로그인I know some of you might find these chapters frustrating, especially with how Sophia acts, but remember, she's not perfect. One of her biggest flaws is her difficulty in forgiving, what you might even call a toxic trait. The last chapter was actually a reflection of all her fears. It made her realize that she’s not ready to endure that kind of pain and, more importantly, she can't give up on Mikhail. If this story isn’t for you, I completely understand, and I apologize for any disappointment. But please know how grateful I am that you've chosen to spend your precious time on this journey with me. Your support means the world to me. Love you all for sticking around!
I am running before anyone tells me to.Cold air slices my lungs. Trees blur. The forest smells like iron and wet bark and something sharp enough to make my pulse jump. Good. That means there is trouble. Trouble means movement. Movement means I can forget everything else.My wolf loves this part. The burn in my legs. The way the world narrows to speed and sound and instinct. I vault a fallen log, land wrong, feel my ankle scream. I don’t slow. Pain is a suggestion. I ignore suggestions.The scent gets stronger. Three rogues, maybe four. Not smart enough to mask themselves. I grin even as my chest tightens. This is the kind of math I like. Simple. Me versus whatever thinks it can cross our territory.They don’t see me until it’s too late.I shift mid-stride, bones snapping, skin tearing, the familiar rush crashing through me like lightning. My wolf slams into the first body hard enough to knock the air out of him. The second lunges. I catch him by the throat. My claws go in deep. Hot b
AuroraThump. Thump. Thump.My heart keeps a rhythm like it is practicing for something important. It presses against my ribs, impatient, curious, refusing to calm down. I notice it the same way I notice everything lately, like my body is a room I am walking through, touching the walls just to make sure they are real.Sophia stands in front of me with safety pins held between her teeth, brows pulled together in focus. She adjusts the back of my dress with careful fingers, tugging once, then again, checking the fall of the fabric like she is solving a puzzle. Her hands pause. She tilts her head. One more pin. Then she steps back.There it is. Her smile. The satisfied kind. The one that means she approves.I look down at myself. The dress feels heavier than I expected, not in a bad way. More like it carries meaning stitched into it. I smooth my palms over the fabric without thinking. My fingers tremble a little. I pretend not to notice.The door opens without warning.Anastasia barg
LucasI straighten my bowtie and tilt my head a fraction to the left, then back to center. The angle matters. Three degrees off and it looks careless. Two degrees too tight and it pinches the collar in a way that shows up in photos. I fix it once more and stop. Any more and it turns into a tell.The clock on the wall ticks every second. Not loud. Precise. I count six ticks, then ignore it. The mirror gives me what I expect. Grey suit, clean lines, shoulders sitting right. I don’t smile at myself. I don’t need to. This is correct.Reid sits on the couch with his small shoes lined up heel to heel, copying the way he saw me do it earlier. He glances up at me, then at Mikhail, then back at me. He nods once, like he’s approving a plan.Jake stands close, not hovering, just present. Big brother energy. He watches me adjust my cuffs and says nothing, which is how I know he’s satisfied. If something were wrong, he would already be fixing it.Alexei finally lifts Emmet, who immediately grabs h
AuroraI wake slowly, the way I do when my body feels heavier than usual because my body is still recovering from injuries, like sleep doesn’t want to let go yet. My eyes open to the familiar ceiling, the faint crack near the corner that I always count when I can’t rest. I never let anyone remove this crack, because it is the only imperfect thing in my perfect room...The thing which makes it look like part of my world.Morning light spills in through the window, soft enough that it doesn’t hurt.I stay still for a moment. Breathing. Listening.Then I turn my head.Lucas is on the floor beside the bed, stretched out on his side in his wolf form. His fur is dark against the wood, one ear tilted back like he fell asleep halfway through listening for danger. His chest rises and falls in an easy rhythm. One paw rests near the leg of the bed, close enough that it feels intentional, like even sleeping he needs to know where I am.A smile spreads across my face before I can stop it.Of course
LucasI slip past the outer edges of James’s mind the way you step into a room you have already been warned about. No announcement. No hesitation. Just presence.The moment I push through, the noise hits.Images do not arrive gently. They collide.Ruby is the first thing I see. Younger than I expected. Softer around the eyes. She is laughing, head tipped back, hair catching the light. James stands close to her in this memory, too close, watching her instead of the world. I notice the way his gaze clings, how it tightens when she looks away. Even here, even before everything breaks, possession hums beneath the surface.The memory shifts.Ruby is crying now. Her hands are shaking. James’s face stays calm, detached, like emotion is something he studies instead of feels. He tells her something. I cannot hear the words yet, but I feel their shape. Warning. Instruction. Control disguised as care.Then the scene fractures.I am standing somewhere dark, watching through James’s eyes. Rogues s
LucasThe pull reaches me before I consciously name it.It settles deep in my chest, quiet but unyielding, like a hand closing around my ribs and turning me in a specific direction. My wolf stirs at the sensation, not with strength, not with hunger, but with recognition. He is still weak, still recovering, and I do not lean on him. I do not ask him to lead. The bond does that on its own.Aurora.My body responds before my thoughts catch up. My feet shift. My shoulders angle away from the estate. The noise behind me fades into something distant and unimportant. I do not stop to explain. I do not stop to think about whether this makes sense. It does. That is enough.I start moving.Gravel crunches beneath my boots, the sound sharper than I like, but I keep going. My breathing stays controlled, not because I am calm, but because panic would slow me down. Every second matters now, even if I cannot fully explain what I am feeling, I have to trust my instincts.Footsteps fall in behind me,







