MasukOn my daughter Bailey's birthday, my husband, Alpha Enzo, was celebrating his ex-girlfriend's daughter's birthday instead. He never cared about me, nor did he ever love our daughter. For years, I endured his coldness—for the sake of the pack, for the sake of my daughter's comfortable life. I endured everything. But Enzo went too far. He let that woman and her daughter move into our home! That woman treated me like a servant, and her daughter took everything from my daughter. I couldn't take it anymore. My daughter gave me the courage to ask for a divorce. But instead of letting me go, Enzo imprisoned me, refusing to let me see my little girl. That was the moment I lost all hope in him. I fought to escape with my daughter. And just when we finally made it out, Enzo's Beta found us. We ran in desperation—only to collide with a man, the Lycan King. Mysterious. Dangerous. Powerful. He is the only one who can help me. But will he?
Lihat lebih banyakBAILEY [ONE YEAR LATER]Peace feels strange—like wearing someone else’s clothes. Familiar in shape, but never quite yours.For the first time in my life, I wake to quiet instead of alarms. No drills. No rogue threats. No screams in the distance. The war is over, but the silence it left behind is louder than I expected.The kingdom is rebuilding. Villages are thriving. Fields once burned black now bloom with new life. And everywhere I go, wolves speak her name with reverence.Luna Beatrice.But to me, she’s still just Mom. Scarred and stubborn, still rising too early, still making tea too strong, still calling me “kid” even when I correct her and say, “I’m literally taller than you now.”She walks with a cane some mornings, the limp more noticeable when the weather turns. Nyx’s power—once wild and all-consuming—now flickers softer beneath her skin. Like a fire banked to embers. But it’s still there. It always will be. She doesn’t need to snarl or shift to remind anyone who she is.She
BEATRICESome wounds bleed in silence. Others scream through the bond.Maxwell lies still beneath me. Too still.His chest rises in shallow, stuttering gasps. His skin—normally so warm it grounds me—feels like ice. The blood beneath my hands is thick, already cooling in the air. His wolf, once this roaring, iron-hearted presence beside mine, is slipping. I can barely feel him now.“No,” I whisper, cupping his face. “No, no, no…”I shake him gently. His head lolls. His eyes remain shut. The mark on his neck—the one only I know by heart—flickers faintly with magic, then dims.The mate bond is breaking.And not in the way it did before.This isn’t rejection.This is death.Nyx snarls in my chest, pacing wildly, slamming her fury into every rib. She knows what’s happening. She knows what it means to lose your mate. To feel the other half of your soul tear away.The battlefield rages behind me, but I don’t hear any of it. All I can hear is Maxwell’s heartbeat slowing.Fainter.Fainter.Fain
MAXWELLWar has a sound—and I’ve heard it enough now to know it doesn’t always start with battle cries.Sometimes it begins with silence. With breath held. With a valley holding its teeth just behind the fog.Blackwater Ravine stretches in front of us like the jaws of a sleeping beast—narrow, steep, slick with frost and old blood. The perfect chokehold. Or the perfect trap, depending on which side you're on.We chose this place for one reason: we needed Enzo to believe he could win. Needed him arrogant, fast, reckless.And now… here he comes.“Movement at the southern ridge!” one of the scouts calls, his voice tight with urgency.I raise my hand to signal the rest of the troops. “Hold until the last line crosses.”My wolf stirs just beneath my skin, pacing, watching. Waiting. It’s not fear I feel. It’s not even anger.It’s the kind of clarity that only comes when you know you’re about to bleed for something that matters.Beatrice is positioned on the northern cliffside, commanding the
BAILEYThey said I was too valuable to be on the front lines—but no one warned me how helpless it feels to hear screaming and not be allowed to run toward it.I’ve been running messages between the healer tents and the command post for hours. My legs are sore, my lungs burn, and every corner of the battlefield feels colder than the last. Blood cakes the edges of my sleeves from helping move the wounded. I tell myself it’s not mine. I don’t look too closely.The war has turned our camp into a maze of stretcher cloth, howls, and commands shouted over roaring fire.I push through the chaos with a salve bag pressed to my chest like it’s sacred. It’s all I can do—run, deliver, run again. I asked to fight. I begged. But Gamma Aria said I was more valuable alive. I think what she really meant was, you’re too young to die today.But I feel older than everyone here.A scout calls out my name and thrusts another bundle into my hands. “Eastern stables,” he pants. “They’re prepping backup mounts.”
BAILEYI sneak in through the servant’s door like a thief, but all I want is to see my mother shine.The banquet hall is glowing. Not just from the lanterns swinging above polished wood, or the silverware lined up like armor—but from the way people move, laugh, raise their glasses like their world i
BEATRICEThe heat from the ovens isn’t what makes me dizzy—it’s the silence I’ve learned to endure just to survive.I’ve been up since before the sun. My knees ache from standing, kneeling, standing again. The dough is stubborn today—too dry, too dense—but I keep pushing through it like I always do.
BEATRICEThere’s a certain numbness that comes after heartbreak—not the kind that breaks you open, but the kind that seals you shut.That’s where I am now. Sealed. Shut. Tired.After Maxwell pulled away—again—something inside me finally snapped. Not loud. Not dramatic. Just a quiet sort of closing.
BEATRICEI think the worst kind of heartbreak isn’t loud—it’s the quiet unraveling that comes from too much hope and not enough truth.I’m tired. Not the kind of tired that sleep can fix, but the kind that settles into your bones when you've been trying too hard for too long. Trying to act like his






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