LOGINKillian Voss—the Alpha King, the man Sera had secretly loved for three years—grabbed her by the throat the morning after he marked her. "I would never touch someone like you. Not sober." Then he rejected her in front of everyone. Because she was nothing but a wolfless Omega. But his wolf betrayed him. Every full moon, when his human side lost control, he came crawling back to her bed. Desperate. Hungry. Touching her like she was sacred, tasting every inch his pride refused to claim. They called it Mate Madness—the curse that struck Alphas who rejected their True Mate. He needed her to survive. So she became his dirty secret. His monthly fix. The woman he claimed in moonlight and discarded by dawn. Sera told herself she could handle it. The contract. The money. The way he treated her like a curse he couldn't shake. Until she got pregnant. "Get rid of it," he said without even looking at her. "I don't want any connection to an Omega." That was the moment something inside her finally died. She took her baby and ran. Six months later, there was a knock at her door. The cold-blooded Alpha King was on his knees, begging for a second chance. But this time, she was the one who got to say no.
View More[Killian]One year later.I woke up to a foot in my ribs.Not an attack. Lulu. She'd mastered the art of climbing out of her toddler bed, navigating the hallway, opening our bedroom door, and inserting herself between two sleeping adults with the surgical precision of a field operative. She was on her back, perpendicular to both of us, one foot on my ribcage and one hand in Sera's hair, snoring with the aggressive sincerity of someone who takes sleep as seriously as she takes everything else.
[Sera]Spring arrived in Seattle the way it always does. Reluctantly, and then all at once.Three months after the hospital. The cherry blossoms on our block opened on a Tuesday, and by Wednesday the sidewalk between Vance's and Voss & Grain was carpeted in pink petals that stuck to everyone's shoes. Lulu collected them in fistfuls and deposited them in Killian's shop, which he pretended to mind and didn't.The Americano had become a ritual. Every morning. No charge. Killian would come in at 7:15, before the shop opened, and lean on th
[Killian]The courtroom smelled like old wood polish and recycled air. I sat in the third row of the gallery, behind Liam and Helen Park, and watched my grandfather enter through a side door in a navy suit with his hands cuffed in front of him.He'd lost weight. The suit, which had been tailored, hung wrong at the shoulders. His hair was thinner than I remembered, or maybe I was only now seeing it without the frame of a boardroom or a dinner table or any of the settings where Conrad had always been lit correctly. Under courthouse fluorescents, he looked his age.
[Sera]Two weeks later, I brought tea to the wrong shop.Not wrong. Different. I'd been making two cups every evening since Killian came home from the hospital: one for me, one for him. The first night I carried them across the sidewalk, he'd looked at the cup like I'd handed him a contract he didn't know how to read. By the fourth night it was just routine. Close Vance's. Boil water. Walk twelve feet. Sit.He was at the workbench. Left arm still in a sling, though Nakamura said he could take it off next week. He was sanding something with
[Sera]Seattle greets me wit
[Sera]I wake up feeling lik
[Sera] I
[Sera]I slouch in the back
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