie es schien, aber ich hoffte, bald einen zu bekommen.In solchen Momenten vermisste ich meine Eltern. Als Einzelkind hätten sie mich jetzt getröstet, wenn ich bei ihnen in Kalifornien gewesen wäre. Ich seufzte wehmütig. Das war einer der Nach

Brielles POV„Komm sofort mit mir mit“, sagte er, während er durch die Tür in einen abgeschlossenen Raum ging.Ich schaute nach links und rechts, in der Hoffnung, dass jemand kommen und mich retten würde. Doch es schien, als hätte uns niemand gesehen. Also schluckte ich schwer und ging mit ihm hinein. Als ich den Raum betrat, stand er mit dem Rücken zu mir. Aus der Nähe wirkte sein Rücken extrem einschüchternd. Das war Chase Kensington. Ich stand mit dem Idol aller im selben Raum!Allein…„Hi“, sagte ich.Er drehte sich zu mir um, und meine Augen drohten fast aus den Höhlen zu fallen, so ätherisch sah er aus der Nähe aus. Obwohl ich selbst groß war, überragte er mich um mehrere Zentimeter. Bei meinen eins achtzig schien er etwa eins dreiundneunzig groß zu sein.Seine Augen waren ein durchdringendes Blau, und sein Haar war einfach perfekt. Sein markantes Kinn und die vollen roten Lippen passten perfekt zu seiner Gesichtsstruktur und ließen mich wollen …„Hey!“, brüllte er.Ich zuckte z

Brielles POV.Ich nippte an meinem Latte und hörte den Jammern meiner Kollegin zu, die wollte, dass ich für sie bei einem Job einspringe.„Bitte, Bree“, zerrte sie an meinem Kleid. „Sei ein Schatz und hilf mir diesmal.“Ich rollte mit den Augen. „Das sagst du jedes Mal.“„Das ist das letzte Mal, versprochen.“„Das habe ich auch schon öfter gehört.“Sie seufzte und ließ sich auf den Sitz neben mir fallen. „Komm schon, Bree. Betrachte es als deinen ersten großen Job. Willst du nicht die Fotografin der nationalen Hockeymannschaft sein? Das ist das größte Team. Du kannst diese Chance doch nicht einfach verpassen.“„Meine Frage“, sagte ich und drehte mich zu ihr, „ist, warum *du* diese Chance verpassen willst?“Ihre Schultern sackten herab. „Ich habe ein besseres Angebot im Ausland bekommen. Also dachte ich, statt abzusagen, hole ich jemanden, der einspringt, damit die Stelle gesichert bleibt, wenn ich zurückkomme.“Ah, das war also der Haken.So nett Paige auch war – sie war ehrgeizig. Si

POV: RhydianThe fog never really left the garden these days. It just sat low in the grass, turning the stone paths grey and slick. I stood back under the shadow of the archway, my boots damp, watching Freya drop into her training stance.Sable was circling her, whispering things I couldn't catch even with my ears straining. The drills they did didn't look like any pack work I’d ever seen on the border. Freya wasn't just learning to defend herself. She was digging for something deep inside her own skin.Every single time she shifted now, her wolf came out larger. The fur was turning darker,, looking less like a standard pack omega and more like something born out of the ancient woods before the treaties were signed. Her movements had gone from careful to lethal and precise.Watching her grow stronger made this weird knot form right behind my ribs. It was a tight, annoying pressure that I absolutely refused to put a name to. I was the guard. I got paid to keep her alive and keep everyo

POV: KaelenTen days. Rowan was supposed to return in five.A piece of coarse paper sat on the center of my desk, the edges already turning soft from where my thumb had traced the same ink lines over and over. It was efficient work. The first coded message had arrived three days ago, slipped beneath my door during the quiet hours before dawn by a hand my guards failed to intercept.The female in Blackthorn Valley is alive and carrying.The words didn't make emotional sense, so I treated them as data. Freya was alive. The drop from the cliff hadn't broken her neck, the current hadn't filled her lungs, and the blade hadn't left her to rot in the mud.More than that, she was carrying…my child. The timing aligned perfectly with the final week before she was removed from the estate. Statistically, the probability was near certain.I didn't feel the sudden spike of joy or panic the poets wrote about. I felt a logical tightening behind my eyes. A piece of my bloodline was sitting in the den

POV: FreyaThe fog rolled into the valley like thick, gray smoke on the morning the special healer arrived. You couldn't see past the first row of trees in the garden.Her name was Sable, and she looked ancient. Her skin was lined and creased like weathered parchment, and her eyes were the exact color of a heavy storm cloud right before the lightning cracks.She didn't carry a medical bag, or tools, or vials of tonic. She just brought this scent with her…old smoke and something much sharper that I couldn't quite put a name to, something that tasted like cooper on the back of my throat.Zevren didn't just introduce her; he presented her to me. There was this stiff, formal weight to his posture that bordered right on deference. That made me freeze because Alphas like Zevren don't defer to anyone unless they absolutely need something from them.“She is going to examine you, Freya,” Zevren said, his voice low, his eyes darting between me and the old woman. “Trust her.”I didn't answer. I

POV: FreyaFour months and the secret wasn't a secret anymore, no matter how loose the shirts Zevren gave me were. My belly was unmistakably rounded now, a heavy little curve that changed the way I walked and the way the pack looked at me.The whispers in the corridors had shifted, getting louder, like they wanted me to hear them.They all knew about Rhydian as they talked about the way he stood out in the treeline, those bright blue eyes watching the perimeter, that jagged scar cutting right through his eyebrow. I tried to shut it all out, but the gossip followed me around like a second shadow.At least the training was paying off. I could hold my wolf form for an hour now without my bones feeling like they were melting. My senses were sharp, almost terrifyingly so. I could hear the servants murmuring two floors down, and could catch the sour tang of anxiety on a guard before he even opened his mouth to speak.Zevren was teaching me how to read a room, how to spot a threat before it

POV: RhydianThree months of dirt, pine needles, and stale bread. That was what the border between Thornwood and Blackthorn Valley amounted to. I took whatever jobs came down the line, so long as the coin was heavy enough to buy oats for the horse and a hot meal for me once a week. Security details, shaking down merchants who forgot their taxes, delivering sealed letters to people who didn't want to be found. A good chunk of it went through middlemen who clearly answered to Zevren’s network, but I didn't care.I’d never seen the Alpha’s face, and I wasn't looking to start.I didn't ask questions about the money. I learned that lesson the hard way a year ago, back when I still had ideas about right and wrong. A simple delivery turned into a bloodbath, people died who had no business dying, and I woke up with a scar across my arm and a complete lack of curiosity.Now? I just took the coin.Today was supposed to be another boring sweep through the brush, but the universe loves a joke.W

POV: FreyaThree weeks of walls and wood grain. They moved me out of the healing center and into a private room right inside Zevren's pack house. The hallways here practically vibrated with whispers.Whispers like; why is the Alpha keeping a piece of Shadowbrook trash? What is she doing here? I used to care about stuff like that. Now, I just shut my ears to it. I had bigger problems to worry about.Like the fact that I could actually walk now, even if my side gave a nasty pull every time I took a corner too fast. Or the other fact. The one that was starting to show. My belly was just beginning to curve, a tiny secret hidden right under the loose shirts Zevren started leaving for me.He never said a word about it and I hadn't told him either, but I wasn't stupid. Hester definitely put it in her reports, and Zevren wasn't the type to miss a detail like that.He had me out in the garden by dawn for training.We started with meditation, which sounded easy until I actually sat cross legged

Brielle’s POV.The roar of the United Center crowd hit us like a physical wall the second the heavy double doors of the visiting tunnel swung open.Chicago on home ice wasn't just loud; it was outright hostile. Twenty thousand red-jerseyed fans screamed at the top of their lungs, hurling insults, plastic cups, and crumpled posters over the high glass partition of the tunnel. The air inside the arena was thick, hot, and heavy with the scent of stale beer, popcorn, and popcorn oil.“KENSINGTON’S BROKEN! KENSINGTON’S BROKEN!”The chant started in the upper deck and rippled down through the lower bowl like a rhythmic wave of noise, echoing off the steel girders high above.I walked two paces behind Chase, my telephoto camera rig slung tightly across my chest, my press badge secured around my neck. My heart was hammering a wild, erratic rhythm against my ribs, but I kept my chin high, staring straight ahead.Through the fabric of his black-and-silver road jersey, Chase looked monstrous, hi

Brielle’s POV.By noon, Chase’s private recovery suite on the ninth floor of Mass General had turned into a high-security war room.Outside, a ring of hospital security guards and private bodyguards kept the swarming press corps contained in the main lobby far below. Inside, the heavy blinds were drawn against the harsh afternoon sun, casting the room in dim, solemn shadows.Dr. Marcus stood beside the digital lightboard on the wall, tapping a stylus against a fresh set of high-resolution 3D CT scans of Chase’s chest. Sitting around the small glass conference table in the corner were Coach Sullivan, team lead trainer Dan, and our lead corporate legal counsel.Chase sat upright in bed, his upper body bare save for heavy medical gauze over his chest-tube insertion site and the thick, rigid fiberglass brace locking his ribcage in place. His face was drawn and pale, but his dark blue eyes were razor-sharp, tracking every mark Dr. Marcus made on the screen."I’m not going to sugarcoat this

Brielle’s POV.The double doors of Massachusetts General Hospital swung open with a harsh metallic bang, admitting a blast of autumn night air and the wail of the ambulance siren outside."Trauma Bay One!" Dr. Marcus shouted, pushing past the triage desk beside the EMTs. "We have a thirty-two-year-old male with severe blunt force thoracic trauma, secondary to a direct puck impact. Radiograph from the arena confirmed compound fractures to the sixth and seventh ribs. Oxygen saturation dropped below eighty-two on transit, acute respiratory distress, visible hemothorax, and soft-tissue hemorrhage!"The trauma bay erupted into controlled chaos. A dozen medical professionals in scrubs converged on the gurney under the stark, humming fluorescent lights. Stainless steel trays clattered as instruments were laid out. Monitors hummed to life, their harsh blue screens casting an eerie glow over Chase’s pale, blood-spattered face."Get him shifted to the bed on three!" the lead trauma surgeon comm

Brielle’s POV.The roar of nineteen thousand celebrating fans felt miles away, muffled like I was underwater.My boots skidded violently across the slick surface as I dropped to my knees beside Chase, the unforgiving cold of the ice soaked through my trousers instantly, but the freezing sting barely registered against my skin. All I could see, all that existed in my entire universe was Chase lying on his left side, his knees curled up toward his broad torso, his right hand still locked around his composite stick in a death grip while his left clutched frantically at the rigid orthopedic binding encasing his chest."Chase!" I gasped, sliding my trembling hands beneath his cold cheek to lift his face off the frozen rink. "Chase, look at me! Breathe, damn it, breathe!"His face was ghostly pale, slick with a layer of icy sweat, his jaw clamped so tight in an agonizing, silent scream that the muscles in his neck stood out like steel cords, his dark blue eyes were open but unfocused, rolli

Brielle’s POV.Six days later, the air inside TD Garden felt like liquid electricity.Nineteen thousand fans screamed in a deafening, unified roar that vibrated through the concrete foundations of the arena. Black and gold banners waved wildly from the rafters, and the ice sparkled under the intense, blinding glare of national broadcast spotlights.Game 1 of the Stanley Cup Finals.I stood behind the glass near the Boston bench, my hands steady around my telephoto lens, though my pulse was hammering against my ribs.Through the lens, I zoomed in on Chase.He was standing in the tunnel, isolated from the rest of the team. He was fully geared, his black-and-silver captain’s jersey pulled taut over his chest but underneath that fabric lay two layers of rigid orthopedic binding, locking his shattered six and seventh ribs into place, every single breath was a controlled exercise in agonizing restraint.His right hand was wrapped in compressed, low-profile medical tape, hidden beneath his c

Brielle’s POV."Vitals are dropping," the lead paramedic barked over the roar of the engine, slapping a monitoring lead onto Chase's bare shoulder. "Systolic is ninety over fifty. We’ve got a massive deep-tissue contusion over the left thoracic wall. Possible pulmonary laceration from a fractured rib.""Hang on, Chase," I whispered, my voice trembling as I leaned down close to his ear, ignoring the steady beep-beep-beep of the heart monitor spiking erratically beside us. "Please, just hold on."His dark eyelashes fluttered, but he didn't open his eyes. His fingers gave my hand a microscopic, agonizingly weak squeeze before falling slack again.The ambulance slammed to a halt inside the underground bay of Bellevue Hospital, the doors burst open, and a swarm of trauma surgeons in pale blue scrubs swarmed the vehicle, pulling the gurney out onto the concrete floor."Thirty-two-year-old male, blunt force trauma to the chest wall, severe right-hand lacerations with visible soft-tissue dama