Se connecterDominic POVThe clock on the mantelpiece ticked like an iron hammer hitting an anvil.Tick. Tick. Tick.Twenty-four hours. Fourteen hundred and forty minutes of pure, unadulterated torment.Outside the tall, arched mullioned windows of my private study, the northern winter had unleashed a violent, howling gale. Snow beat against the thick leaded glass, burying the parapets and drowning the pine ridges in blinding white sheets. Downstairs, the ancestral packhouse had long since fallen silent, the guests scattered, the whispers of the disastrous Solstice Gala frozen into uneasy rumors.Inside the study, there was only darkness, the dying embers of the hearth, and the stench of raw peat whiskey.Three empty crystal decanters lay on their sides across the heavy mahogany desk, amber dregs puddled against the polished wood. A fourth bottle sat uncorked beside my trembling right hand, half-drained.I raised the heavy tumbler to my lips, swallowing the burning liquid like medicine that refus
Dominic POVThe stone balcony fell back into an uneasy silence as the freezing wind whipped off the peaks.Chloe stood small and fragile against the balustrade, holding her one-eared velvet rabbit close. My hands were still trembling, the echo of that wild-honey-and-pine scent humming in my blood like a siren."Here," I whispered, keeping my tone gentle as I reached into my breast pocket.I drew out a clean silk handkerchief. Carefully, without crowding her, I pressed the soft linen against her scratched knuckle. "Just hold this for a second, little one. It will stop the sting."Chloe blinked up at me with those wide, stormy slate-gray eyes—the silver rings catching the starlight—and pressed her small hand against the cloth. "Thank you, tall wolf."Before I stepped away, my fingers brushed the thorny hawthorn branch where she had snagged her cuff. With swift, silent care, I snapped off the sharp twig bearing the fresh drop of crimson, enclosing it securely inside a small silver pillb
Dominic POVThe suffocating perfume of the ballroom had become intolerable the second Ember stepped out toward the terrace gardens to take a call from her port syndicate.I left the floor without a word to the elders or the clamoring chieftains. My chest felt hollow, carved out by the electric burn of her touch and the bitter truth of her words. Your business partner, Alpha Jarvald. Nothing more.My wolf restlessly paced the perimeter of my ribs, refusing to settle, clawing at my senses with an agitated urgency that had nothing to do with the politics downstairs. It was an itch in the blood, an instinctual pull drawing me up the quiet stone stairwells toward the executive annex.The third floor was dim and silent, the thick northern wool runners swallowing the sound of my dress boots.Then, the hair on the back of my neck stood on end.A sour, familiar musk tainted the clean winter draft flowing through the gallery—stale tobacco, dried cedar, and the foul, oily undertone of my half-b
Bernard POVWhile the sheep downstairs brayed over spilled wine and cheap theatrics, I remained where I belonged: in the shadows of the upper mezzanine.I leaned against the carved balustrade of the third-floor gallery, a crystal glass of amber bourbon resting loosely in my fingers. Below, in the grand hall, the idiot crowd was still buzzing. I watched Dominic dismiss Vivian like a stray dog, his jaw tight with that self-righteous fury he always wore when his precious authority was challenged.Fools. Every single one of them.Vivian was becoming an intolerable liability. Her pathetic attempts to sabotage the warehouse had nearly exposed our entire network, and now she was melting down in public like a spoiled child. If she couldn't keep her head, I would have to cut her loose before our plans for the winter muster came to fruition.A light draft brushed the back of my neck.I turned away from the balcony railing, stepping back into the quiet, carpeted corridor of the VIP guest wing.
Bernard POVWhile the sheep downstairs brayed over spilled wine and cheap theatrics, I remained where I belonged: in the shadows of the upper mezzanine.I leaned against the carved balustrade of the third-floor gallery, a crystal glass of amber bourbon resting loosely in my fingers. Below, in the grand hall, the idiot crowd was still buzzing. I watched Dominic dismiss Vivian like a stray dog, his jaw tight with that self-righteous fury he always wore when his precious authority was challenged.Fools. Every single one of them.Vivian was becoming an intolerable liability. Her pathetic attempts to sabotage the warehouse had nearly exposed our entire network, and now she was melting down in public like a spoiled child. If she couldn't keep her head, I would have to cut her loose before our plans for the winter muster came to fruition.A light draft brushed the back of my neck.I turned away from the balcony railing, stepping back into the quiet, carpeted corridor of the VIP guest wing.
Dominic POVThe uproar in the ballroom still raged around the base of the staircase.Elder Thomas stood clutching the foreclosure decree like an open wound, his knees visibly shaking, while Caleb and Joshua scrambled down from the mezzanine, surrounded by furious chieftains demanding an explanation for their mortgaged land. Vivian had backed into the shadows near the terrace doors, her face drained of all life, abandoned by the council wives who had so recently clung to her skirts.None of it mattered.The council’s collapse, the murmurs of scandal, the fractured pride of the northern elders—it all faded into white noise.My entire universe had narrowed down to the woman standing two feet away from me on the marble landing. She had just brought the most arrogant wolves in the territory to their knees with a single sheet of paper, and she hadn't even broken a sweat.I extended my right hand, palm up, between us.The gesture was formal, customary for the host of the gala to the guest of







