Bitten Once. Desired Forever

The candlelight flickered against the grand hall walls, casting long shadows that hid me perfectly. I pressed myself behind the velvet curtains, my breath shallow, my pulse hammering in my ears. I hadn’t meant to overhear them, not like this but the moment I heard Calder’s voice, soft and intimate, I froze.“…she’s so naïve,” he murmured, and my chest twisted. His words were meant for Lysentha, my stepsister, but they felt like a blade sliding through me. “She trusts me. Too much. She’ll never see it coming.”Lysentha’s laugh floated over to me, smooth, silk-wrapped venom. “And you’ll make sure she doesn’t. Don’t worry… I’ll take care of the rest.”I pressed my hands against my mouth to keep from crying out. My body felt like it was betraying me hot, trembling, every nerve screaming. The words weren’t just betrayal; they were intimate. Flirtatious. Wrong. Calder’s hand had brushed hers as he spoke, and I could almost feel it from here, a phantom touch that made my stomach twist with h

The abandoned lodge reeked of dust and rot, but the shadows were mine. I huddled in the corner, soaked from rain and trembling, not just from the cold, but from everything that had come before. Betrayal, humiliation, exile… it weighed on me like iron. And yet, there was something else, something that refused to be silenced: the pull. The hunger. The bite that burned on my shoulder like fire.I pressed my hands to it, fingertips brushing the faintly glowing mark. My body flared at the touch, heat pooling in places I shouldn’t have felt it, muscles tensing, nerves alight. A growl rose from somewhere deep inside me.I shivered and pulled back. “No,” I whispered, trembling. “I won’t… I can’t…”But my body didn’t listen. The shadows in the lodge seemed to curl toward me, stretching, bending, alive. My reflection in the broken window caught me off guard, just for a second, the face staring back wasn’t entirely human. The eyes glimmered with a golden sheen, the outline of fangs flashed, and

The moment I step fully into the torchlight, the bond detonates.It isn’t a gentle pull. It isn’t longing wrapped in romance. It’s a brutal, unforgiving snap, like a chain yanked tight around my ribs, dragging every instinct I have toward one man.Rhaegon Ashmoor.The Alpha King stiffens as if struck, his shoulders locking, his breath cutting short. I feel it echo through my own lungs, the sudden shared panic, the violent certainty.There you are.The hall seems to tilt, wolves gasping and murmuring as the air thickens, pressure pressing against my skin like a storm about to break. I take another step forward, and pain rips through me, white-hot and intimate, slicing down my spine and blooming low in my belly.I choke on a sound I refuse to let become a whimper.I will not kneel.My eyes stay on him as I walk, every step an act of defiance, every heartbeat screaming his name. The wolves part without realizing it, bodies shifting aside as though something ancient is forcing them to mak

Nyra – First PersonThey bound me in silver as though I were something unholy.Perhaps I am.The chains were ceremonial—ancient links forged from purified moon-silver, etched with runes that glowed faintly as they brushed my skin. They wrapped around my wrists, my throat, my waist. Heavy. Cold. Final.Silver is meant to silence wolves.It burns. It poisons. It drags us to our knees and reminds us we are creatures of flesh and weakness.I did not kneel.The High Hall of the Crescent Council smelled of incense and old stone. Torches burned along the curved walls, their flames steady, disciplined—like the elders seated in a half-circle above me. The floor beneath my bare feet was carved with lunar sigils, each groove filled with powdered silver.They had prepared for my suffering.Healers stood by the entrance with bowls of water and white cloths. Guards flanked me, their grips tight though I was already restrained. And at the highest seat—on the obsidian throne carved with the faces of

Nyra – First PersonThe cell door closed behind Matron Iskrya with a sound that echoed like a verdict.Rhaegon did not step inside immediately.He stood framed in the doorway, broad shoulders tense beneath black leather and silver insignia, the torchlight behind him casting his face in shadow. For a heartbeat, neither of us moved.The air between us was thick—charged, unstable.Had he heard?The question clawed at my throat, but I refused to give it voice.He dismissed the guards with a slight tilt of his head. They hesitated—just a fraction too long—before retreating down the corridor. The iron door groaned shut, sealing us in.Alone.My pulse betrayed me first.It quickened—not in fear.In awareness.The bond between us pulsed faintly at my collarbone, beneath the skin where the mating mark had burned, vanished, and—if Iskrya spoke true—sunk deeper.Rhaegon stepped forward.The shadows along the walls stirred in response.His gaze flicked to them, then back to me.“You should not be