LOGINHer 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.
BRIDIE POV "This one's different from anything Wynn's catalogued so far. The letter says the current doesn't show as light at all. It shows as sound."I read the report aloud to Cormac as our cart rolled toward a modest coastal village two days south of Ashgrove.The road wound along the salt cliffs, where the brine-heavy sea breeze whipped through the yellow gorse and ruffled the coarse wool of our travelling cloaks. Below us, the pale green surf churned steadily against dark grey sea-stacks, the rhythmic crash of water on stone an easy companion to the creak of our wooden axles.We found the family easily enough in a low-roofed stone cottage overlooking the boat slips—a fisherman and his wife whose daughter, a bright, curious girl of about eight named Elowen, had apparently taken to humming almost constantly since infancy. It had seemed an ordinary enough habit for a contented child, until the humming had begun, quite without her meaning it to, calming entire rooms of frightened or
CORMAC POV "The Continental Accord formally recognises the Weaving House as a permanent institution, equal in standing to the original reconciliation school, with full territorial protection extended to every family who seeks its help."Griogair Sinclair read the formal declaration aloud to the assembled council, his old scepticism worn down at last into something closer to genuine pride.His silver hair caught the bright midday glare spilling through the high clerestory windows, the heavy parchment bearing nine regional wax seals resting flat beneath his broad palms."Genuine progress," he added, looking over the rim of his spectacles toward our side of the dais, "for an institution I once assumed would remain a well-meaning footnote.""High praise, coming from you," Elira said, smiling from her seat beside Kian, her hands folded serenely over the armrests of her carved chair.The ceremony drew delegates from every territory the Order had touched, Kestrel's Reach and Fenmoor standin
BRIDIE POV"Then let us teach him. Not exile. Not containment. An actual chance, the same chance five other frightened children have already been given at the Weaving House."I said it into the hall's uneasy silence, stepping forward across the damp flagstones to stand directly beside Torvin.The braziers hissed against the draught, throwing long, trembling shadows of the council elders up against the damp timber walls. Torvin shrank closer to my hip, but he didn't pull away, his small chest hitching with shallow, hitching breaths as he stared at the floor."And if he burns something else while learning," the hostile council member pressed, leaning heavily over the scarred table, his knuckles white against the dark grain. "Who answers for that damage.""I will," Freya said, stepping out from the shadows of the doorway, her voice steadier now than I'd yet heard her. She held her chin high, the trembling gone from her hands, replaced by the stubborn, ferocious courage that only a mother
CORMAC POV "The council's moved the vote up. Tonight, not in three days. Word's spread that outsiders arrived defending him, and half the valley's decided that proves he's dangerous enough to need immediate removal."Ottilie delivered the news grimly, finding us at Freya's modest home as evening settled over the scorched valley.The wind from the bogs had picked up, howling through the cracks in the rough timber walls, carrying the bitter chill of early frost. Outside the small window, the yellow glow of dozens of hand-held torches wound like an angry, jagged serpent along the muddy path from the lower village toward the council hall. The air inside the cottage turned brittle as glass."That's not fair," Bridie said, rising instantly from the low stool, her voice tight with indignation. "We haven't defended anything yet. We've barely had a single day to actually understand what's happening.""Fair has very little currency left in this valley," Ottilie said, pulling her heavy mantle t












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