LOGINShe was his enemy. Then she was his prisoner. Now, she is his soul-bound prey. Arielle Monet was raised to be a queen of the French Syndicate—loyal, lethal, and silent. When she is captured by the ruthless "Devil of Marseille," Girard Roux, she prepares to endure hell for her family. She waits for the rescue that will never come. Then comes the shattering truth: Her father didn't lose her. He sold her. Marcel Monet used his own daughter as a sacrificial lamb, a distraction to buy his escape while the wolf tore her apart. But Girard Roux doesn't want her blood. He wants her name, her spirit, and her life. In a move that shocks the underworld, he forces a ring onto her finger and a vow onto her lips. Trapped in his ancestral estate, Arielle expects a marriage of cold revenge. Instead, she finds a world of dark, carnal hunger and a terrifying secret hidden behind Girard’s golden eyes. He isn't just a Don. He isn't even human. As the moon rises and the beast within her husband begins to howl, Arielle faces a choice that will stain her soul: Run from the monster who bought her, or surrender to the Alpha who promises to burn the whole world down for her. One vow will bind them. One truth will break them. One taste will change everything.
View More"Duh, sempit sekali," keluh Irish sambil memaksa menaikkan resleting gaun seksinya. Jemarinya sibuk menarik ke atas, tapi kain ketat itu seperti melawan.
"Bantu aku, Audrey! Benda konyol ini susah rapat." Aku memutar bola mata dan melangkah mendekat. "Kau memang senang menyusahkan diri. Sudah tahu pakaian ini tidak muat, kenapa masih kau pakai?" "Diamlah! Gadis yang hanya memakai hoodie dan celana jeans panjang tidak berhak menceramahiku!" balasnya sengit. Sret! Resleting berhasil terpasang dengan susah payah. Aku meniup jempol tanganku yang sedikit kesakitan. "Untuk apa kau berpakaian seperti itu? Ini hanya pesta perpisahan pribadi Sean, bukan pesta dansa." Irish menoleh dan tersenyum kecut. "Kita sudah lulus SMA dan kau masih berlagak polos? Ayolah Audrey, kapan kau benar-benar jadi seorang gadis?" Aku tertegun. Oke, pakaianku memang tidak modis, tapi secara umur, aku ini gadis yang beranjak dewasa. Meski, aku akui, dunia mode bukan wilayahku. "Buka bajumu!" perintah Irish tiba-tiba sambil melemparkan sebuah mini dress putih padaku. "Tidak!" tolakku langsung. Gaun itu terlalu pendek. Satu langkah salah dan siapa pun bisa mengintip dari sela pahaku. Irish membalikkan badan, menatapku dengan mata melotot. "Pakai sekarang, atau jangan pergi denganku!" ancamnya tanpa belas kasih. Aku mendesah panjang. Tak punya pilihan. Ini perpisahan sahabat kami yang akan lanjut kuliah di luar negeri. Meskipun aku tak terlalu suka pesta, aku harus hadir. Selain itu… ada hal yang lebih menarik di sana dibandingkan pestanya sendiri. ** Halaman rumah Sean Arsen sudah dipenuhi deretan kendaraan saat kami tiba. Suara musik dari halaman belakang berdentum hingga ke depan, bercampur riuh dengan teriakan teman-teman kami. "Cepat, pestanya sudah mulai!" seru Irish langsung melompat keluar dari mobil. Dia terbirit-birit melewati pekarangan samping menuju tempat pesta. Aku mengikutinya dengan langkah lebih santai. Mataku menyisir pekarangan rumah luas itu. Sangat indah di bawah sinar matahari senja. Rumput hijau terpangkas rapi, lampu taman mulai menyala satu per satu, ditambah aroma bunga dari kebun belakang samar terbawa angin. Selama tiga tahun ini, aku dan Irish sering berada di sini untuk alasan belajar bersama. Padahal, itu cuma kedok. Kediaman Arsen memang luar biasa mewah, dengan fasilitas lengkap. Sebagai dua gadis sederhana dari pinggiran kota, kami merasa sangat beruntung bersahabat dengan putra tunggal calon pewaris Arsen Construction. Hidup kami ikut sedikit terjamin. Namun, di balik itu semua, ada hal yang jauh lebih menggiurkan. Yakni, ketampanan ayah Sean—Sam Arsen—pria yang bisa membuat wanita mana pun bertekuk lutut hanya dengan satu senyuman. Aku tak percaya tiga tahun kebiasaan ini akan berakhir begitu saja. Saat Sean kuliah di luar negeri, tak ada alasan lagi untuk kami berkunjung ke sini. Dan tanpa alasan itu… kesempatan melihat Sam Arsen akan hilang. Tanpa sadar, kakiku melangkah melintasi halaman luas dan berhenti di tepi kolam renang. Ini adalah spot favoritku. Tempat yang akan paling sering kukenang nanti. Byur! "Ah!" Aku menjerit kecil, jatuh terduduk ke belakang saat seseorang muncul tiba-tiba dari dalam air. Tetesan air menyiprat ke wajahku, dingin dan membangkitkan detak jantung yang sudah sejak tadi tak normal. "Audrey?!" suara bariton itu ikut terkejut. Aku menatap… dan ya, tentu saja. Pria yang kini bertopang di tepi kolam dengan air menetes dari rambut pendeknya yang hitam dan tubuhnya yang kokoh, adalah Sam Arsen. Salah satu alasan utama aku begitu rajin mengunjungi rumah ini. Dan mungkin… alasan terbesar aku setuju mengenakan mini dress konyol Irish malam ini. Sam cepat keluar dari kolam dengan tubuh basah dan gerakan gesit. Tetesan air jatuh beruntai di sepanjang otot dadanya, mengikuti lekuk perutnya yang seperti sengaja dipahat. Tak lupa dia menyambar selembar handuk, menutupi area pribadinya yang hanya terbalut celana renang ketat. Aku menelan ludah. Ya Tuhan… bagaimana cara mengendalikan mata dan pikiranku? Pemandangan di hadapanku ini sungguh memukau. Wajah super tampan dan tubuh seksi yang kekar, dengan garis rahang tegas yang membuatnya terlihat semakin berwibawa. Perempuan normal mana pun pasti akan tergoda. Aku mematung, lupa rasa sakit di tubuhku. Bahkan suara musik dari belakang seolah menghilang, hanya tersisa detak jantungku yang berdentum keras. Sam menghampiri dengan wajah cemas. “Aku mengejutkanmu, ya?” Kugelengkan kepalaku dengan cepat. “Tidak, lantainya licin.” Kuharap alasan itu tak membuatnya merasa bersalah lagi. Tangan kekarnya membantuku berdiri. Jemarinya dingin, kontras dengan kulitku yang hangat bahkan seakan memanas tanpa sebab yang jelas. Masih terlihat cemas, dia bertanya, “Kakimu mungkin sakit? Duduklah.” Aku menurut saja. Padahal biasanya aku akan lari menghindar begitu dia datang mendekat. Bukan karena takut, tapi malu. Takut dia melihat wajahku yang merona atau mendengar degub jantungku yang kian tak karuan karena kehadirannya. Sejak awal bertemu, aku telah mengaguminya. Dia sosok pria yang nyaris sempurna. Tampan, kaya, cerdas, pekerja keras, setia, serta sayang keluarga. Dan aku tak tahu sejak kapan, rasa kagum itu mulai berubah arah dan menjadi tak terkendali. Aku mulai mengharapkan sesuatu yang tidak semestinya. Mungkinkah konyol jika kukatakan bahwa aku tertarik pada ayah sahabatku? "Kau sudah bertemu, Sean?" tanya Sam menatapku bingung. Aku mendongak, mata kami bertemu. Untuk pertama kalinya aku bisa sedekat ini dengannya. Jemarinya masih melingkari lenganku, hawa dingin dari kulitnya merayap ke tubuhku seperti arus listrik yang membuatku nyaris kehilangan napas. Mata hazel itu menatapku begitu lekat, terlalu lekat, seolah mencoba membaca isi pikiranku. Aromanya… campuran cologne segar dan samar manis yang membuatku ingin memejamkan mata dan bergerak lebih dekat. "Aku suka..." lirihku tanpa sadar, nyaris terdengar seperti desahan. Kening Sam berkerut tipis. "Apa?" tanyanya bingung. Hampir berbisik di antara jarak kami yang terlalu dekat. Sadar akan kebodohanku, aku buru-buru menggeleng. "Ah—itu... aku... aku suka pemandangan di… tempat ini!" suaraku bergetar, mencoba terdengar santai, tapi gagal total. Sudut bibirnya terangkat, senyum itu… Tuhan, senyum itu berbahaya. Aku tak mau hilang kendali lagi. Beruntung Sam segera melepaskan genggamannya. Meski kemudian, jemarinya yang besar dan panjang justru bergerak ke puncak kepalaku. Sial. Dia mengacak rambutku. Tapi kenapa, setiap sentuhannya terasa seperti mengacak seluruh isi hatiku hingga porak-poranda? Dan yang lebih parah, aku tak ingin dia berhenti. Walau... "Audrey?" Sapaan itu memecah gelembung kecil yang baru saja terbentuk di antara aku dan Sam. Kami serempak menoleh. Seorang wanita cantik berdiri tak jauh dari sana. Anggun, terawat, dan berwibawa. Wanita itu... Cindy Arsen, ibu Sean. **The water didn’t feel cold at first. It felt like a heavy, velvet curtain closing over the world, silencing the roar of the storm and the crackle of the lightning. As I sank deeper into the black heart of the Mediterranean, the agony of the Solstice Strain—that jagged, purple lightning I had pulled from Girard’s soul—began to settle into a dull, pulsing ache. I was a tether, a grounding wire, and I had done my job. But as the surface light faded into a shimmering, distant memory, the realization hit me: a lightning rod is only useful until it melts. My lungs burned, a desperate, rhythmic throbbing that reminded me I was still human, still fragile, still bound by the laws of oxygen and bone. I watched a trail of silver bubbles float upward—my last breath, escaping into the abyss. Is this how it ends? I thought, my mind drifting toward the image of Elena in her nursery. Did I trade my life for his sanity? Above me, the water suddenly erupted. A massive, glowing shape
I stood at the helm of the Valkyrie, a high-speed, blacked-out interceptor boat designed for Syndicate smuggling. It was a vessel of silent lethality, its twin engines humming with a suppressed growl that barely rose above the roar of the gale. My knuckles were white as I gripped the steering wheel, my eyes locked on the holographic Bond-Tracker I had rigged to the dashboard. The tracker was a jagged, pulsing violet line. It wasn’t steady. It was erratic, jumping and flatlining like a dying heart. It was the visual representation of my connection to Girard—a link that Lucian Moretti had turned into a barbed-wire leash. “Proximity: two hundred meters,” the onboard computer chirped in a cold, synthetic tone. “Bio-signature: unstable. Elevated adrenaline. Accelerated cellular regeneration.” “He’s fighting it,” I whispered, my voice lost to the wind. “He’s trying to stay under the water to keep the fire in his brain from exploding.” Suddenly, a series of bright, blinding flares eru
The silence following Girard’s departure was more deafening than the storm. As the white-lightning aura of his body vanished beneath the churning black waves of the Mediterranean, the Lien de Sang didn’t just go cold—it went flat. It was the terrifying stillness of a heart monitor that had stopped its rhythmic beep. I stood at the edge of the jagged stone gap in the library wall, rain-soaked and shivering. The copper taste was still thick in my mouth, a lingering reminder of Lucian Moretti’s poison, but it was being replaced by the acrid scent of ozone and the heavy weight of realization. My husband hadn’t just fled; he had sacrificed his presence to save my life from the agony he felt when we were near. “Madame!” The voice was ragged. I turned to see Bastien stumbling into the ruined library. His tactical gear was shredded, and a deep gash across his shoulder was weeping crimson, but his eyes were clear—and filled with a desperate, mounting dread. He looked at the broken wall,
*ARIELLE’s POV**The North Tower had gone from a sanctuary to a tomb in the span of an hour. I stood in the center of the library, the glow of six different computer monitors casting a sickly, pale light over my skin. My hands were shaking so violently I had to grip the edge of the mahogany desk just to keep from collapsing. Below, in the bowels of the estate, I could hear the sounds of a nightmare: the splintering of wood, the roar of a beast that had forgotten its name, and the terrified shouts of guards who didn’t know whether to protect their Alpha or run from him. The Lien de Sang was no longer a conversation; it was a scream. Every time Girard smashed a door or tore through a stone wall in his feral state, I felt the phantom impact in my own skull. The “ice” had turned into a searing, acidic heat. It felt as if my very soul were being sandpapered raw. “Think, Arielle. Think,” I whispered to myself, my eyes scanning the scrolls of data I had pulled from my fath
The story of my life had begun in a basement, surrounded by the cold smell of damp concrete and the terrifying realization that my father had sold my soul for a patch of territory. But as I stood on the balcony of the North Tower, watching the sun begin to bleed over the Mediterranean, I realized t
The master suite felt different that night. The fireplace was roaring, casting long, dancing shadows across the velvet curtains and the mahogany furniture. For the first time since I had been traded to this house, the air didn’t feel heavy with secrets. It felt light. It felt like victory.
The flight to Monaco was a blur of pressurized steel and the heavy, metallic scent of weapons being primed. I stared out the window of the private jet, watching the lights of the French Riviera flicker like dying embers against the vast, black void of the Mediterranean. Beside me, Girard was a sile
The attack wasn’t physical. It was as if the air had turned into liquid lead, pouring into my ears and eyes. The Seven—the pack’s most ancient shifters—didn’t move. They simply stared. Through the Lien de Sang, I felt a sudden, violent surge of images that weren’t mine. I saw the cellar where I






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