FAZER LOGINEsther is accused of killing the princess. She is tortured by Alpha King Nicholas and the entire pack. She hopes to find her mate on her eighteenth birthday and escape a life of torment, only to find that her mate is Nicholas who hates her guts.
Ver maisThen I whispered, “She woke because of truth.”Nicholas’s POVTruth.The word cut deeper than any blade.Watching Esther’s wolf awaken, seeing that glow ripple through her, was like watching dawn break inside my own ribs. Norman howled in joy, circling like a storm.Mate. Whole again.I wanted to re
Esther’s POVThe moon hung low over the palace courtyard, pale and thin as if it too had been hollowed out by truth.I hadn’t slept in days. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Carl’s face in that hospital bed, the IV line glowing red with Nicholas’s blood, a thread connecting them that could never b
I couldn’t stay. Not then. Not with the room spinning around the truth.I turned on my heel and left.Outside, the evening had turned cold. The palace gardens stretched wide and silent, shadows long across the stone. I made it halfway to the fountain before the first surge of fury hit, hot and wild
Nicholas’s POVIt was supposed to be an ordinary morning.A quiet one, even the kind where the palace felt less like a fortress and more like a home. The smell of breakfast bread drifting through the halls, the faint laughter of children somewhere near the east courtyard.Then came the scream.High.
He’s our mate, she whispered one night, voice faint but undeniable.“I know,” I breathed, tears stinging my lashes. “But he broke us.”He can mend us, too.I wanted to scream. Instead, I pressed my forehead against my knees and let the tears fall silently into the folds of my nightgown.Trust wasn’t
“Cake time!” she chirped, clapping her sticky hands. “Please?”Esther turned to her daughter with a trembling smile. “Yes, sweetheart. Cake time.”The storm retreated by inches.For the next several minutes, I stood on the outskirts as the crowd pretended nothing had happened. Children laughed. Cand
The child’s laughter cut through the air like sunlight through fog—bright, piercing, utterly disarming. I hadn’t heard anything like it in years.It came from Sofia. My Sofia.The name echoed through me like a wound reopening and refusing to heal.From my place beneath the old oak at the edge of the
Whatever you say, he purred.The Blue Lake Pack smelled of pine and river water. I parked two streets away, pulling on a dark jacket instead of my usual Alpha coat. The last thing the kids needed was a spectacle.Laughter drifted from the cottage backyard, high-pitched and unguarded.For a moment I


















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