Well, here we are. End of Volume 1.
I know, I know—ending on Ava collapsing is cruel. But if you've made it this far through all the betrayal, werewolf politics, and Damon's spectacular ability to make the worst possible decisions, you probably expected I wouldn't wrap things up with a neat little bow.
When I started writing this story, I thought I was telling a simple revenge tale. Evelyn comes back, gets her daughter, makes everyone pay. Done. But these characters had other ideas. Damon turned out to be more than just a villain—he's a man who buried the truth so deep he started believing his own lies. Hilda emerged from what should have been a background role to become... well, whatever she is. (Those arctic eyes? Yeah, that wasn't in my original outline either.)
And Catherine. God, Catherine. Sometimes a character shows up and you realize they've been playing chess while everyone else was playing checkers. The dementia act? I'm still not over how she played everyone, including me while I was writing it.
This volume was about unraveling lies. Evelyn's return forced everyone to confront the stories they'd been telling themselves. Susan's illness, Margaret's schemes, Robin's feelings he won't admit, Ava learning truths no five-year-old should have to process—it all came crashing down in these 116 chapters.
But we're far from done.
Volume 2 is going to dig into questions this volume raised but didn't answer. What exactly is Hilda? What's Catherine's endgame with that mysterious arctic-eyed figure? Can a mate bond truly be broken, or is Damon just telling himself another lie? And Ava—our poor, brave little Ava—what's happening to her?
Some of you have been messaging me about the supernatural elements creeping in. The hunters, the mysterious illness, that figure with Catherine. Trust me, there's a method to this madness. Everything connects, just not in ways you might expect.
Thank you for sticking with this story through Evelyn's pain, Damon's denial, and Susan's downward spiral. Thank you for not rage-quitting when Damon ignored those photos being obviously fake for FIVE YEARS. (I know, I wanted to shake him too.)
Special shoutout to those of you who figured out Catherine was faking before the reveal. You scary observant people make writing mysteries both terrifying and thrilling.
Volume 2 is already in progress. I promise answers are coming. Some of them might hurt worse than the questions, but hey, you signed up for this when you decided to read a story that opened with a woman giving birth alone while her mate was off cheating.
Take a breather. Process Ava's collapse. Maybe reread some chapters now that you know who's been lying about what.
See you in Volume 2. Bring tissues. You're going to need them.
—Jenne Lopes
P.S. - No, I won't tell you if Damon gets his eye back. Stop asking. Some things need to stay permanent.
P.P.S. - Yes, the white-haired figure is important. That's all you're getting for now.
Cole"What the fuck!"Marina stood frozen in the doorway, her eyes wide, mouth open. She couldn't look away. Neither of us could.Hours had passed since I'd first discovered this, and Susan was still making that sound. A wet, rattling wheeze that came in irregular intervals. Still alive. Somehow, impossibly, still alive."I... I can't—" Marina spun and ran from the room.I heard her footsteps pounding down the hallway, then the sound of retching. I couldn't blame her. I'd done the same thing when I first saw it. Thrown up until there was nothing left, then dry heaved for another five minutes. How had I thought she'd have the stomach for this? Because she was a healer? Because she'd seen death?This wasn't death. This was worse.I forced myself to look again at what used to be Susan.You could only tell it was her from the clothes—the silk nightgown she'd been wearing, now stretched and torn in places where her body had... changed. Parts of her were still recognizably human. A section
ColeThe infirmary was too quiet for a place with so many dying children. Nurses moved between beds, their faces blank the way medical staff got when they'd seen too much death. White sheets covered small bodies on stretchers. Six in the last hour. I counted them as they wheeled past—one, two, three, four, five, six—each one lighter than they should have been, each one somebody's entire world.I stood in the center of it all, watching the controlled panic. A nurse with blood under her fingernails guided a stretcher toward the back rooms. Another adjusted an IV drip for a child whose breathing rattled like stones in a tin can. The smell was everywhere: antiseptic fighting against sickness, sweat, and that specific scent that preceded death. My wolf recognized it, wanted to either fight it or flee from it.Outside those doors, parents waited. Some paced. Some sat frozen. Some already knew their children were gone—I could hear the muffled sobs through the walls, that specific pitch of gr
Evelyn"Just please, get her out of there."I stood watching Hilda on her knees, and all the fight drained from me. How was I supposed to lash out at someone completely broken?Her shoulders shook with each sob, her face streaked with tears. The fierce woman who had slaughtered what could have easily been an army of rogues was gone. In her place was someone shattered, vulnerable.It didn't make me feel any better. I turned away, my eyes landing on Ava's form on the bed. One thought crashed into my mind with brutal clarity: She’s dead.I came undone.Tears flowed freely down my face. I tried to stifle them, but my chest heaved with the effort. I placed my hand on Ava's cold, stiff fingers. Her skin was terribly pale, almost translucent in the harsh infirmary light."I'm sorry," I said quietly, the words barely audible.The door to the room opened with a soft click. I smelled him before I saw him. I blinked slowly, wiping my tears with the back of my hand. My breath came in shaky pulls
EvelynI sat at Ava's bedside, unable to look away from her still form. Her small chest didn't rise or fall. Her skin had taken on that gray tone that followed death. But it was her eyes that hurt the most—still open, staring at nothing.My fingers hovered over her face. I should close them. That's what you do, isn't it? Close the eyes of the dead. But I couldn't bring myself to touch her. To admit this was real."Why you?" I whispered, my voice scraping my throat. "Why did it have to be you?"The monitors had been turned off, their screens black and silent. The medical equipment pushed to the side. Useless now. Everything useless. All my knowledge, all my skills—none of it had saved her.I reached for her hand instead. It was cool to the touch, not yet cold. I wrapped my fingers around hers, so small in my grasp."I'm sorry." The words caught in my throat. "I should have done better. I should have protected you."Damon should have protected her. Isn't that what fathers did? But he'd
ColeThe last time I tried Damon's number, the call didn't even go through. Just straight to that automated voice telling me the person I was trying to reach wasn't available. I threw my backup phone against the wall of the infirmary's back office. The plastic cracked, the screen went dark, and I didn't feel any better.Three hours. That's how long I'd been waiting for Damon to call back after our connection dropped. Three hours of children dying while I tried to hold our pack together with my bare hands."Beta Cole." Marina stood in the doorway, blood smeared across her scrubs. "We need you out here."I nodded, pushing myself up from the desk.The main ward had quieted since earlier. Not because things were better, but because there were fewer children left to scream. The stench of disinfectant couldn't hide the underlying smell of death."We've completed the separation," Marina said, leading me toward the far end of the room. "Group A is in the isolation ward." She gestured to a set
Damon"Ava!"My throat burned as I screamed her name. Everything slowed down as I watched her small body collapse, her face twisted in pain. Hilda caught her before she hit the ground—she was already right there beside her. The same woman who had ripped my eye out yesterday now cradled my daughter with a gentleness that made no sense.I rushed toward them, my heart hammering against my ribs. In that moment, I didn't care how close I got to Hilda. I didn't care that she freaked me out now. All that mattered was Ava.When I reached them, my stomach knotted. Ava's fingers clawed at her chest, right over her heart, like she was trying to rip something out. Her small face scrunched in agony.She looked up, her eyes wide with pain, tears already streaming down her face. "Daddy... Daddy..." she called out, each word a struggle to breathe."I'm here, baby," I said, reaching for her. "Everything—"Ava twisted suddenly, screaming in pain. "Aghh! No! Please!" she cried, her voice breaking into so