ログインThird Person POV Blade stood in the center of the training arena, chest heaving, blood dripping from his knuckles. The morning sun wasn’t even enough to stop him from his training . The pack warriors around him were breathing hard, some on their knees, others nursing broken bones and bruised egos. He had fought them all … one after another, then in groups … and he had almost beaten every single one.His gray eyes were dark, empty. The rage inside him had no outlet except violence. Calla’s face kept flashing in his mind. Her lips under his. The way she had pushed him away. The way she had looked at him with confusion and fear after he called her his mate.He wanted to destroy something. Anything.Another warrior charged him. Blade sidestepped, grabbed the man by the throat, and slammed him into the ground with so much force. The warrior gasped, eyes wide, tapping out immediately.“Enough!” a voice called from the edge of the arena.Brynne walked forward, graceful as ever, but his b
Third Person POV Calla dragged herself to her feet, every muscle screaming in protest. Blood dripped from her split lip and the cut on her forehead, mixing with sweat and soot. The fire from the spilled lantern had spread around the house so fast that she didn’t know what to do about it. Flames licked at the old rug, climbed the curtains, and devoured the wooden furniture her mother had once loved. Smoke filled the room, it was very thick and choking, burning her lungs with every breath.She stumbled toward the stairs, vision blurring. “Bianca! Adele!”She didn’t need to call twice.Bianca was already running down the stairs, Adele clutched tightly in her arms. The little girl’s face was buried in her aunt’s shoulder, small hands gripping Bianca’s nightdress. They must have heard the fight because Bianca’s eyes were wide with terror, her long curly brown hair wild around her face.“Calla!” Bianca cried, voice cracking. “What happened? The whole house is on fire!”Calla didn’t wast
Third Person POV Calla crept down the wooden stairs that night, her bare feet silent on the old planks. The house was dark except for the faint glow of a single lantern in the living room. She had hoped everyone would be asleep. She just wanted some fresh air, a moment alone under the stars to clear her head after another long day of travelling and all the emotional stress.But he was there.Her father sat slumped in the old armchair, a half-empty bottle of harsh liquor clutched in his calloused hand. The sharp smell of alcohol hung heavy in the air, mixing with the stale scent of unwashed clothes and regret. His eyes were bloodshot, his face flushed and twisted with that familiar mix of bitterness and anger.Calla’s stomach tightened. She tried to slip past quietly, heading straight for the back door.“Where do you think you’re going?” His voice was low and slurred, but sharp enough to stop her.She froze, hand hovering near the door handle.“I’m just going outside for some air,”
Third Person POV Blade stood at the edge of the training grounds, arms crossed over his broad chest, his sharp eyes fixed on the distant tree line. The morning sun filtered through the leaves, casting shifting patterns on the dirt beneath his boots. Around him, the pack moved with their usual disciplined energy … sparring, running drills, sharpening blades under the watchful eyes of the elders.Tanya approached again, her long dark hair swaying with each step, a bright smile on her face that had once made his blood run hot. Today, it only irritated him.“Blade,” she called, voice sweet and hopeful. “I brought you some water. You’ve been training since dawn. You should rest a little.”She held out the canteen, stepping closer than necessary, her fingers brushing his arm deliberately.Blade didn’t even glance at her. He kept his gaze locked on the horizon, jaw tight.“I’m not thirsty,” he said flatly, voice cold.Tanya’s smile faltered for a second, but she recovered quickly, steppin
Third Person POV The three of them walked up the creaky wooden stairs together, hands linked. Calla’s heart felt like it was beating in her throat. Bianca’s hand was warm and slightly trembling in hers. Adele skipped between them, her small fingers gripping tightly, as if she could sense the heavy emotions in the air. The hallway smelled of dust and old wood, the same scent Calla remembered from her childhood. Every step brought back very terrible memories … running down these stairs as a little girl, hiding in the shadows when her father was drunk and angry, whispering secrets with Bianca late at night under the covers.Bianca pushed open the door to Calla’s old room.Calla stopped in the doorway, breath catching in her throat.Everything looked exactly the same.The small bed with the faded blue quilt she had slept under for years. The wooden desk in the corner where she used to draw pictures of faraway places she dreamed of escaping to. The old bookshelf still held the few worn
Third Person POV Calla stood in front of the old wooden door of the Tonks manor, her heart beating fast. The building looked even more run-down up close … cracked walls, peeling paint, and overgrown weeds choking the garden. The journey had been long and cold, but she had made it. Adele clung to her side, small hand holding hers tightly. The little girl looked around with wide, curious eyes, but stayed quiet.Calla took a deep breath and knocked on the door. The sound echoed inside the house. She waited. No answer. The wind blew gently, carrying the scent of damp wood and neglect.She knocked again, louder this time. Still nothing.After a long moment, she heard slow, unsteady footsteps from inside. The door creaked open. Her father stood there, eyes bloodshot from drink, clothes wrinkled and stained. His face went from confusion to immense surprise when he saw her. His mouth opened, then closed, then opened again.“Calla?” he whispered, voice hoarse. “Is that really you?”Calla
Calla’s POVThe cab rolled to a stop at the edge of Central Station and I had the door open before the wheels had fully settled.“Thank you,” I told the driver.He didn’t respond. His eyes were already back on the road, his radio already being switched to a different station. Whether that was guilt
Calla’s POVI was sweaty, sore, and ready to collapse.Training with Tyson was not the kind of thing you walked away from feeling good about yourself. It was the kind of thing you walked away from feeling like your arms had been replaced with wet noodles and someone had quietly removed all the bon
Calla’s POV We left before the city woke up. Tyson had the car packed and idling at the snow-capped 4:45. I carried Adele down in her blanket, her rabbit tucked under her arm, her boots left unlaced because she had insisted on wearing them despite the hour and I hadn’t had the energy to argue.
Calla’s POVI ran.The shadow touched my feet and my body made the decision before my mind caught up and I burst out from between the vans and sprinted for the loading dock with everything I had left.I almost made it.A hand closed around my arm from behind … an iron grip, brutal and sudden, yanki







