تسجيل الدخول****************** Darkness presses against Aiden’s eyelids like a physical weight, a suffocating blanket of black that smells of mildew, rust, and the copper tang of old blood. He huddles in the corner of the cell, his knees pulled tight to his chest, arms wrapped around his shins in a futile attempt to preserve body heat. The stone floor beneath him is a slab of ice, leeching the warmth from his skin through the thin, torn fabric of his trousers. Every shallow breath sends a sharp spike of pain through his ribs, a reminder of the brutal impact with the ground, but the throbbing agony in his left arm is a relentless, pounding drum. He buries his face in his knees, shoulders shaking with silent sobs. The tears are hot and fast, tracking paths through the grime and blood caked on his cheeks. The scene plays out behind his closed eyes in an endless, torturous loop. The flash of silver. The warm spray of blood across his face. The look in Wayne’s eyes—not just anger, but a shattere
*************** "No..." The word escapes his lips as a broken whisper, barely audible over the minstrels' lutes. Then, panic overrides decorum. He bolts from the high table, his chair screeching against the stone floor before crashing over behind him. The nobles gasp, their goblets pausing midway to their mouths as they stare in confused shock at the fleeing figure. Aiden doesn't look back. His boots slam against the marble, the rhythm frantic and uneven as he sprints toward the heavy oak doors, driven by a frantic, unseen urgency pulling him toward the gardens. Across the hall, Wayne has been motionless for hours, his dark eyes fixed intently on Harris. He watches the Prince excuse himself mere minutes ago, slipping away into the shadows, leaving Aiden alone at the table. Wayne’s muscles are tense, a predator waiting for a signal. When he sees Aiden suddenly sprint from the hall, face twisted in absolute panic, a knot of dread tightens in his gut. Something is wrong. Ignoring t
************* Two days remain until the annual Full Moon Celebration, the single most important event in the kingdom. This festival occurs only once a year, when the moon reaches its fullest and brightest, bathing the lands in silver light. Every allied Alpha King, royal family, noble bloodline, and high-ranking wolf gathers at King Damien's pack to celebrate the Moon Goddess, renew alliances, discuss political matters, witness traditional ceremonies, and indulge in a grand feast before the sacred moonlit dance. For weeks, the palace has been a hive of frantic activity. Servants polish the marble hallways until they gleam like mirrors, hang heavy silver banners embroidered with intricate moon symbols, and decorate the vast halls with glowing white flowers that bloom only under the full moon. Kitchens bustle as chefs prepare endless feasts for the thousands of guests expected to arrive. King Damien has barely slept. He is buried under a mountain of royal duties that would crush a
****************** The vision that sears Aiden’s mind while he is with Harris never comes to pass. He keeps his eyes locked on Harris, watching for a flicker of the future, a sign of the blood he sees in his mind’s eye, but Harris remains untouched, his skin smooth and his chest rising with steady, rhythmic breaths. Aiden’s throat tightens around the words he wants to speak—to confess the sight, to warn him—but the fear of being labeled crazy, a defective omega with a broken mind, keeps him silent. He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and turns away, his footsteps heavy on the stone path. As he walks past the palace gardens, the sheer beauty of the place halts him. It is forbidden, usually, but the gate stands slightly ajar. The breeze blows softly, carrying the scent of night-blooming jasmine and damp earth, and he finds himself stepping inside, mesmerized. He stands there, the cool air brushing against his face, and lets his guard down. Ash, he thinks, projecting the
***************** The silence behind Aiden’s eyes is heavy, a physical weight pressing against the base of his skull. For years, ever since the wolf Voice first whispered in his blood, he has carried this uncertainty—a jagged shard of confusion he can’t swallow. He should be happy to hear it, to know the beast is there, but the Voice has been nothing but a mute observer lately. No visions, no guidance, just the unsettling sensation of being watched from the inside. He stands in the doorway of King Damian’s private chamber, the air thick with the scent of musk and old leather, and lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. The bed is empty. The sheets are a tangled mess of silk and velvet, but the massive mattress is unoccupied. Aiden’s shoulders drop an inch, the tension draining from his spine. Relief washes over him, cool and sharp. He isn’t ready to face Damian yet—not before the sun fully rises, and certainly not before he begins the daily chaos of scrubbing floors and
*************** Pitch blackness swallows Aiden whole, a heavy, suffocating velvet that presses against his skin from all sides. He is standing on nothing, floating in a void where up and down have lost their meaning. Panic claws at his throat, sharp and ragged. "Mom! Dad!" he screams, his voice cracking, echoing back at him with a hollow, distorted quality. "Please, come out! I’m scared!" The silence that follows is thick, mocking. It amplifies the sound of his own harsh breathing. His knees buckle, hitting the invisible ground hard. He curls forward, wrapping his arms around his head, fingers tangling in his hair as sobs wrench their way out of his chest. Tears scorch hot tracks down his cheeks, dripping onto his hands. He shakes uncontrollably, the terror a physical weight crushing his spine. Suddenly, a blinding radiance pierces the dark. It isn't just a light; it is a presence, warm and undeniable. Aiden squints against the glare, lifting his head slowly. The brilliance
********** The iron tang of blood hangs heavy in the air, thick enough to taste on the back of the tongue. Alpha Kael stands over Aiden, his boots splattered in red, looming like a mountain of muscle and aggression. Aiden sits on the floor, his knees drawn up, clutching the cooling body of his
The air in the king's bedroom is thick, charged with the scent of omega in heat, the heavy curtains drawn tight against the outside world. Damien stands over Aiden, his presence towering shadow that consumes the available space. He doesn’t wait for permission or adjustment; he simply claims his m
********** The midday sun filters through the dense canopy of the herb grove, casting dappled patterns of light and shadow across the forest floor. Aiden moves with practiced ease, his fingers deftly plucking the sprigs of silver-leaf moss his mother needs for the poultice. The air here is thick,
********** The grey light of dawn barely touches the rough-hewn floorboards when Aiden’s eyes snap open. It is precisely six o’clock, the hour when the forest mist is thickest and the air still holds the night’s chill. He lies still for a moment, the sheets tangled around his legs, his breath shal







