Mag-log inCaroline's Point Of View"Celia is still down in the dungeons back home," I said, picking at a loose thread on the couch cushion, unable to look at him while I said it. The words tasted strange in my mouth, heavier than I expected. "My dad has her under high-security guard. Double iron bars, suppression cuffs, the whole nine yards. He doesn't take chances anymore, not after what happened." Charlie snorted, a sharp, ugly sound that carried more weight than actual laughter. "Good. She deserves it. Let her rot in there." "I mean, look, I get it," I muttered, leaning my head back against his shoulder, feeling the tension in him even through the fabric of his shirt. His muscles were rigid, wound tight like a spring waiting to snap, and I found myself absently wondering how long he'd been carrying that anger without saying anything."She liked Ronan. They were literally engaged to be married. The whole pack had already bought the ceremonial robes, the banquet was planned, everything. Then
Caroline's Point Of ViewThe walk from the lecture halls all the way to the south wing dorms usually took twenty minutes, but I swear I did it in ten. My boots were practically scraping sparks off the cobblestones, and my heart was doing something embarrassing the entire way, some frantic little rhythm that had nothing to do with the pace I was keeping. It still felt fake. Like, totally stupid and fake. Two weeks ago, I was just the girl sitting three rows back in Advanced Aether Theory, staring at the back of his neck and hoping he'd drop his pen so I could hand it to him. I'd rehearsed a dozen different ways to start a conversation with him and chickened out every single time. Now? We were actually an item. Officially. He'd said the words, I'd said the words, and my wolf had spent the last forty-eight hours doing mental backflips inside my ribcage, refusing to settle no matter how many times I told her to calm down. He was just a human mage. No high-tier bloodline, no silver-rimm
Zane's Point Of ViewThere was everything. Roast fowl swimming in a thick, golden honey glaze, warm berry tarts that didn't have a single dark edge on the crust, cold goat's milk in a sweating pitcher, fresh-squeezed citrus juice that smelled like the southern orchards, and three different baskets of sliced winter melons, apples, and sweet figs. The whole tray gave off a warm, sugary smell that made my stomach growl embarrassingly loud, betraying just how empty three days of sleep had left me. "Eat," Ronan said, his voice flat and unyielding as he lifted the heavy tray and plopped it right across my lap, nearly pinning my knees to the mattress. "Are you insane?" I laughed, a short, sharp bark that made my chest hum with that new golden current. "There's enough food here to feed the entire third squad after a border run. Look at this juice. It's still cold. You actually had them carry ice up from the lower cellars for this?" "I told the cook if the bread was stale or the meat was dr
Zane's Point Of View"I'll be waiting for you," her voice whispered. It didn't sound like it was in my head anymore. It was just an echo fading out in the dark, dissolving like smoke caught in a draft. Then everything snapped. The heavy, dead weight in my eyelids was gone. I blinked, the dim torchlight of the infirmary room hitting my face like a slap. The ceiling was made of those same rough, grey stones I'd been staring at for months, and for a moment I almost expected to still be trapped in that strange, floating place between sleep and death. "Zane?" A shadow moved fast from the side of the bed. It didn't just move - it lunged. Before I could even clear the dry spit from my throat, a massive weight slammed straight into my chest. Two arms wrapped around my neck so tight my jaw clicked. "Zane! Gods, you're awake! You're actually breathing!" Ronan's voice cracked, rough and unraveling at the edges, and he shook like a leaf in a windstorm. His face pressed hard into the crook o
Zane's Point Of ViewMy knees didn't want to straighten. The back of my neck was still sweating from that memory… from watching her skull split on the rocks and hearing my father curse the rain. The image wouldn't let go of me, even here. "Get up," she said. Her voice didn't have that soft, nursery rhythm anymore. It was flat. Like a stone hitting a frozen pond. "We don't have time for you to sit there and cry about the past, Zane. Your core is a total mess. It looks like a cracked glass bottle held together with old string. If you go back into your body like this, the next minor Sigen grunt you meet will turn you into grease." I wiped my nose with the back of my hand, leaving a smear of dirt and spit on my knuckles. "Brutal. Thanks, Mom. Really loving the family reunion so far." "You want nice, go back to the Alpha Prince and let him feed you burnt tarts," she shot back, her green eyes narrowing as she stepped right into my space. She didn't look like a ghost anymore. She looked l
Zane's Point Of ViewThe dark lasted forever. When Livia finally opened her eyes, she wasn't dead, but she wished she was. Everything hurt. Her skull felt like it had been split open with a wood-ax, and the damp smell of mud and rotting leaves pressed right into her face, thick enough to choke on. She couldn't move. Her wolf was dead silent inside her, wrapped in ice, and the silence terrified her more than the pain did. "Hey. Stay still." A hand touched her shoulder. Not a Sigen hand. It was too warm, too heavy, rough with calluses that spoke of years of labor rather than years of court. She flinched, trying to pull a knife that wasn't there, her breath cutting off in a sharp gasp. "I don't bite," the voice said, calm and grounded, a man's voice dropping down from somewhere above her in the dim light. "You took a massive hit to the head. Honestly, I'm surprised you're even breathing. Drink this." A wooden cup pressed against her split lip. The water tasted like limestone and mo
Zane's Point Of View The weeks since the Inheritance Ceremony had passed in a blur of restless nights and forced smiles. My body had healed… rapidly, thanks to whatever magic my mother had poured into me, but my soul still ached. The weight of her absence pressed down on me like a physical force,
Zane's Point Of View Miles’ lips crashed against mine with a desperation that stole my breath, his hand tightening on my waist, pulling me flush against him. The shelves pressed into my back, the books digging into my skin, but I barely noticed. All I could feel was him, the heat of his body, the
Zane's Point Of View “Is it just me, or is Celia glaring at you?”I stiffened, my fork pausing halfway to my mouth. "What?"Charlie nodded subtly toward the table near the doors, where Celia… tall, blonde, and permanently unimpressed, was sitting with a group of her friends. Sure enough, her sharp
Zane's Point Of ViewProfessor Veyra didn’t scold me for the failure. Instead, she stepped closer, her sharp eyes assessing me with a precision that made my skin prickle. "You’re treating magic like a weapon," she said, her voice low but carrying the weight of experience. "But magic isn’t somethin







