ANMELDENBjorn writhed on the blood-soaked ground, his screams reduced to pitiful whimpers as shock began to claim him. His hands pressed uselessly against his ruined groin, blood seeping between his fingers in a dark, spreading pool. The smell of it, copper and salt, filled Natasha's nostrils.She didn't look at him.Her attention remained fixed on the lieutenant, who had recovered from her initial shock and was advancing with murder burning in her eyes."You fucking animal," the lieutenant spat, her voice like ice. Her pretty face twisted with hatred. "You're going to pay for that. I'm going to make you beg for death."Natasha adjusted her grip on the blade. Her shoulder throbbed with every heartbeat, the wound pulling tight as she shifted her weight. Blood dripped from her fingers. Bjorn's blood, not hers. Her torn tunic hung open, exposing her skin to the cold morning air.She didn't care."Come closer," Natasha said quietly. "See what happens."The lieutenant lunged.Natasha moved on inst
Dawn broke grey and cold over the rogue camp. Natasha had not slept. The wound in her shoulder throbbed with each heartbeat, a deep ache that radiated down her arm and into her chest. The healer had cut away the infected tissue the day before, leaving a raw open wound that still wept blood and fluid. Her head swam with exhaustion, but she forced herself to remain alert.She had made progress on the knots. Not enough to free herself yet, but enough to feel the rope fibers starting to give.The camp stirred around her. Guards changed shifts. The lieutenant passed by twice, her eyes narrowing each time she looked at Natasha’s position. But she did not approach. Did not touch.Cole had forbidden it.Natasha did not know whether to be grateful or more afraid.The sun had barely cleared the treeline when voices approached. Cole’s low rumble came first, followed by another voice, louder, slurred with drink even this early in the morning.“So this is the famous bitch.”A man stumbled into her
The fire had burned low by the time Cole approached Natasha again.Three days she'd been his captive, and still she hadn't broken.Not really.Oh, she'd screamed when the lieutenant's knife had carved thin lines across her ribs, and she'd gasped when they'd wrenched her wounded shoulder during the march. But her eyes, those green eyes that reminded him painfully of forest canopies in spring, remained hard and calculating.She was playing him.He knew it.And somehow, that made her more fascinating."You're watching her again."The lieutenant's ruined voice scraped against his ears like gravel. She moved to stand beside him, her thin frame casting a sharp shadow in the firelight."She's nothing special. Just another bitch who needs to learn her place."Cole didn't bother looking at his lieutenant."If she were nothing special, Damien would have surrendered by now."The lieutenant's hand twitched toward her knife, a nervous habit she'd developed since Natasha's arrival."He hasn't surre
The council chamber doors slammed open with enough force to rattle the ancient stone walls.Every eye turned toward Damien.Marcus and Gideon rose from their seats. Seraphine's hands froze mid-gesture over a sprawling map. The elder advisors drew back in their chairs like wolves sensing an approaching storm.He didn't care."How long?" His voice came out rough, scraped raw from hours of pacing and planning and failing to think past the burning in his chest. "How long are we going to sit here discussing strategy while she's...""Damien."Seraphine's voice cut through his rage like cool water on an open flame.She remained seated, her pale eyes steady despite the tension radiating from every line of his body."Sit down. Please.""I don't want to sit down." He gripped the edge of the heavy oak table, his knuckles white, his claws threatening to break through human skin. "I want to know why we haven't mobilized. Why we haven't torn apart every inch of forest between here and Cole's camp.
The fever broke sometime before dawn, leaving Natasha shivering and weak against the frozen ground. She lay still, forcing her breathing to remain shallow and uneven, letting her body slump against the ropes that bound her wrists. Every few minutes, she let a soft whimper escape her lips, just enough to sell the performance without appearing theatrical.Across the clearing, the lieutenant watched.Natasha could feel those predatory eyes on her, tracking every twitch and tremor with the focus of a wolf scenting blood. The thin-faced woman had taken position near the fire hours ago, her ruined voice occasionally breaking the silence with sharp commands to the other rogues, but her attention never strayed far from Natasha’s bound form. There was something hungry in that gaze, not the dark fascination Cole wore like a second skin, but something sharper. More dangerous.Jealousy.The realization settled into Natasha’s bones along with the cold. The lieutenant was not just watching her beca
The fire had burned low by the time footsteps approached Natasha’s position again. She had been drifting in and out of fevered consciousness, her body locked in a war it was slowly losing, when the crunch of frozen leaves brought her snapping back to awareness. Two figures emerged from the darkness, Cole with his storm cloud eyes and predator’s grace, and a woman Natasha had not seen before.She was older, with gnarled hands stained dark from years of working with herbs and salves. A healer, or something close to it. The leather satchel slung across her bony shoulder smelled of bitter roots and something chemical that made Natasha’s stomach lurch with instinctive dread.“She’s burning up,” the healer said, her voice flat and disinterested, as if discussing livestock. “The wound’s gone septic. Another day, maybe two, and she won’t be good for anything except the crows.”Cole stopped a few feet away, his gaze fixed on Natasha with that unsettling intensity she was beginning to recognize.
The women’s circle gathered in a chamber Natasha had not yet seen, tucked behind the great hall and lit by a low fire that cast dancing shadows across tapestries of past Lunas. The room smelled of dried lavender and something sharper beneath—ambition, perhaps, or old resentments. Natasha stepped ins
Natasha’s second morning as Luna of Shadow Fang began not in the training yard but in the council chamber, a stone-walled room heavy with the scent of old parchment and wolf musk. Damien had sent for her before dawn, his messenger’s knock brisk and impersonal. She’d dressed quickly in fitted trouse
Dawn broke cool and grey over the Shadow Fang territory, and as Natasha made her way to the training yard—a promise made the night before hanging between them—she felt the bond already tugging with hungry anticipation. The training yard was empty save for the packed dirt still cool from the night.
Damien’s arms loosened, his hands sliding down her back with a reluctance that made the bond ache. He pressed a kiss to her hair, then another to her temple, and when he drew back, his eyes were heavy with something she couldn’t name.“I should let you rest,” he murmured. His voice was gravel wrapp







