LOGINScarlett’s palm pressed flat against Winter’s chest, fingers splaying over the hard muscle, trying to create space, a desperate attempt to halt the Lycan hovering above her with eyes full of dangerous, ravenous intent. Fear flickered in her honey-brown eyes, wide and unguarded, as she glanced toward the cot where the newborn heir slept peacefully, tiny breaths soft in the quiet chamber. Her gaze snapped back to Winter.“The baby,” she whispered, voice trembling, “we might disturb the baby if we do this.”Winter raised an eyebrow, a slow, predatory smirk curving his lips. “Then I’ll have Odessa come get him.”Scarlett’s throat bobbed as she swallowed hard, her throat dry. “She should come get him now,” she said quickly, pushing against his chest with more urgency. “I should take him to her right away—then you can…”“You don’t get to move, Scarlett,” Winter said, his voice low and edged with raw hunger that sent shivers racing down her spine, the words a velvet command that pinned her
Leander sat on the elevated platform like a king on parade, chin tilted high, cloak pooling around him as though the very stone bowed to his presence. He looked out over the gathered Deltas and Betas with the easy arrogance of someone who had never truly lost a war, only inherited one. He didn’t see the way the older wolves exchanged glances. He didn’t feel the undercurrent of doubt rippling through the room. He didn’t understand that Dixon had already calculated every move, every man, every death, long before this meeting was even called.Skye turned his head away lightly, just enough to break eye contact with Leander without making it obvious. The motion was small, controlled, but it carried the weight of everything he couldn’t say aloud.He had watched Fallon die, lying in his own blood while Scarlett cradled his head, silver hair falling forward like a veil that could not shield either of them from the truth. He had watched Scarlett survive, sold, branded, broken, and still breath
“Sit,” Leander said simply when every eye had focused on him.Chairs scraped again as the men obeyed. Leander leaned forward slightly, voice carrying effortlessly to the back of the room.“We have news from Dravonia,” he said. “And it concerns every man in this room.”Skye’s spine stiffened. He kept his face impassive, but his pulse kicked up a notch. Leander’s gaze flicked once to Skye—brief, unreadable—before returning to the assembled Betas and Deltas.“As most of us has come to know, Winter now has a son. An heir. A boy who could make him falter,” Leander continued. A low murmur rippled through the room—surprise, speculation, unease. Leander raised one hand. The sound died instantly. “That means Winter is vulnerable,” he said. “And vulnerability creates opportunity.”Skye felt the weight of every gaze in the room shift toward him, subtle but unmistakable. Leander turned his head just enough to meet Skye’s eyes.“And that is why you are here, Skye,” he said quietly. “Because you ca
Skye was still grumbling under his breath and fumbling with his belt as he walked along the corridor, heading nowhere in particular. The stubborn leather buckle caught on the last loop again, refusing to thread through, his fingers clumsy with lingering irritation from the morning's sharp exchange with Marissa as her words echoed in his head again —You’re shutting me out again— mingled with the ghosts of Oshea that had kept him awake since before dawn. The castle's stone walls seemed to close in around him, the air thick with the scent of damp mortar and distant smoke from the kitchens. He muttered a curse, yanking harder at the strap, his mind still tangled in the memory of her crossed arms, her narrowed eyes, the way she had watched him leave without a word.The uniform march of footsteps—boots striking the floor in perfect, synchronized rhythm—echoed from around the corner ahead. Skye lifted his gaze just in time.Leander approached, fully dressed in his finest regalia: a high-col
Marissa watched every motion, the anger in her gaze slowly giving way to something quieter—hurt, perhaps, or worry she didn’t want to name. “You’ve been up for hours,” she said, not moving from her spot. “You didn’t sleep.”Skye paused with one boot half-laced. He didn’t turn. “I slept enough.”“That’s not an answer.”He finished lacing the boot with a sharp tug, then straightened. Finally he looked at her—really looked. The irritation in his eyes softened for half a second, replaced by something rawer, more exhausted.“Go back to bed, Marissa,” he said, voice quieter now but no less firm. “It’s early.”She didn’t move. “You’re shutting me out again.”Skye exhaled through his nose. He ran a hand through his silver hair, fingers catching in the tangles. “I’m not shutting you out,” he said. “I’m just… thinking.”“About Scarlett.” It wasn’t a question and Skye’s jaw tightened and he remained quiet.“Skye?” she called out to him, voice low but laced with disbelief. She had not moved from
Scarlett sold as tribute, branded as property, stripped of title and name. Fallon’s daughter reduced to a harem girl. Alive, yes. Breathing, yes. But broken. Owned. Powerless. And in Skye’s mind, that had been mercy. Better a living slave than a dead martyr. Better a chance—however slim—that one day she might rise again. Better than nothing.He had saved her from dying just like Fallon. That was what he told himself. That was what he had to believe. Because the alternative—the truth that he had stood silent while her father bled out, that he had let Leander chain her and sell her, that he had chosen his own life over hers—would destroy him.He opened his eyes as the first true rays of dawn had breached the horizon now, painting the sky in thin streaks of rose and gold and hit his face. Warm, cutting through the cold pre-dawn air like a blade of light. The sudden warmth made him blink; his expression softened for one unguarded moment—almost peaceful—before the memories rushed back in a







