LOGINMara Ashfield has been strong for everyone else her entire life. Raising her younger sister, juggling two jobs, keeping everything afloat on her own — she doesn’t have a moment for fate, and she certainly doesn’t believe in it. But fate doesn't consider your timetable. When her car breaks down on a dark rural road, and she inadvertently wanders into the wrong woods while looking for phone signal, she encounters Damien Voss — tall, cold, disturbingly intense, and not fully human. He’s the Alpha of the Coldridge Pack, a man who hasn’t let anyone close in three years. The last thing he needs is a mortal female walking into his domain reeking of rain and something that makes every buried instinct he owns wake up at once. What begins as a warning about something dangerous in the forest becomes something neither of them could have expected and can outrun. Because the danger isn't random — it had come after Mara in particular. And the why of that goes back twenty-three years to a father she never met, to a secret he died protecting, and to a wolf pack so powerful, and ruthless, that they would do anything to make certain that secret stayed buried for all eternity. Damien has been telling himself for three years that he doesn’t need anyone. Mara has spent her life telling herself the same thing. But then he looks at her across a room full of wolves and says she’s mine like it’s already written in blood. Claimed by a Cold Alpha is a slow burn werewolf romance about two stubborn, wounded people falling into something bigger than both of them – full with tension, danger, loyalty, and the kind of love that doesn’t ask permission.
View MoreMara’s POVHe was looking at the stove.“I didn’t do anything,” I said. “I just watched.”“Holding still while something important happens is doing something,” he said. “Most people can’t do that. They move. They react. They need to be doing in order to feel present.” He paused. “You were present without needing to do.”I thought about the frost-silvered clearing. Something like forty minutes of standing at the edge as something happened that I could not influence, but that mattered more than most things in my recent life. About that kind of stillness, for it — not easy stillness, not the absence of feeling of any kind, the kind of active stillness that held and didn’t go anywhere.“I learned it from someone,” I said.Jonah glanced at me then. Briefly. With the specific expression of somebody who clearly knew who I referred to and thought that was enough.“Good teacher,” he said.“Yes,” I said.He went back to the stove. I carried my coffee to the window and watched the Sunday morning
Then she leaned back against the sofa and looked at the ceiling and said — “I had a flat tire three weeks ago.”“Yes,” I said.“And now I have a mate bond and a pack name and a father I’ve met once and maybe a great-uncle in the northern tree line and a sister who’s teaching Cora about postmodern lit.”“Ellis is also being introduced to postmodern literature,” I said. “Against his will.”“She’ll be fine,” she said. “Lily is a good teacher.” She paused. “My life is very different than it was three weeks ago.”“Yes,” I said.“Is yours?” she asked.I thought about the question.About a territory update that had ended with coalition prospects and border crossing mysteries and the particular shape of a Saturday night that held more warmth in it than any Saturday night in recent memory.About forty-nine.About home said on a frost-silvered clearing in the voice of one who had resolved and meant it. It was about a woman on a couch next to me who enumerated things as she processed and had dar
Rhen knocked at six.Two taps.“Come in,” I said.He appeared in the sitting room doorway with his folder and the expression of a man who had found something he’d been looking for.“The border crossing records,” he said. “I have an identity.”I sat up.Mara looked at him.He came in.Looked at the folder.Then looked at me with an expression I hadn’t seen on Rhen before — not concern exactly, more the specific quality of someone who has found information that requires the recipient to have a moment with it before anything else happens.“It’s a wolf from a pack that dissolved fifteen years ago,” he said. “The Northern Vale Pack. They were absorbed by the Council after their Alpha died without succession. The remaining wolves were redistributed to registered packs.” He paused. “Most of them.”“Most,” I said.“One wolf declined redistribution,” he said. “Left the region entirely. No pack registration since. No territorial affiliation. Just — moving. For fifteen years.” He paused. “Until
We went to the sitting-room, where the light was better and she made me sit down on the sofa, and she examined my shoulder with that particular concentrated attention she applied to everything — not clinical, not detached, the attention of a person who cared about results and was using thoroughness as a form of caring.“Petra did a good job,” she said.“She always does,” I said.“Does it hurt?”“Yes,” I said. “Moderately. Not as much as this morning.”“Good.” She sat down next to me. Not diagonally across from me — next to me, the natural formation of two people who’d ceased their masquerade that side-by-side wasn’t the more honest approach. “It’ll be worse tomorrow.”“I know,” I said.“I’ll be here tomorrow,” she said.I looked at her.“You don’t have to—”“Damien.” The patient voice again. “I’ll be here tomorrow. That’s not an offer. It’s a plan I’ve made.” She held my gaze with the blunt directness of someone who no longer sought permission for things she’d already resolved herself
Mara’s POVI made it three days.Three days of normal — work, Lily, groceries, cleaning the office on Tuesday, doing the budget on Wednesday, the budget that never quite balanced. Three days of my phone lying face-up on the counter like I wasn’t expecting it to ring or alert me to anything in parti
Damien’s POV I told myself I was doing this because she needed to know.That was the only reason I sent out the text. The only reason I gave her the coordinates to the east ridge overlook, rather than just texting her what she needed to know and ending the conversation was.. Information could have
Mara’s POV I took Route 9.Of course I took Route 9. It was the only road that led straight from my apartment to the supermarket, the pharmacy, and the second job I had picked up on Tuesday mornings cleaning offices downtown. Avoiding it would have added 40 minutes to my schedule that already was
Damien’s POV I didn’t sleep. That was typical. I hadn’t had a good night’s sleep for three years… not since I had made the choice that cost me everything and made sure someone else didn’t have to pay that price. Sleep demanded a silent mind. It had been a long time since my mind was not quiet.






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