Mag-log inHer mother was murdered. Her father signed the check. And the man who could've protected her chose someone else instead. Elira Hart survived betrayal, exile, and a pregnancy nobody wanted her to keep — she didn't survive it quietly. Three years later she's rich, ruthless, and one signature away from proving her family buried a killing to protect a marriage. The only problem: unraveling it means facing the Alpha who let her get dragged through the mud and never said a word. Kian Voss is done hiding behind an engagement he never wanted. But some bonds don't forgive silence — and Elira isn't sure she's willing to.
view moreELIRA POV
"Last night was a mistake."
I heard it before I opened my eyes. Four words, flat as a closed door.
I turned my head on the pillow. Kian stood at the end of the bed already dressed, shirt buttoned to the collar, hair combed like he hadn't just spent the night tearing the sheets apart with me.
My stomach dropped.
"Kian—"
"Don't." He didn't look at me. He looked at the window. "It was the moon. It does that. It's not real."
Not real. My whole body still ached from him and he was standing there telling me it wasn't real.
I sat up, pulling the sheet against my chest. My skin still carried his scent, and under it, something else. Something new. A pull in my ribs that hadn't been there yesterday, like a hook set deep and tightening.
Mate.
I felt it. He had to feel it too.
"You feel it," I said. "Don't tell me you don't."
His jaw moved. A muscle jumped once under his ear.
"I feel a lot of things I'm not going to act on."
Hope is a stupid, stubborn animal. Mine wouldn't die even then. I'd wanted this man since I was fourteen years old and invisible in every room he walked into. Now the goddess herself had put us in the same bed, and some small, foolish part of me thought — maybe. Maybe now he sees me.
"So what happens now?" I asked. "We're mates, Kian. That doesn't just—"
The door slammed open.
Priya stood in the frame first, hand pressed to her mouth, eyes already wet. Behind her, my mother.
Not my mother. Never my mother. I just hadn't learned that yet.
"Priya, wait—" I started.
Marisol crossed the room in three strides and slapped me before I could finish the sentence. My head snapped sideways. My ears rang.
"You disgusting little—" She grabbed my hair, wrenched my face up to hers. "In her bed. In her fiancé's bed. Did you plan this? Did you plan this from the start, you ungrateful little bastard?"
"It was an accident," I said. My voice cracked down the middle. "The full moon, we didn't choose—"
"Save it." Marisol's grip tightened. "Everyone will know what you are by morning. A slut who couldn't keep her hands off her own sister's mate."
"Enough."
Kian's voice. Flat. Final.
Marisol's hand froze in my hair.
"Last night was an accident," he said, still not looking at me, only at her. "It changes nothing. My engagement to Priya stands."
Something in my chest folded in half and stayed that way.
Priya made a small, wounded sound and turned into Kian's shoulder. He put a hand on her back. On her back, not mine. Like I was furniture that had been moved without permission and now needed putting back.
My father filled the doorway next.
I felt it before I even turned my head. The room went colder.
"Pack your things," Robert said. His voice didn't shake. It never shook, not for me. "You're an omega now. I want you out of this house within the hour."
The words hit harder than the slap.
"Dad—"
"Don't call me that." He said it the way a man corrects a stranger who has his name wrong. "You've embarrassed this family for the last time."
"It wasn't a scheme." I was crying now and I hated myself for it, hated that my voice was begging. "I didn't plan this, I would never — Kian, tell them. Tell them what happened."
I looked at him. I made myself look at him, because some idiot piece of me still believed that if I just looked hard enough, he would remember every second of last night and choose me in front of all of them.
Kian looked back.
And said nothing at all.
I watched the last of my hope die in his eyes before it died in mine. He wasn't going to help me. He was never going to help me. Whatever had happened under that full moon, whatever the goddess had decided about the two of us, Kian Voss had already made his choice, and it wasn't me.
Robert stepped further into the room, and for the first time in my whole life I saw something in my father's face that wasn't distance.
It was relief.
Relief that he finally had a reason.
"One hour," he said again, and turned to leave — and that was when I understood, with a cold, sick certainty settling into my bones, that whatever came through that door nex
t was going to be so much worse than a slap.
CORMAC POV"Ten years, Bridie. I keep trying to properly understand how an entire decade passed since that evening on the porch, and I genuinely can't manage it."I said it, watching our daughter, fifteen now, help a group of visiting delegates understand the Weaving House's teaching methods with the same patient confidence her own mother had once shown a frightened boy in a cold Reaveswood forest."Time's rather good at that," Bridie said, laughing, more silver threading through her own dark hair now, though she wore it exactly as steadily as Elira had always worn her own.The Weaving House had grown into something neither of us could have fully imagined that first anxious winter, eleven regional branches now stretching across territories that had once seemed impossibly distant, hundreds of convergence children guided safely into adulthood by a network this family had built from nothing but a refusal to let fear decide a single frightened child's fate.Maren approached, radiant with
CORMAC POV"I now pronounce you properly, completely, officially married, and I would like the record to show this is the single largest gathering this family has ever assembled in one place."Elira's voice carried warm and clear across Ashgrove's largest grounds, packed with representatives from every territory this family's long history had ever touched, Cato and Senna standing radiant at the ceremony's centre.I watched the whole gathered crowd erupt into joyful celebration, and found myself, for one suspended moment, simply overwhelmed by the sheer scale of everyone present. Kian, greyer now but every bit as steady beside Elira as he'd apparently been since that very first terrible morning. Rhys and Sable, their own grown children scattered proudly through the crowd. Wren and Fraser, beaming at their son. Adrian and Freya, Marcus and Marisol, Priya and Edric, Silas and Selene, Callum and Marisela, Isla and Fingal, Kestra and Corvina, Ottilie and Sigrun, and dozens more names this
CORMAC POV"I find myself thinking about how many different kinds of happy endings this family's actually built, each one looking slightly different from the last, and every single one of them exactly right for the people who found it."I said it to Bridie on the Weaving House's familiar porch, the whole extended family gathered once more for an evening that had, somewhere along the long, winding way, become this family's favourite and most frequent kind of celebration."I think that's rather the whole point," Bridie said, leaning into me. "Nobody's love story looks quite the same as anyone else's. Elira and Kian, built from crisis and hard-won trust. Rhys and Sable, built from dreams and patient distance finally closed. You and me, built from a trial neither of us fully understood until we were standing inside it together. Now Cato and Senna, built from rescue work and genuine, steady partnership.""All different," I said, "and somehow, every single time, exactly the same underneath
CORMAC POV"I want to ask Senna properly. Not simply let it happen the way it's been happening, slowly, without either of us actually saying anything plainly yet. I just don't know how to start."Cato delivered the confession with visible nerves, considerably more uncertain than I'd ever seen him during an actual crisis."You start by saying it out loud," I said, echoing the same advice this family had offered itself across every chapter of its long, remarkable history. "Whatever you're afraid might go wrong by speaking plainly, I promise you, staying quiet costs far more in the end.""How did you know, with Bridie," Cato asked. "That it was actually real, and not simply gratitude for surviving something impossible together.""I didn't know, not completely," I admitted. "I simply decided I'd rather risk being wrong about something real than spend my whole life wondering what I'd lost by never finding out."Cato considered this, something resolute settling into his young, earnest featu
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