Mag-log in
"More pancakes, Amora? That Alpha pup is going to need every calorie to fuel those growth spurts. You’re eating for a future King now!" Susan Wayne, Oscar’s older sister and the pack’s lead healer, beamed as she slid another stack of golden-brown pancakes onto Amora’s plate. Susan was a whirlwind of earthy energy, bright-eyed, steady, and completely unimpressed by the stiff, high-society protocols Amora had lived under for years. To the Wayne Pack, Amara wasn't a billionaire’s discarded wife; she was a protected female carrying a sacred weight. Amora felt a lump in her throat as she looked around the sun-drenched kitchen. The air here didn't smell of ozone and cold marble; it smelled of home. "Thank you, Jess. It’s just... I’m not used to being looked after like this. In the city, I was expected to be invisible." Oscar walked in, his presence immediately grounding the room. He wore a simple flannel shirt, but the sheer breadth of his shoulders and the controlled grace of his m
Amora watched him for a heartbeat, the reality of his presence finally breaking through her shock. Before her mind could even process how he had found her, her wolf, exhausted and mourning surrendered. She threw her arms around his neck, burying her face in the damp wool of his jacket. "Oscar," she sobbed. Oscar froze for a split second, his breath hitching, before his large, steady hands came up to wrap around her, pulling her close. He smelled of rain, cedarwood, and the raw, untamed earth—vastly different from the cold indifference of Duncan . In Oscar ’s arms, the heavy pressure of Duncan ’s lingering Alpha Command finally began to dissipate. When she pulled back, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, she really looked at him. The boy she remembered—the lean, scruffy youth with dusty knees—was gone. In his place stood a man who radiated a quiet, terrifyingly formidable power. Oscar hadn't just 'done well'. He had built Wayne Industries, a sustainable timber em
Duncan didn't sleep that night. The penthouse lights stayed on until dawn, but the modern luxury felt like a cage. The chocolate torte sat on the coffee table, its scent of sugar and cocoa now masked by something that made Duncan’s inner wolf pace the perimeter of the room. It was the scent of Amora’s departure. He prowled the living room, his heightened senses dialled to a maddening frequency. Every time he caught a lingering trace of her lavender scent, his wolf let out a low, mourning growl that vibrated in his chest. He’d replayed the clinic exchange a thousand times. The way she stood her ground. The way her scent had flared with that strange, intoxicating power. The returned five million, the dead phone number, the full closet. Each detail sharpened the unease in his chest into something he couldn't ignore. By six a.m., he was already dressed. No tie, sleeves rolled up to reveal the dark ink of his pack tattoos. He drank his coffee black, but it tasted like a
Amora stepped out of the examination room with the envelope clutched tightly in her hand. Too tight. Inside that paper was the evidence of a True Alpha heir—a child that, by pack law, Duncan could take from her the moment it drew its first breath. Her inner wolf, usually a quiet, submissive creature, was curled in a protective ball deep in her chest, snarling at anyone who walked too close. She needed to leave. The clinic’s sterile scent of antiseptic filled her lungs and was making her head spin. One step. If she just reached the elevator, if she could just leave, she would figure it all out later. She took another step. Then another. And then she stopped. The air in the hallway didn't just change; it polarized. A wave of pure, unadulterated Alpha Authority washed over her, making her knees want to buckle by instinct. Duncan Alonso . He was standing at the far end of the hallway, a predator in a charcoal suit. Even in a human setting, he radiated a lethality that
The pen in Amora’s hand trembled violently. It wasn’t just nerves; it was her wolf, whimpering in the back of her mind, sensing the impending severing of their bond. Three years. Three years of being a "Stand-in Luna." Three years reduced to a single signature on a pack-legalized decree of separation. Across from her, Duncan Alonso, Alpha of the Silver Crescent Pack, didn't even look up. His sandalwood scent, so soft, usually calmed her. Today, it felt like poison. "Sign it," he commanded. His Alpha tone vibrated in the air, forcing her fingers to tighten around the pen against her will. "Duncan..." she finally managed, her voice cracking. "Did you ever feel it? Even for a second? The bond?" For a second…just one…he looked up. Those piercing grey eyes, flecked with the silver of his lineage, met hers. Once, she had believed those eyes could soften for her. She thought that even if she wasn't his "Fated Mate," a chosen bond could be just as strong. "Even







