LOGINOlivia Wade never asked for the bond. A servant. A latent. A girl without a wolf — she knew better than to dream of being Luna. But when Alpha Luther Reed returned from training, fate betrayed her. His storm-dark eyes found hers. His wolf growled mine. For one night, he kissed her, claimed her, whispered promises that set her soul on fire. For one night, she believed she mattered. The next night, beneath the chandeliers and the eyes of the entire pack, he shattered her. Humiliated. Broken. Cast aside. Olivia fled into the forest with nothing but the scraps of her pride. She swore she would never beg again — not for love, not for recognition, not even for her mate. But bonds do not break. And Luther’s wolf refuses to let her go. Torn between the Alpha who destroyed and humiliated her and the destiny she refuses to accept, Olivia must choose: freedom, or a reckoning powerful enough to bring an entire pack to its knees. The Alpha’s regret has only just begun.
View MorePOV: Olivia Reporters waited like gulls at low tide patient, hungry, sure something would wash up. They surged when my car stopped. Flashes. Questions. “Ms Wade, were the kidnappers tied to your company?” “Are you in contact with the Alpha?” “Are your children hybrids?” I didn’t answer. Security opened a path with a steady hand, avoiding headlines. The mirrored doors of Wade Global threw back the version of me I’d brought for public use: black suit, obedient hair, new scars blurred by the wrong shade of foundation. Composed. Cold. Not honest. “Welcome back, Ms Wade,” the receptionist chirped too loudly, as if to drown out the silence. The lift purred upward. I used to love that sound height as proof. Now it has only proved that the sky can be boxed in chrome and sold as victory. At thirty, my assistant, Hana, met me at the glass gate, tablet to chest. “The board’s already in,” she said softly. “And… messages from the councils.” “The human ones or the wolves?” A small smile.
POV: Olivia The valley still smelled like a wet match. Ash dusted hair and hems, the Hall steps, the river stones where grief had washed its hands and left grey fingerprints. I kept the children on a strip of grass by the east wall where the wind moved. Daisy sorted pebbles by “shiny.” Lily made a crooked crown and set it on Hyden’s head; he sighed and let it be. Rowan used my phone to photograph everything that wasn’t a face. Luther stopped a pace from our blanket and didn’t touch it. Small mercy. Bandage under his rolled sleeve, dirt on his cuffs, eyes that brightened when they found me, then remembered not to. “Olivia,” he said. “Alpha.” I didn’t offer a seat. The word landed. He turned to the children. Lily stared back. Rowan nodded like a man. Hyden watched the horizon. Daisy clutched her whale patch like a seal. “I need to discuss safety,” he said. “Do you?” “There are still threats from the Creed. I want you and the children inside Red Moon territory. Not the Hall,” he
POV: OliviaThe rebuilt hall breathed like a chest relearning rhythm. Open arches replaced bannered walls; scrubbed stone kept its scars. Dawn fell in long bands across a single table, not a throne.They put me in the witness circle.Garron stood at my shoulder with a scuffed case. Elara waited with the elders, the Luna’s sign inked small on her wrist. Luther stood at the far end, hands folded, head unbowed. The children were behind good doors with the smells of sugar and sleep exactly right.The Council called it an emergency hearing to “restore order.” You can’t restore what never existed.I set the case on the table. The room quieted.“You summoned me,” I said. “You wanted an accounting.”“The pack demands it,” an elder in rings began. “You broadcast images not meant for”“I showed cages,” I said. “If panic followed, it followed truth.”A younger councillor flinched. Good.Marcus rose, older where it matters eyes and jaw. “Proceed. Ms Wade, present your evidence.”Garron passed me
POV: Elara Night stayed quiet. We worked under canvas and lamp enough light to see, not to perform. Garron’s crew moved with quiet purpose: ropes coiled, winches oiled, salt kept dry. The pine court well sat close to the hall still learning to be a home. I chose to start here. If any rot remained, I’d cut it near my grandchildren’s laughter. Marcus stood at the edge, leaning on his cane without shame. Pride is for the young. He leaned on wood, not rank. That was mercy enough. “Lines set,” Garron said, pale beneath the grit. “Pump primed. We’ll go slow. If the readings spike” “We stop. We salt. We close,” I said. “No heroics.” He nodded. The pump coughed, then found rhythm. Water climbed, dark first, then clear. The smell rose rust, lime, and that faint sweetness memory leaves behind. “I should’ve done this years ago,” Marcus said. “You should have,” I answered. “You didn’t. So we will.” We lowered the first sensor. It slipped beneath the rim with a soft chime. The line trembl












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