MasukAfter fleeing an abusive ex, Holland Williams starts over at Smith Automotive and is warned to avoid its young owner, Remy Smith. One touch ignites impossible “sparks”; Remy, Alpha of the Sage Moon pack, recognizes her as his mate, but Holland rejects the werewolf truth—until her ex, Robbie, tracks her down and Remy is forced to shift to protect her. While Holland slowly trusts Remy and the pack (with Gamma Todd quietly building her safety net), Robbie sobers up, learns the town’s secret, and undergoes a brutal, forbidden ritual to become a “defective” wolf. Remy courts Holland carefully; she moves into the pack house just as Angel—Remy’s elegant ex—returns claiming to be his true mate. A staged misunderstanding drives Holland away, and Robbie kidnaps her. Angel manipulates Remy into thinking Holland ran; days later, shame and a witch’s locator spell (Mallory) send him on the hunt. In an abandoned house, Holland survives Robbie by stabbing him with dull silver; Remy arrives, kills Robbie, and must turn Holland to save her life. Against all expectations, she doesn’t become defective; healers can’t explain it. Remy marks her; they complete the mating ceremony and marry. Soon after, Holland is pregnant with their first pup. In the epilogue, Angel—revealed as the architect of the kidnapping—flees to raise an army of defective rogue wolves, vowing to destroy Sage Moon if she can’t claim it.
Lihat lebih banyakAngelThe empty packhouse they stuck me in had good bones and bad manners. Old timber, new paint, windows that eyed the main house like a jealous aunt. It was supposed to be a kindness—safe passage stamped by the Council, a “temporary residence” while they “evaluated fit.” It felt like being parked.I stood in the middle of the downstairs room where the sunlight never quite committed and stared at the box I hadn’t unpacked on purpose. Scarves, a bottle of perfume that cost more than a mechanic’s week, a copy of the Council letter that said pardoned in gold ink like forgiveness is a color. I could practically hear Remy’s voice when he’d read it, careful as a man who knows the trap in a pretty paragraph. You may stay. Behave.I behaved.Just not for them.The house kept still like houses do when they’ve been taught to keep secrets. I pulled the letter from the box and read it again for sport. The signatures looked like lace. If you held it to the light, you could see the watermark—a wol
HollandBy ten a.m., the rental counter had already lived three small lives and a minor tragedy. The phones flirted with ringing and then lost their nerve. A driver from one of our regular accounts insisted his box truck was “making a whale noise,” and when I asked him—politely—if he could give me the key so I could log the mileage, he gave me the whole ring like it was the keys to the city and I was a person who wouldn’t drop them. Coffee, once my good morning friend, sulked in its mug. I moved it out of my airspace and replaced it with water and a sleeve of crackers I pretended were a plan.The mark at my neck hummed soft and steady. The thin red cord Kerri had looped around my wrist made a quiet argument for luck. Inside, the smallest maybe in the world settled like a feather.I watched the glass door breathe the cold in and out and knew the thought I’d been circling had finished with me. I clicked the little “Back in 10” placard onto the counter, and took the stairs.Remy’s door w
HollandI woke to the smell of coffee and wanted to cry.Not for poetic reasons—my body simply made a firm decision that coffee was a war crime and my stomach would be filing a complaint. I clapped a hand over my mouth and staggered toward the bathroom. Remy got to me before the floor did, one big palm at my back, the other gathering my hair like he’d been rehearsing for exactly this.It passed in a wave—saltwater and apology. When the sink stopped being a horizon, he pressed a cool cloth to my neck. His eyes were all winter-blue concern.“Bad?” he asked.“Enemy activity,” I croaked. “Your coffee started it.”He blinked, affronted on caffeine’s behalf and then—because he’s not dumb—went very still. The mark at my neck hummed. The world tilted not with fear this time, but with alignment. The toast craving. The night-scent sharpening. The way the house had sounded like it was counting breaths with me.“Toast?” he offered, almost reverent.“Please,” I said, suddenly, terribly sure.He di
HollandThe moon came up like a coin from an old pocket—worn, bright, familiar to hands that have counted on it for years.“Tonight?” Remy asked, voice low in the doorway to my room, as if a loud suggestion might spook the thing we were about to ask for.“Tonight,” I said. The mark at my neck warmed as if agreeing.We walked out past the kitchen where the last of the dishes dried themselves into stacks and the night watch traded jokes they’d forget by morning. Past the porch where the lamps keep a polite little perimeter. Into the pines that begin where the yard gives up. Winter put a rind on the ground; the needles held their dark like a secret. The air smelled like cold metal and green and something else—old stone, maybe. The kind of scent that doesn’t belong to a person or even a year."Did you see the healer this morning?" Todd asked me as he approached us from behind. "No, I honestly forgot. But I feel fine now so it's probably nothing," I assured him. And then he started back t












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