Winter I wasn’t supposed to say yes.When Tyron leaned against the training posts after sparring and asked, so casually, “Want to take a walk later?” I should’ve told him no. I should’ve reminded myself who he was — the rogue chained in our dungeon not long ago, the one whose silence carved holes in me every time I tried to reach him.But instead, I nodded. And now my heart won’t stop racing.The evening air is softer than the usual sharp chill, dusk painting the pack grounds in shades of gold and violet. Tyron walks beside me, tall and shadowed, his shoulders brushing mine just enough to make it impossible to think straight. He doesn’t say much at first, but then again, he doesn’t need to. His presence is its own gravity.“You always walk this fast?” he asks finally, smirking when I glance at him.I hadn’t realized I was practically rushing, like I’m afraid if I slow down, I’ll lose my nerve. “Maybe I’m just trying to keep up with you,” I shoot back.His mouth curves, that infuriati
Tyrone I can still taste her.The burn of her lips hasn’t left me, the sound of her gasp buried somewhere in my chest like a brand I can’t shake. I press the heel of my hand against my mouth as if that will erase it, but all it does is remind me how badly I wanted more.I lean against the window frame in my room, staring out at the grounds. Wolves spar in the late light, training in neat, disciplined pairs. My jaw tightens. I used to sneer at this kind of order, at the way packs clung to each other like frightened children. Rogues don’t get that luxury—we learned to stand alone, or die.But when I watched Winter out there today, bending fire into her palm, her braid loose from the force of her movements, I didn’t see a sheltered pup. I saw someone dangerous. Someone who could rival me. Maybe even someone who could destroy me if she wanted to.And instead of fearing that, I wanted her closer.Pathetic.I drag a hand down my face and push off the wall, pacing the length of the room. My
Winter The morning sun poured through my curtains like it was trying to shame me awake. My eyes blinked open to softness that wasn’t my own bed, warmth that wasn’t mine.For one wild second, I panicked. Tyron’s scent was everywhere—smoke, pine, danger. Then it hit me. I hadn’t left. I’d fallen asleep wrapped around him, my spell still cloaking me, keeping him from knowing I was there.My chest constricted as I peeled myself away. His hair stuck damply to his forehead, his lips parted in restless sleep. He looked younger this way, almost boyish, like the war inside him hadn’t carved out all the softness yet.I wanted to stay. Goddess, I wanted to. But my cloaking spell wouldn’t last forever, and the risk of him waking and finding me there—no, I couldn’t.I slipped out of his bed, heart pounding in my ears, and padded barefoot down the hall until I was safe in my room again. I pressed my back against the door, my hands trembling.I’d comforted him all night, but he’d never know.At bre
WinterI barely slept.Every time I closed my eyes, I saw him—sitting there in the dark, sweat glistening on his chest, his eyes wild with something I couldn’t reach. And then I’d hear his voice again, sharp and cutting, telling me to stay out of him.Stay out of me.I kept turning the words over, over, like a shard of glass I couldn’t spit out.Morning came anyway, dragging me out of bed with the sound of my mother’s voice downstairs, the clatter of dishes, the usual hum of pack life. But none of it touched me. My body moved through the motions—dressing, brushing my hair, scooping a bit of food onto my plate—while my chest stayed hollow.Aria asked if I was okay. I told her yes. Asher nudged me with his shoulder, teasing that I looked like I’d wrestled a ghost. I forced a laugh. Even Louis gave me a long look, the kind that said he was reading too much. I avoided it.I didn’t tell any of them. How could I?I’d snuck into his room like some girl in a forbidden tale, because the sound
TyronI always hated nights like this. Too quiet. Too still. The kind of stillness that left too much room for memory to creep in.The Crescent Moon Pack house wasn’t unfamiliar anymore—too many days had passed since they unchained me, too many silent stares across their training grounds, too many stolen kisses with Winter in shadowed hallways when no one was watching. But it still wasn’t mine. Never would be.I lay on the bed they’d given me, the sheets too soft, the mattress too forgiving. The walls smelled of polished wood and lavender, a sharp contrast to the damp stone of the dungeon where I’d spent weeks chained. I should’ve felt grateful. I should’ve slept easy, knowing I wasn’t shackled and bleeding anymore.But sleep didn’t come without a price.And tonight, it came cruel.---It started the way it always did—shadows on the treeline, the distant howl of wolves that weren’t ours. The air reeked of smoke before the first flame even touched the ground.I was back there. Back in
Winter’s POVDinner felt like a test.The whole day, I’d been preparing myself for it — smoothing down my hair three times, changing dresses twice even though it was only a family meal, and still pacing the length of my room like I was waiting to be summoned to trial. Maybe that’s what it felt like. Tyron had been out of the dungeon for a week now, under the strict condition that he stayed within the Crescent Moon Pack’s grounds, under watch. Everyone knew my father didn’t trust him, Louis tolerated him at best, and the rest of the pack looked at him like a wolf who might bare his teeth at any second.And tonight, he was going to sit at my family’s table.I tried not to overthink it. But the truth was, I wanted them to see what I saw. Not the rogue, not the fighter with shadows in his eyes, but the man who had become impossible for me to stop thinking about. The man whose lips had pressed against mine more times than I could count when no one was watching. The one who made me feel pow