LAIA
Who would’ve thought my new toxic trait is staring at a man I can’t even see fully? Not just any man, the Alpha of these masked strangers.
I should be minding my business, but my eyes won’t leave him. Every move seems to entice me; the way his muscles tighten and relax under his shirt, strong, powerful and controlled.
The mask might have succeeded in hiding his face, but definitely not the power he's seems to exude.
He moves across the training deck like the ship belongs to him. Every strike and turn is totally on a god mode, and nothing like the pack training sessions I’ve seen a hundred times. Those were practice. This is violence turned into art.
His fist cuts through the air faster than I can blink, each blow landing on a wooden dummy with a hollow crack, his kicks spinning with a grace that reminds me of kung fu movies. But this isn’t a performance.
I stand on the deck of the large ship pretending to look at the waves lapping at its side, and somehow, all I can think about is the women whispering earlier that he’s an illegitimate heir, not a true Alpha, surrounded by enemies circling him like sharks.
Trying not to make him catch me, I looked away.
I put my elbows on the wide railing and push the irritating piece of hair being abused by the wind behind my ear. It flies right back out.
For whatever reason, we’ve been left alone, not caged, not pushed around… just idle. And yet under a microscope. There are no phones I could use to call Liam. Do they even have reception in the middle of the sea?
It’s been two days on this godforsaken ship. They walk around barking orders and keeping the ship moving, still wearing their uniforms and masks. How do they not get sweaty with those masks glued to their faces? Minutes after that thought, a young slim warrior comes up to Alpha Damon, whispers something to him, and walks away after his Alpha's node. I watch him exhale a long breath, wipe his chest with a towel, and still… entirely. A heartbeat passes, then all the masked men as one, reach up to their faces and pull off the masks.
Did he just issue a mind-link order to all of his pack members here? On a ship with thick metal walls, away from his territory where he can feed off the land?
I freeze. My eyes find his face. No, not just a face, Alpha Damon’s face. That’s all I see. Cold. Distant.
Grey eyes that shouldn’t burn, but somehow do.
It’s insane. I feel fifty shades of messed up just staring at him. Who is this man?
His gaze locks on me. The wind from the sea whips at my hair and cuts through the thin clothes making me shiver. But I stand there like a statue. He just stares. Stares and stares until I’m convinced I’m losing my mind. Can’t he speak?
A low thunderous sound rolls across the deck and the warriors moved into what seems to be specific positions.
The ship groans as it kisses the dock, the sound of chains clanking and wood creaking fills the air.
One of the masked men, well with no mask anymore, steps forward, his voice calm yet commanding.
“Time to move.”
I stare ahead, and the first thing my gaze meets with is the fortress itself, a wall of stone, and steel carved into cliffs rising so high it swallows the sky.
We disembark in groups, the warriors dividing themselves as we continued on foot, marching straight into the heart of the fortress. I look back, and dozens of cars are slowly driving out from the bowels of the giant ship. A truck’s bed is fully loaded, heavy under the weight.
“Keep walking.” The bark is only half-hearted.
Moving deeper past the gates, my jaw nearly hits the ground. What I thought was just a fortress is nothing compared to what stretches before me. This is a whole pack, alive, sprawling, land hidden behind tall walls.
Whoever designed this place was a genius. And I'm suddenly wondering if these massive walls were built to keep enemies out… or to keep something locked inside?
Lining the street are the members of the Faceless Pack, rows of them standing shoulder to shoulder, watching us march in like a parade. Their stares are heavy, crawling over my skin like fire.
And the worst part? Most of those eyes are on me. I can feel their whispers moving through the crowd, soft murmurs, words I can’t make out.
***
Aristotle once said, ‘He who has overcome his fears will truly be free.’ Easy words, right? But the truth is, fear doesn’t just vanish, it feeds on the silence you don’t want to face.
It’s suddenly dawning on me… fear isn’t always about monsters or death. Definitely not. It’s about the quiet things. The fear of starting over again. The fear of being alone, day after day, without Liam.
I'll be a liar if I said my legs don't ache. A worse liar if I said I don't feel nauseated.
We’re in a big temple with white walls and tall pillars. Light streams through the open roof, making the marble floor shine. Silence stretches all around us.The room is so quiet that even a pin dropping would echo. The scent of incense and burning herbs fills my nose. I look up… Wolf statues line the walls, their eyes glowing faintly in the light. Whoever did the artwork did an incredible job, it’s haunting, gothic, yet beautiful.
At the altar, a woman with long white hair stands with her back to us. Her robe flows around her like mist.
Alpha Damon steps forward, the mask now covering his face. Interesting… I thought they only wore those masks in other pack territories.
He clears his throat, and the Priestess finally, slowly turns to face us.
Alongside eleven others, I stand still, not daring to make a sound. Her eyes are strange, ancient, almost glowing, and I doubt they’re mortal.
“I’ve done my duty, Selara. The Sacred Twelve are here,” Alpha Damon says, his voice cold and much more like a growl. He doesn’t sound like a man who talks much. From what I’ve seen, the only time he spoke more than a few words was when he tried to convince Alphason Cael not to separate the children from their mother.
Before the High Priestess can even respond, Alpha Damon turns on his heel and strides past like we’re invisible.
Don’t look, Laia. Yes, don’t look… You can do this.
The words pound in my head like a chant. Oh, fuck this. Is he really just going to dump us here and go back to his people like it’s nothing? Focus, Laia. Focus. That’s not why you’re here. Remember Liam. Get this done, then leave.
I peek from under my lashes, my hands clasped in front of me demurely, and see his grey eyes slide over me from behind his mask. He doesn’t pause, as his steps carry him too close to me. Another step and he’ll be right here. I hold my breath, I don’t need his Alpha scent in my head. His eyes don’t stray from mine, cold and intent. I watch him in slow motion as he takes the last step towards me, towards the door, and freeze… The back of his hand, his knuckles brush against my hip for such a short moment that I am not sure I imagined it. I press my eyes shut and forbid myself from inhaling. I won’t breathe in his scent, I won’t look him in the eyes any more. No, no, no!
The heavy door groans behind me, and the echo ricochets off the dark walls telling me the masked Alpha is gone. I gasp filling my lungs with needed oxygen and taste him on the back of my tongue.
~ LAIA ~Nothing is as annoying as being the constant messenger every time the High Priestess wants something. I mean, is there something special written on my face or what? I’ve lost count of how many times she specifically points me out the door to run her errands.At first, I thought it was casual, but now it’s way too constant to be a coincidence. Just call me Mercury and give me my winged sandals.Walking past the training field, my heart does that stupid loud thump again. It’s ridiculous how it always reacts this way whenever he’s around. Damon. The word bounces around in my empty, stupid head.He’s by the faucet, head bent, water running over his hair and streaming down his neck and shoulders. The sight shouldn’t make my breath hitch, but it does. I tell myself not to stare, to just keep walking, but resisting him has become one of my most hopeless habits.Like a spark, the image of him and his mate flashes in my mind, the one I found in that old storage room. I still wonder wh
LAIAIt's like a repeated routine: swish, scrape, rinse, repeat.I'm outside the temple, scrubbing the floor... As much as I want to skip to the moment when I get the Relic and leave this pack, well I can’t seem to avoid the chores I need to do to get to that point.A low rolling rumble that makes the stone under my hands tremble. I freeze, my breath caught halfway out of me. Then I hear it again, closer this time.“Well,” says a voice from above, dry as dust but oddly amused, “someone’s determined to scrub a hole straight through the floor. Planning to clean your way to the underworld?”I look up. Is it just me, or did this gargoyle statue just talk m I suddenly hallucinating? I blink once... twice.A pair of golden eyes shines from the beam overhead. Then the shape around them shifts, wings unfurling like the crack of old parchment, claws scraping stone. The face that peers down at me was wolf-like, but not quite. Its grin is too wide, its body too strange, part beast, part somethin
DAMONI had plans. Simple ones. Go over to the Crescent Pack, get the Twelve, and return to my pack.But of course, nothing ever goes as planned.I’m already pissed as it is., Everyone wants something: loyalty, strength, leadership…, Even when I’m barely holding it together.How the hell am I supposed to help a pack that’s my own doom? The Moon Relic has had it out for me from the start, taking the one thing that kept my sanity intact. And lately... things have only gotten worse.According to the prophecy, only the Twelve from the Crescent Pack can awaken the relic’s true power. Without them, our strength, and our standing among the other packs is crumbling fast.In exchange for the Twelve, the Crescent Pack gets our backing during war, a simple measure to secure the alliance.“If these Twelve can finally awaken the Moon Relic, you know what that means… right?” Caden mumbles next to me, yawning so loud the small female closest to us stares at him. And this is my fucking Beta.We stand
LaiaZia wasn’t entirely wrong when she said I was going to love it here. It’s been… peaceful. And aside from the fact that I am on the same footing as an indentured laborer in this pack, my own pack sacrificed me, my mate sent me away, and I have no idea what’s happening with Liam, I feel… better than I expected.It hasn’t even been a week yet, but Zia has been a constant, bubbly presence in my life, keeping the loneliness at bay.. We’re in the kitchen, and she’s teaching me how to bake Moon Cakes to be handed out to the children on Sunday, and the sneak bites some of the adults make too... In her own words.“Okay, Laia, not too much flour,” Zia says, nudging my hand away from the bowl. “You’ll make them stiff as rocks.”I roll my eyes, trying to keep my lips from splitting into too wide of a grin. “Well, excuse me, I thought the goal was to keep the dough from sticking.”She grins, shaking her head. “It’s not cement, girl. Just dust the surface lightly, like this.” She sprinkles the
LaiaSomehow being with the Masks felt better than in this hollow place.My entire being is still focused on that closed door behind me. I stand there with unseeing eyes, my brain trying to imagine what he looks like as he walks away. Will he take off his mask soon or does he wear it in his own pack a lot?High Priestess Selara, just as he called her, clears her throat bringing my attention back“Welcome to the Faceless Pack. Take a seat.”Her voice is high-pitched, ringing through the chamber like the walls are made to resound her every word.Two girls appear, both with long white braids, moving like shadows as they gesture for us to sit. My butt hits the cold stone floor, my eyes glued to whatever strange ritual Selara is stirring up.Her hands move over a bowl, steady and precise, as she divides a dark concoction into twelve silver cups. My stomach knots when I count them, twelve. Always twelve.“Drink,” Selara says, her gaze piercing. “This is no ordinary water. It binds you. Swea
LAIAWho would’ve thought my new toxic trait is staring at a man I can’t even see fully? Not just any man, the Alpha of these masked strangers.I should be minding my business, but my eyes won’t leave him. Every move seems to entice me; the way his muscles tighten and relax under his shirt, strong, powerful and controlled.The mask might have succeeded in hiding his face, but definitely not the power he's seems to exude.He moves across the training deck like the ship belongs to him. Every strike and turn is totally on a god mode, and nothing like the pack training sessions I’ve seen a hundred times. Those were practice. This is violence turned into art.His fist cuts through the air faster than I can blink, each blow landing on a wooden dummy with a hollow crack, his kicks spinning with a grace that reminds me of kung fu movies. But this isn’t a performance. I stand on the deck of the large ship pretending to look at the waves lapping at its side, and somehow, all I can think about