Novels by Vane core

POV: FreyaThe truth had been sitting around me for days like a bad smell I kept pretending not to notice.Veda’s careful pauses whenever the subject of my tonics came up. Sable’s expression the first time she looked at me, like she knew something she had no right to know.Eryx showing up out of nowhere and talking about guardian bloodlines like he was reading from a book I had somehow already started bleeding through.Rhydian, with that hollow, distant stare that made him look like he was standing beside me in body only. He had not really looked at me since the full moon ritual, and that had hurt in a way I could not quite explain without sounding pathetic.And then there was Zevren.His hands. His voice. The ancient words he had spoken while the moon sat above us like an open wound.Even now, days later, I could still feel the ghost-pressure of his fingers on my skin, as if my body had memorized the touch and refused to forget it. I would be standing still and suddenly my side would

POV: Eryx They caught me three corridors from the cellar wing.Zevren’s guards moved like men already certain how much force was necessary.The first one had a scar through his chin. The second smelled like wet leather and smoke. Between them, they pinned my shoulders hard enough to make my collarbone complain.I tilted my head toward the corridor ahead. Blank walls. Iron sconces. Darkness stretching toward the western stairwell.They started dragging me forward.I let my weight go loose for half a step, testing the hold, then set my feet just enough to keep from being hauled like grain. I had already spent too long in that cellar with my mind split open over Freya’s file, her mother’s letters, and the ugly architecture of Zevren’s cruelty.The corridor ended in a shadowed bend, and then she appeared.Nerissa stepped out of a servant’s doorway like she had been waiting for the exact second the world became unbearable. Her red hair was dulled by the dark, pulled back so tightly it mad

POV: EryxThey put me in the western wing on the third floor. It’s a nice room if you like cedar paneling and the smell of expensive beeswax polish covering up the scent of old damp.There are two guards stationed right outside the door. I can hear the larger one shifting his weight every four minutes—his left boot has a loose heel that clicks against the stone floorboards.Every twenty minutes, another one walks past the narrow window down in the courtyard, his head tilted up just enough to check the glass.It’s a standard box.Zevren thinks he’s being subtle, keeping me close where he can watch my breath fog up the windowpane, trying to figure out how much Oren told me before I left the peaks.He’s weighing me on a scale in his head. Am I useful or am I just a nuisance he can dump in the river lines with a stone tied to my ankles?It’s a tedious game. I’ve played three variations of it with four different Alphas since I turned twenty, and they all use the same script. They think the

POV: FreyaThe chill of the night air did nothing to stop the burning beneath my skin. Every step away from the field felt like pulling a rusted needle through my veins.Zevren’s touch still clung to me, a presence in my mind that made me want to claw my own thoughts out.I didn't go back toward the main barracks. If I saw Rhydian right now, or the pity he was trying so hard to hide, I’d shatter completely.Instead, I cut behind the low stone wall at the very edge of the eastern boundary, where the garden dissolved into wild, untamed briars and steep mountain drops. The shadows were deep here, thick enough to hide a ghost.Except the shadow in front of me was breathing.My wolf froze, dropping low and flat against the grounds of my mind.A man was leaning against the rough stone of the perimeter wall hidden from the torchlight of the path. He was tall, his frame lean and wiry like a wolf accustomed to hunting on steep terrain.His dark hair was pulled back tightly, exposing a sharp ja

POV: FreyaThe gardens felt empty now, even with the guards stationed every ten paces along the walls.Rhydian had been distant ever since the day the fountain shattered. He didn't stand under the archway anymore; he stayed out near the perimeter line, his posture stiff and his eyes looking right past me whenever our paths crossed. He wouldn't even look at my face.I told myself it didn't matter. I had much larger concerns to worry about, but the sudden absence of his easy conversation left this quiet, irritating space in my days that I hadn't realized he’d filled.“You're distracted, girl,” Sable rasped, her voice cutting through the damp afternoon air as I finished another breathing cycle. “The mind must be completely clear if you want to hold the floorboards down.”“I'm fine,” I muttered, my hand automatically dropping down to brush against my belly.“You are lying,” Sable said, her eyes narrowing as she stepped closer, the smell of smoke drifting off her skirts. “The ancient thing

POV: RhydianThe cold didn't wake me, the sudden silence of the barracks did.My tracker senses snapped online a second before my eyes even opened. The ambient sounds of the night had completely cut out. The room felt vacuum-sealed.I looked up through the dark, my breath catching hard against the tight linen bandages around my chest.Zevren was standing right at the foot of my cot.He didn't have a weapon drawn, and his posture was just casual, one hand shoved into the pocket of his coat, but his eyes caught the thin sliver of moonlight hitting the floorboards, holding absolutely zero warmth.He looked like an apex predator deciding whether a carcass was worth the effort of dragging away.“You're awake,” Zevren said, his voice dropping into that smooth, low baritone that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. “Good. We need to talk about your performance in the garden today, Rhydian.”I tried to shift my weight to sit up, but the movement sent a spark straight through my bro

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

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