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(Veronica’s POV) The rogue court was savage. No etiquette. No protection. No rules except the strongest eat first. Veronica learned fast. There were no servants; she was the servant. There were no guards, unless you counted the ones who would gladly drag you behind the barracks and take a “turn.” Every woman here fought or got used. Every day she woke up breathing, she counted as a win. But she wasn’t here to survive. She intended to conquer. Malik, the Rogue King. He ruled this wasteland pack like a god of violence. Broad shoulders, scar-cut chest, leather straps holding a fur pelt against skin that gleamed with sweat and menace. Tattoos crawled up his arms like warnings. Gold rings on his fingers, spoils from Alphas he’d torn down. His eyes weren’t warm. They were calculating. He saw everything. Veronica made sure he saw her, even on her knees, scrubbing blood from stone. Always positioned to be visible. Always shining beneath dirt and bruises. She was a
(Sophie’s POV) The first thing I heard was someone shouting my name. The second was the unmistakable growl of my uncle Samuel. “Sophie!” The world came back in blurs — trees bending overhead, cold air scraping my throat. My whole body ached. My back was fire and my legs felt like stone. The mark on my neck pulsed in time with my heartbeat, raw and furious. I was now in a soft bed, a hospital bed? Then he was beside me. Samuel. His hands were rough as he gently stroked my forehead, fury stamped across every line of his face. “What in the hell happened to you?” I tried to speak, but my voice cracked. “Lucian… found me again.” He froze. For a heartbeat, everything went silent. Then he stood, towering, breathing hard through his nose. “That bastard. I should’ve finished him when I had the chance.” “Once you’re well enough, you’re coming with me,” he said, voice shaking with rage. “Back to the pack, where you’re safe. “Where am I now?” “A pack hospital, near where we found yo
(Ronan’s POV) The King was awake. Alive, lucid, and looking like hell. He sat hunched in the healer’s chair, shirt half-buttoned, hair a wild tangle. Sweat clung to his temple. The firelight showed the tremor in his hands, the way his fingers kept twitching toward his throat like he could still feel the chain of enchantment there. “Sophie,” he rasped. “Where is she?” It was the first name he’d said since waking, and it hit every one of us like air after drowning. Betsy sniffed. Agatha muttered a prayer. The mages exhaled, slow and relieved. “She’s alive,” I said, hoping that was true. “We’ll get her back.” Xavier’s eyes flicked to me. For a second, the old fire returned—the kind that could make armies bend. Then he looked past me, toward the empty cot where the corpse had been, and all that strength wavered. “What did I do?” His voice broke. “Tell me I didn’t—” Amara cut him off gently. “She bewitched you. You were not yourself, Majesty. The curse still runs through her sis
I couldn’t sleep. Hard to sleep when every breath tasted like wolf and him. Ronan. Damn him for standing too close and smelling like smoke and pine, for putting his hand at my throat in that cell and not squeezing, for looking at me like I was both problem and prize. I hated him. My body didn’t get the message. I lay on the bunk, one knee hitched, staring at the bars. The torches down the hall hissed and popped. The castle had gone mostly quiet, those hours where even guards yawned and pretended they weren’t afraid of what moved under the floors. I should have thought about escape. Instead, I thought about his mouth. I pictured the set of his jaw when he’s fighting the urge to smile. The scar by his lip. The heat coming off him like a furnace. The way my skin said yes when he touched me, even while my head said no. Stupid body. Stupid sparks. My mind slid to the way he’d pinned me earlier, the slow press of him crowding me back, his palm warm under my jaw. I felt the remembered
Someone or something was chasing me. The dark didn’t hide. It pressed it closer. I was deep in hunter territory, somewhere I knew I didn’t belong anymore. I needed to get home to the wolves, away from the monsters. I ran. Bare feet slapped mud and old leaves. Vines caught my ankles. Branches clawed at my arms. Don’t look back. Don’t listen. Just move. My wolf stayed locked down, bound tight by that fast little touch of Mama’s. It felt like wearing someone else’s breath, heavy and wrong. Every few heartbeats, my mate mark flared hot and then cold, dragging me toward a path I couldn’t see, toward a heat that wasn’t here. I shoved it down. A splash to my left. Then a softer one to my right. “Keep going,” I whispered, and my voice came out more prayer than order. The fog breathed with me. Thick. Wet. It muffled the night so every small sound sounded like a giant one. A frog barked once and shut up, as if it remembered it had better things to do than get caught listening. Water
The radiator hummed when the wind hit the house. It was the only sound most nights. The chain around my leg was cold, tighter now than before. My wolf was still bound—quiet, small, useless. The power inside me sat heavy and silent, as if waiting for permission that never came. The door creaked open. Jax stepped in. He looked worse than before: dark rings under his eyes, shirt half-buttoned, a smell of whiskey and swamp sweat clinging to him. “Thought you were done running errands,” I said. He dropped a bag on the counter. “Lucian’s got me running fool errands for his madness. One minute I’m finding Pandora, next I’m fetching priests. He’s losing it.” “Good,” I said flatly. “Maybe he’ll walk into the swamp and drown.” He ignored that, pacing instead. “Pandora’s gone. Pregnant. Probably halfway to some coast by now. Coward.” “She’s smart,” I said. “That’s what that is.” His jaw flexed. “She’s selfish. She left me to deal with him alone. And now...” He turned, eyes cutting







