*The Sodom Pack*Glasses shattered. Vases split against the stone floor, spraying shards across the black marble like sparks from a raging fire. The entire wing of the fortress trembled with his wrath.Outside his quarters, a woman lingered,seduction made flesh. She wore red like blood itself, a body-hugging gown with a slit that climbed indecently high up her thigh. Every step she took was a slow sin, her hips swaying with cruel grace. Her hair tumbled in dark, glossy waves down her back, her lips plump and painted the deep red of temptation. Long iron nails gleamed when she flexed her fingers, sharp enough to pierce bone. Her chest strained proudly against the thin fabric, daring the world to look and fall.The guards and maids tried to bar her way. “My lady, you cannot—”She shoved them aside like they were nothing but twigs, her nails scraping against the walls as she stormed forward, each click of her heel echoing like a countdown.The moment she crossed the threshold, a roar tor
My breath hitched as his gaze locked onto mine.The world narrowed until there was only him,broad shoulders cloaked in shadows, eyes dark as midnight yet burning with something I couldn’t name. My fingers curled into the silk of my dress, clutching tight, as though the fabric could anchor me against the pull of him. Selara prowled inside me, snarling, whimpering, unsettled all at once.Then it happened. A flicker in his eyes, sharp and dangerous, like lightning in a storm. He shut them quickly, as if locking something feral behind his lids, chest rising with a restrained breath.When he opened them again, they were calmer. Cooler. The predator’s fire banked.“I entered the wrong living room, I guess.”His voice…Gods!.It was low, deep and resonant,rolling through the air like thunder, rich enough to vibrate in my chest. Each word lingered long after it left his mouth, a sound that belonged not to men, but to kings of the wild. I swallowed hard, a lump burning down my throat.Before I
The goblet shattered in his hand, but he didn’t so much as flinch at the sting of glass piercing his palm. Crimson wine ran down his fingers like blood, dripping onto the obsidian armrest of his throne. The air thickened, oppressive, charged with his fury.He leaned forward slowly, claws digging deep into the throne’s armrests until cracks spider-webbed through the black stone. His eyes glowed faintly, a savage light burning within them, the kind of fire that promised ruin to anyone foolish enough to stand against him.The lake rippled violently, reacting to his rage. Waves crashed against the edges of the basin, hissing, glowing brighter as though Evelyn’s essence itself trembled beneath his wrath.In the shimmering reflection, Evelyn stirred.Her brows knitted faintly as though a shadow had touched her dreams. She shifted in her bed, her lips parting, her body curling slightly, unsettled. She did not wake, but her chest rose quicker, her breaths shallow, as though her soul itself se
Every petal here dripped with poison, every vine was alive with whispers, curling as though eager to strangle the unwary. The air itself was laced with the stench of old blood that had seeped into the black soil centuries ago.At the center of this living nightmare sat a brooding figure.His throne was carved from obsidian and bones,bleached white, the remnants of those who had dared fail him. He sat with one leg draped lazily over the other, his clawed hand resting against the armrest. Shadows clung to him, stretching unnaturally, as though even darkness sought his command.At his feet, a messenger grovelled. His forehead pressed into the cold stone floor, his entire body trembling violently.“Alpha,” the man stammered, his voice thin, breaking, “I tried—I swear, I tried—”The Alpha tilted his head. His lips curved, but there was no warmth in it. Only disdain. His claws extended with a soft, deliberate shhhk, the sound like steel sliding free, the vines quivered as if the garden itse
In my dreams, I am not myself.I am tied down, my wrists bound above my head, the coarse rope digging into my skin. My legs are parted, the sheets beneath me cool against my bare skin. Shadows curl at the edges of the room like smoke, and from within them, I hear footsteps which are slow, deliberate and heavy.Then he emerges.He is tall,at least six feet of raw menace and power,his body carved in darkness, face hidden from me as though the dream itself refuses to reveal him. Yet my wolf knows him. Sylvara doesn’t just stir,she howls, thrashing inside me, calling out to him like a long-lost mate.He circles the bed like a predator savoring the helplessness of its prey,which was me. My breath catches, quick and uneven. His presence fills every corner of the room, pressing down on me until I feel both trapped and… craved.When he finally leans in, he doesn’t start with my lips. No. He lowers himself to the end of the bed, and the first touch of his mouth is at my ankle, a kiss so light