LOGINIn the light of this reflection and for the sake of her unborn child, Helen escapes by the moonlight and leaves the pack. Once out of the pack's safety, she is accosted by rogues. Helen, the weak omega that she is, cannot defend herself and awaits capture before a saviour in person of her new lover comes to her rescue. Helen becomes a slave to Alpha Damian as the only way to remain alive after her dad commits treason by revealing crucial information to a rival pack. Alpha Damian is desperate for an heir and when Helen finally discovers she's pregnant for him, someone has beaten her to the task already and Helen finally realises the worthlessness of her life as a slave and baby making tool. Helen makes her escape from the pack and is attacked by rogue werewolves only to be saved by a werewolf from another pack. A couple of years later and Helen has become a renowned detective and writer, living happily with her saviour and son. Everything appears to be going smoothly till children start getting attacked by rogues. As such, help is enlisted from Alpha Damian’s pack, a deliberate move from Alpha Damian, on the condition that Helen returns to his pack, under the guise that her detective skills are urgently needed. Helen's hesitancy disappears when her son goes missing, and she is forced to collaborate with Alpha Damian. Secrets are yet to unfold and Helen must watch her back because the enemy might be closer than she thinks. For how long can she fight the growing bond between the Alpha and herself? And will Helen be able to protect everyone she loves in the end?
View MoreHELEN’S P.O.V.Peace is not quiet. Peace is the hum of a high-voltage fence.I stood on the balcony of the renovated Castle. The acid rain had stopped days ago,blocked by the Halo the hexagonal grid of violet energy that now spanned the sky aboveWashington D.C.The sun was rising, but it wasn't the warm, yellow sun I remembered. Filtered throughthe Architect’s shield, the light was cool, sterile, and purple. It made the city look like abruise."Director," Vance said, stepping onto the balcony. He wasn't wearing his tattered coatanymore. He wore a uniform made of woven star-metal fiber. "The perimeter is secure.The Rot has retreated to the treeline.""And the refugees?""Safe," Vance said. "Leo stabilized the foundations. The Architect... repaired the shelters."I looked down at the courtyard.It wasn't a garden anymore.The wild, chaotic jungle Maya had grown was gone. In its place were perfect, geometricpaths made of black obsidian. The ruined buildings hadn't been rebuilt; th
LEO’S P.O.V.I was holding up a hospital.The structural supports of the George Washington University Hospital had beencompromised by the Rust blight. The steel rebar inside the concrete had turned to redpowder. The building, housing three hundred refugees, groaned and began to tilt.I stood in the sub-basement. I placed my golden shoulders under the main load-bearingbeam.Load: 12,000 tons.I adjusted my density. I locked my knees.I didn't strain. Muscles are for biology. I was geometry. I simply existed as an immovableobject beneath the falling mass."Stabilized," I broadcasted over the local frequency. "Evacuate the upper floors. You havetwenty minutes before the concrete shears around me.""Thank you, Leo," Vance’s voice came through, sounding exhausted. "But where do wemove them? The shelters are full. The tents are rotting.""Move them to the subway," I calculated. "The tunnels are shielded by bedrock. The Rotpenetration is only 15% there.""The subway is flooded," Vance
LEO’S P.O.V.I didn't need to sleep anymore. Sleep is a biological reset function for organic neuralnetworks. I was no longer organic.I stood on the roof of the Smithsonian Castle at 0300 hours. My vision wasn't limited bydarkness. My eyes polished, gold-mirror surfaces processed the entire electromagneticspectrum. I saw the heat of the rats in the sewers. I saw the microwave backgroundradiation of the universe.I saw the structural integrity of the city.Washington D.C. was a mess. A chaotic, crumbling pile of stone held together by vinesand hope.Inefficient, my mind registered. Chaos invites decay.I looked down at my hand.It was perfect. The skin was a seamless, golden alloy. It didn't sweat. It didn't bleed. Itdidn't feel the humidity.Inside, the Star was still burning. But it was trapped. Compressed into a singularitywithin my chest. It was no longer a fire that warmed me; it was a battery that poweredthe machine.I scanned the courtyard below.The statue of the Beast
HELEN’S P.O.V.The statue in the courtyard was melting.The massive, frozen form of the Beas encased in the cryogenic nitrogen delivered bythe Titan was dripping.Drip... drip... drip.Puddles of gray slush formed around its claws. The ice cracked."Ambient temperature is eighty degrees," Silas reported, scanning the monolith. "Thehumidity is 90%. Physics is winning, Helen. It will thaw.""How long?" I asked, checking the load on my rifle."An hour," Silas estimated. "Maybe two. And when it wakes up, it's going to be hungry."I looked at the elevator shaft in the basement ruins. The doors were gone, melted by theprevious battles. It was just a dark throat leading down to the bedrock."Leo," I whispered into the comms. "You have sixty minutes. If you aren't back by then...we're going to have to blow the Castle to bury this thing.""Copy," Leo’s voice came back, distorted by two miles of rock. "I'll be quick. I just need toask the prisoner why he's so afraid of the dark."THE HEAVY
DAMIAN’S P.O.V.Pain is information. Right now, the information was: You are broken.I dragged myself across the rock ledge deep within the earth. My left leg was useless,dragging behind me like a sack of wet cement. My ribs grated against each other withevery breath.The heat from the magma rive
HELEN’S P.O.V.Leaving a grave is harder than digging one.The convoy idled in the muddy yard of the farmhouse. The engines of the trucksrumbled, a stark mechanical contrast to the rustling of the giant corn leaves.I stood on the porch one last time.The Martha-tree had already taken hold. Its ba
HELEN’S P.O.V.The farmhouse wasn't just a house. It was an organ.As we sat in the kitchen, I noticed the floorboards weren't nailed down; they were held inplace by fine, white root hairs that pulsed rhythmically. The water coming from the tapwasn't clear; it was pale green, smelling of sweet sa
LEO’S P.O.V.Being a god is boring.People think it’s all lightning bolts and smiting enemies. They forget about themaintenance.I stood in the middle of the North Field. I had been standing there for six hours. Myboots were sunk three inches into the mud. My arms were raised.I wasn't fighting.
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