LOGINI only wanted to survive senior year. Keep my head down, graduate, and leave Blackthorne Academy behind. But the moment I stepped through its iron gates, I became prey. The Academy is wrong in every way—no mirrors in the dorms, wolves howling during study hall, and strict orders to never leave your room on red moon nights. And then there are the four Alphas who have marked me with their eyes, their obsession, and their danger. Ronan Veyr, the storm-eyed heir destined for the crown, who recoils at my touch yet can’t seem to stay away. Cassian Drax, the golden boy trickster whose dangerous smile hides a ruthless streak. Malachai Frost, the untouchable prodigy who shadows me like a silent warden. And Professor Adrian Vale, the man who looks at me as if I’m a memory he can’t bury. They shouldn’t want me. I have no wolf, no pack, no power. But whispers of a legacy trail me through Blackthorne’s haunted corridors—a bloodline strong enough to crown kings… and dangerous enough to kill for. Strange visions tear through my body whenever one of them is near. My strength is rising, my secret unraveling, and I’m beginning to understand why my mother died to protect it. Because I am not wolf. I am something older. Something every Alpha was born to obey. And if I want to leave Blackthorne alive, I must decide: Will I let one of them claim me— or will I rise to command them all?
View MoreBlackthorne Academy slept.Not with fear tucked beneath beds or claws dragging along stone, but with the soft hush of a world finally allowed to rest. The old halls—once stretched tight with tension, once echoing with footsteps that fled from shadows—now exhaled in slow, steady silence.Lyra stood on the highest tower balcony, her cloak catching the cold Frostlands wind. Below her, lanterns flickered low as students drifted back to their dorms, weary but alive. Laughter thinned into murmurs; murmurs softened into nothing, swallowed by the quiet settling through the stone.The courtyard beneath her—where the Gate had once split open, where the earth shook with war—looked almost gentle now.Snow had begun to fall in feathery flakes again, covering the scars of battle like a white balm.Lyra closed her eyes and breathed.For the first time since she’d stepped through Blackthorne’s iron gates, her shoulders didn’t tense. Her heartbeat didn’t race. Her mark didn’t pull or ache or burn.The
Blackthorne Academy had never been quiet. Not truly. It whispered. It hunted. It waited. Every stone carried a memory. Every tower held a secret. Every Red Moon sharpened teeth. But tonight— The Academy exhaled. Silence settled over the grounds—not the tense silence before violence, but the calm that follows survival. The war was over. The Gate was sealed. The dead finally slept. And for the first time since stepping through the iron gates with a suitcase and a terrified heartbeat, Lyra Hawthorne didn’t feel like prey. She felt alive. *** The Couryard Dawn unfolded across the Frostlands in pale gold sheets, melting the last trail of blood into clean stone. Cracks were mended. Ruins swept. Runes that once glowed with war hummed quietly, at peace. Wolves walked the paths—not as warriors waiting for orders, but as students relearning how to breathe. How to exist without expecting a scream, a command, or a crown. Conversations hushed when Lyra passed—not out
The pulse came again. Low. Ancient. Inevitable. The Gate, half-formed in the stone wall, flickered like a dying star—then surged with a breath that did not belong to the living. Frost cracked beneath Lyra’s boots, spreading like veins across the chamber floor. Malachai’s head snapped up. “It’s accelerating.” Cassian backed toward Lyra, blades drawn. “Fantastic. The giant death-door has a heartbeat.” Vale stepped in front of all three of them, his voice calm—but his stance braced, ready. “No sudden movements.” Ronan didn’t move at all. He just stared at the Gate, shoulders taut with something beyond grief—something like resolve carved from bone. Lyra felt her pulse sync with the Gate’s rhythm—heavy, echoing, wrong. The mark under her glove flared painfully, a rush of heat that drove her to her knees. “Lyra!” Vale caught her before she hit the floor. She clutched his coat, breath shallow, vision blurring. “It’s calling…” Malachai’s face went white. “The Oath recognizes the
The chamber was too quiet. Not the heavy, supernatural silence of the Gate— but the kind that follows a death that was not supposed to happen. Aric’s body lay still in Ronan’s arms, head resting against his shoulder like he’d just fallen asleep. But his chest didn’t rise. His pulse didn’t flutter. There was no almost. He was gone. Ronan didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Didn’t breathe. He just held his brother like he could anchor him back into the world by touch alone. Cassian stood several steps away, hands on his knees, head bowed—like he couldn’t look directly at grief without breaking under it. Malachai’s jaw was tight, eyes fixed on the floor, as if calculating every possible outcome and hating that this one had no solution. Vale’s hand hovered near Lyra’s shoulder—steady, protective—but he didn’t touch her. Not yet. Not when she was shaking. Because it wasn’t just Ronan who’d lost something. It was all of them. The Gate dimmed to a dull, pulsing bruise in the far wall—ha






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