LOGINElara Lockwood had nothing. No wolf. No parents. Just a boyfriend who swore she was his forever and a best friend who promised she’d never leave. On the night of his eighteenth birthday, Nate’s wolf chose its mate. It wasn’t Elara. It was her best friend, the only person she had left. Shattered and desperate, Elara ran. She should have run faster. “Deserting the pack, Muteblood?” Ian Nightshade found her in the dark. The future Alpha. The boy who’d made her life hell since she was twelve. The cruelest, coldest, most beautiful monster the SilverCrest Pack had ever produced. He dragged her back in chains. He sentenced her to Omega—the pack’s lowest rank. A slave in everything but name. But Ian doesn’t just want to punish her. His hatred runs deeper than pack law, deeper than duty, deeper than either of them are willing to admit. Because there’s a reason he’s always watching her. A reason his wolf won’t settle. A reason the girl he despises is the only thing that silences the beast inside him. And when the truth comes out, it won’t just burn. It will devour them both.
View MoreIAN * * Dying out there is too easy for her. That’s the only reason I’m going. She doesn’t get to die of exposure and escape the omega sentence. She has eleven months and twenty-nine days left. She doesn’t get to quit early. That’s the only reason. No other reason. The rain hit me the second I kicked the back door open. I was instantly soaked to the skin. She was exactly where I’d left her. Slumped between two dumpsters. Unconscious. Drenched. Her thin white T-shirt was soaked completely through, plastered to her skin like a second layer of ice. I crouched down in the mud, my jaw clenching. Her lips were a faint, dangerous shade of blue. Her skin had that translucent, waxy quality. She was shivering—small, violent, full-body tremors that made her look like a abandoned animal. I scooped her up. Her head fell back against my shoulder, her freezing, wet hair pressing directly against the warm skin of my neck. It felt like fire and ice hitting me at the same time.
IAN * * I was losing. I’d dropped two straight matches to Adrian on the racing game, which shouldn’t have been possible given that Adrian played like he did everything else—quietly, with zero visible signs of human enjoyment. “You seem distracted,” he noted. “I’m not distracted.” I breathed, “I need a smoke. Let’s take a break,” I walked to the window and cracked it open. The night air hit my face—cold, damp, it was going to rain soon. I lit a cigarette and inhaled, letting the nicotine do its job. Right on cue, the game room door burst open. The twins. Of course. Rhys came in holding a leaking bag of ice against his face. His face was an absolute masterpiece of violence. The nose was clearly broken, already trying to knit itself back together but still swollen and bent at an angle that made him look like a boxer who’d lost a thirty-minute argument with a concrete wall. Zane trailed behind him, looking slightly better but not by much. He had a nasty spli
IAN * * She was in my arms. The Muteblood was a dead-weight against my chest, her body hitting mine like a ragdoll thrown at a brick wall. “Help me,” she slurred, her fingers twisting blindly into the fabric of my shirt. “Please… help…” I froze, my entire body locking up. Did this girl have any damn clue who she was begging? Did she realize whose chest she was currently drooling on? Whose clothes she was ruining with her desperate little fists? If she could see straight right now—which she clearly couldn't, given the glassy, unfocused stare and the fact that she smelled like she’d been drowning in a distillery—she would’ve thrown herself in the opposite direction so fast she’d have left skid marks on the floor. For a terrifying second, I stood there like a complete idiot, holding an unconscious girl who despised me, in a hallway that smelled like a toxic mix of smoke, expensive whiskey, and burned food. Her hair brushed against my chin. Brown. Wavy. Messy. It was st
ELARA * * “I’LL KNEEL!” The words tore out of my throat, ragged with submission. “I’ll kneel! I’ll apologize! Just... please, stop!” The hands vanished instantly, dropping me like garbage. I stumbled forward, and then my knees hit the hard kitchen tile with a loud, hollow thud. I was kneeling. In front of the hockey team. In front of everyone. On my knees for the second time in twenty-four hours, like the universe was making sure I understood my position in case the first time hadn’t been clear enough. Immediately, the room filled with the soft, distinct click of phone cameras. My utter humiliation was being recorded, and turned into a video that would live in the pack group chats forever. “Isn’t she forgetting something?” Zane asked, his voice dripping with mock concern. “I feel like there was a script.” “The apology,” Rhys supplied helpfully, leaning against the counter above me. “She needs to say it like she means it.” I swallowed the lump of glass i






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