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A Confession... Of Sort
publish date:
2026-10-04 09:22:09
Latest chapter
From Pack Slave to Lycan Princess What Mercy Costs
Guards walk the Duchess out. She pauses right at the door and looks back, not at Caspian, not at the Comté. At Julian. "Alles, was ich getan habe," she says, low, "habe ich für dich getan." Everything I did, I did for you. Her voice cracks on the last word, just barely, the first real crack in her composure all morning. Julian doesn't answer. His jaw works, and for just a second his eyes bleed darker, canines pressing faintly against his lower lip before he gets it back under control. Then the doors shut behind her and the whole room exhales at once. People start filing out in twos and threes, murmuring. The King Emeritus pulls the Duke aside, a hand on his shoulder, saying something low in German that makes the Duke's eyes close for a second. Silas and Darius slip off toward the hall, probably to go stand somewhere and be intimidating at each other, which is apparently their version of processing feelings. Julian doesn't move. Neither do I. Livana's already drifted out after Sil
From Pack Slave to Lycan Princess The Tribunal
Nobody sleeps that night. I know because I don't, and when I finally give up trying around five and pad out to the sitting room attached to Julian's quarters, I find him already awake, fully dressed, staring into a dead fireplace like it personally wronged him."You should rest," I tell him."I should." He doesn't move. "Not happening."I curl up on the arm of his chair instead of pushing it, and for a long while neither of us says anything. The fire's long gone out, just ash and a cold grate, but neither of us moves to light it again. Outside the window, snow keeps falling in slow, lazy spirals, and somewhere down the hall I can hear the faint murmur of staff already awake and moving, the Palace never quite sleeping even when its family can't either."Scheisse," Julian mutters under his breath, finally breaking the silence, dragging a hand down his face."That bad?""That bad." He glances at me sideways. "Sorry. Old habit. We swear in German before we swear in anything else. Comes ou
From Pack Slave to Lycan Princess Treason
Sebastian leads us down a hallway lined with portraits, generations of golden-haired men and women staring down at us with the same faintly unimpressed expression Julian is currently wearing. The ceilings climb so high they disappear into shadow. Our footsteps echo off marble that's probably older than most countries. "Breathe," Julian murmurs, not looking at me, like he can feel my pulse spiking through the bond. "I am breathing." "Badly." He's not wrong. I smooth down the front of the dress Livana picked out for me on the plane, a deep emerald thing that apparently matches "house colors," whatever that means, and wish I'd asked more questions before agreeing to wear it. The doors to the dining hall are already open when we reach them, twin slabs of dark wood carved with wolves mid-howl. The room beyond is the kind of grand that makes you feel small on purpose. Gold leaf curls up a ceiling painted with some battle scene I don't recognize, candlelight throws everyone's shadow twi
From Pack Slave to Lycan Princess The Royal Palace
My mate, meanwhile, is still in the doghouse, though keeping him there is hard work. Fair or not, I'm hurt, and I'm punishing him for whatever I might have to deal with in Germany. The more I try to ignore him, the more he insists on keeping me close. Some people might call it charming. I call it annoying. Right now he's force-feeding me breakfast while explaining each dish. "Come on, open up, my love. I know you'll like this one," he says, holding a forkful of something called Sharlotka, a kind of apple cake, up to my mouth. He's already fed me blini (something between a pancake and a crepe, served with butter, sour cream, jam, and caviar) and semolina porridge, plus the usual fried egg, sausage, yogurt, and fresh fruit. It was all delicious, and I'm already full, but I can't tell him that because I'm not talking to him, see? This is all part of his plan to make me speak. This is our battle. He's so stubborn and sneaky and obnoxious. I'm tempted to punch him in the throat. If I did
From Pack Slave to Lycan Princess A reasonable speed limit
By the time we step out of the shower, all our luggage has been carried downstairs by luggage fairies. Okay, not really. But it's all gone. I'm nearly ready when he emerges from the walk-in closet. Our eyes meet in the mirror, and he leans against the doorframe, hands in his pockets, watching me twist my hair into a French braid. He looks sharp and flawless... and regal. His jaw is smooth, and his golden hair gleams, swept back from his face. He's wearing a navy cable-knit V-neck over a white shirt with a blue silk tie, dark grey trousers, and polished black leather boots. "You look beautiful however you wear your hair," he says, pushing off the doorframe to stand behind me. His warm, hard body presses against my back, and he slides his long, elegant fingers through my hair, then winds the braid around his hand like a rope. "But I much prefer it down." He kisses the curve of my neck, his eyes holding mine in the mirror. "Wild, and wrapped around my fingers." "I know," I whispe
From Pack Slave to Lycan Princess A Quickie?
Warm, rich male scent, a soft duvet, and a hard, warm body draped over mine all feel like heaven. The shrieking alarm does not. I groan and order it to shut up. It ignores me. Stubborn thing. I wriggle one arm free and stretch toward the phone on the nightstand, but my arm falls short. My mate grumbles and hauls me back against him. Why is it going off so early? It's still dark. The sun isn't even up. Stupid alarm. Seriously, so stupid... Wait. Alarm. Holy mackerel. Airport. Germany. We have a plane waiting. "Julian!" I pull my arm out again and grab his shoulder. "Julian!" I shake him. "Wake up! We have to get up." "Mmm... shhh... sleep..." he mumbles, burying his face deeper into the hollow of my neck. My mate is not a morning person. He's the one who set that alarm last night, and somehow I'm the one stuck waking him. "Julian, get up!" I shove at his weight. It's like pushing a boulder. "Julian!" He groans, wedges a knee between my legs, and the hand curled around my breast
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