LOGINIn the quiet of her ordinary life, 24-year-old nurse and secret werewolf romance writer Penelope “Penny” Jones pours her longing into stories of fierce alphas and destined mates, never believing she’d become one. But when she wakes in the very world she created, surrounded by warring packs, ancient prophecies, and a dangerously wounded alpha prince, everything changes. Genesis, heir to the Silverfang clan, should have died in the forest that night. Instead, Penny saves him. Patches his wounds. Challenges his snarls. And slowly, against every rule of both their worlds, begins to unravel the guarded heart of the man she once only dreamed into existence. Now the last Luna, the prophesied key to saving two dying clans, Penny must decide: return to her safe, invisible life through a witch’s doorway… or stay and claim the bond that already burns between them. One bite. One choice. One love that could end centuries of war, or break her forever. Because some stories don’t end when you close the book. Some stories bite back. A heart-pounding fantasy romance where the line between writer and heroine blurs, and love becomes the most dangerous magic of all.
View More(Penny’s POV)The eastern tower roof felt smaller under the full moon, silver light pooling on the stone, turning every shadow sharp and accusing. Genesis and I had spent the night wrapped in each other, talking in whispers, kissing until our lips were swollen, holding on like we could stop time if we just refused to let go. We hadn’t slept. We’d barely spoken of tomorrow. We’d just existed, two people stealing hours from fate.But fate doesn’t negotiate.The door at the base of the tower stairs banged open.Heavy boots climbed, too many.Genesis sat up first, pulling me with him. He stood, still favoring his left side where Kael’s claws had bitten deepest, and positioned himself between me and the stairwell.Torren appeared first. Behind him: six royal guards in black leather and silver wolf pelts. Behind them: King Aldric.No crown tonight. Just a dark cloak and eyes like frozen steel.He stopped at the top step. Looked at us.“You’ve had your night,” he said. Voice low. Carrying. “
The eastern tower roof belonged to us that night, no guards, no king, no prophecy breathing down our necks. Just the two of us, thick furs spread beneath the open sky, and the moon hanging so low and full it felt like it could reach down and touch us.I lay on my back, the gray cloak fanned out around my shoulders like spilled moonlight. Genesis hovered above me, braced on his forearms so his weight never crushed me, though I wanted it to. His breath was warm against my throat, his eyes molten silver in the dark, drinking me in like I was the only thing worth seeing in all the worlds.“You’re shaking,” he murmured, lips brushing the shell of my ear.“Not from cold,” I whispered.He smiled, slow, predatory, tender, and lowered his head to kiss the pulse at the base of my neck. The same spot he would mark later. The same spot he’d already claimed in every way that mattered without even touching me.I arched under him, fingers sliding into his hair, tugging just hard enough to pull that
(Penny’s POV)The infirmary became our temporary world.Genesis healed faster than any human should, stitches dissolving into faint pink lines within days, fever gone by the second morning, color returning to his face like dawn creeping over the mountains. The healers muttered about “alpha resilience” and “Luna influence,” shooting me sidelong glances every time they changed his bandages. I ignored them. I stayed.We talked in the quiet hours between healer visits and guard rotations. Not about the king. Not about the claim. About small things, his favorite childhood hiding spot in the keep’s old orchards, my worst nursing shift story (the man who swallowed a live goldfish on a dare), the way moonlight looked different in my world (no magic, just streetlights and pollution haze).He laughed, real, low, unguarded, when I told him about the time I accidentally ordered fifty pizzas instead of five for a hospital potluck. I cried, quiet, ugly tears, when he admitted he’d never let himself
(Penny’s POV)The journey back to Silverfang Hold felt longer than the entire trip to the marshes combined.They carried Genesis on the stretcher the whole way? four warriors rotating shifts so no one tired. I walked beside him every step, one hand always on his, the other pressing fresh cloths to the worst of his wounds when the bleeding started again. The healers had met us halfway, two older women with stern faces and satchels full of herbs and salves. They worked on him while we moved: stitching, packing, muttering low incantations that smelled like cedar smoke and something metallic.He drifted in and out.Sometimes his eyes opened, unfocused, fever-bright, and found mine.“Still here?” he’d rasp.“Still here,” I’d answer, squeezing his hand.He’d try to smile. Fail. Drift again.The scarred man, Torren, Genesis’s half-brother from a different mother, walked beside me most of the way. He didn’t speak much, but when he did, it was blunt.“The king will want to see her,” he said on












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