That evening, Bea found her father in his study, surrounded by the military histories and tactical manuals that had shaped his understanding of leadership and warfare. Colonel Marcus Sharpe looked up from his reading with the kind of tired smile that suggested long hours spent trying to balance his wife's intensity with his daughter's emotional needs.
"Heard about the Moonrise Academy acceptance," he said, gesturing for her to take the chair across from his desk. "How are you feeling about it?"
"Like I'm being shipped off to boarding school because I'm not tough enough for the family business," Bea replied with more bitterness than she'd intended.
Marcus set down his book—a tactical analysis of leadership styles in high-stress environments—and gave his daughter his full attention. At forty-eight, he was still an imposing figure, but his Beta nature had allowed him to develop the kind of emotional intelligence that complemented Patricia's more direc
The nightmare always started the same way. Ten-year-old Bea sitting in the sunny garden of the Archer family estate, sharing her deepest fears with her best friend Ben during a joint family gathering that was supposed to celebrate the alliance between their packs."What if Mom doesn't come back from her next deployment?" she whispered, her voice small with the kind of terror that only children can feel when they realize their parents are mortal. "What if she dies in battle and I never see her again?"Ben's ten-year-old face was serious, understanding. "She won't die. She's the strongest Alpha in the whole world.""But what if she does? What if something happens and I'm left alone and I can't be strong enough to make everyone proud of me?""Then I'll help you be strong," Ben promised with the fierce loyalty of childhood friendship. "We'll always look out for each other."But the nightmare never ended with Ben's promise. It always conti
That evening, Bea found her father in his study, surrounded by the military histories and tactical manuals that had shaped his understanding of leadership and warfare. Colonel Marcus Sharpe looked up from his reading with the kind of tired smile that suggested long hours spent trying to balance his wife's intensity with his daughter's emotional needs."Heard about the Moonrise Academy acceptance," he said, gesturing for her to take the chair across from his desk. "How are you feeling about it?""Like I'm being shipped off to boarding school because I'm not tough enough for the family business," Bea replied with more bitterness than she'd intended.Marcus set down his book—a tactical analysis of leadership styles in high-stress environments—and gave his daughter his full attention. At forty-eight, he was still an imposing figure, but his Beta nature had allowed him to develop the kind of emotional intelligence that complemented Patricia's more direc
That evening, as Ferdinand packed for his immediate departure to Moonrise Academy, Isabella appeared in his chambers with travel documents, letters of introduction, and the kind of practical advice that only came from years of surviving court politics."The acceptance letter arrived this afternoon through magical courier," she said, setting an elegant envelope on his desk. "Your father's influence expedited the process considerably."Ferdinand picked up the letter, feeling the weight of his new future in the expensive paper and formal seal. "How long do I have?""The carriage leaves at dawn. You'll travel by conventional transportation to maintain the appearance of normal educational placement, rather than the emergency exile this actually represents.""And the prisoners?"Isabella's face tightened with shared guilt. "Will remain in the dungeons until your return, as your father promised. Ferdinand, I know this feels like a betrayal o
POV: Bea SharpeThe sound of Bea's fists hitting the heavy bag echoed through the training facility at 0500 hours, just like it had every morning for the past eight years. Each punch was precise, controlled, deadly—the product of a lifetime spent learning that strength was the only currency that mattered in the Sharpe family legacy.Jab, cross, hook. Breathe. Again.The Colorado mountain air was thin and sharp, but Bea had been born at altitude. Her lungs were conditioned for the elevation, her body adapted to the harsh environment that had forged the supernatural world's most elite military pack. The Sharpe compound wasn't just home—it was a proving ground where weakness was identified and eliminated before it could become a liability."Your form is getting sloppy."Bea didn't stop punching as her mother's voice cut through the morning silence. Alpha General Patricia Sharpe had a talent for appearing w
The next morning arrived gray and humid, with the kind of oppressive Louisiana heat that made everything feel like a fever dream. Ferdinand stood in his chambers, staring at his reflection in the ornate mirror that had belonged to his mother. In an hour, he would either be complicit in mass murder or gambling his life on Isabella's political strategy.He'd chosen his clothes carefully—formal enough to show respect for his father's authority, but not the ceremonial robes typically worn for state executions. If this conversation went the way he hoped, he needed to look like a confused young prince seeking guidance, not a defiant heir preparing for martyrdom.A sharp knock interrupted his nervous preparation. "Enter."Captain Torres appeared in the doorway, his expression carefully neutral. "Prince Ferdinand, His Majesty requests your presence in the courtyard. The prisoners are ready."Ferdinand's stomach churned, but his voice remained steady
That night, Ferdinand found Isabella in her private garden, tending to the night-blooming jasmine that reminded her of her homeland in Spain. The garden was one of the few places in the palace where conversations couldn't be overheard by his father's extensive spy network—Isabella had seen to that with careful magical wards and strategic landscaping."You've made your decision," she said without looking up from her flowers."Was it that obvious?""You have the same expression your mother used to get when she'd decided to stand up to your father, regardless of the consequences." Isabella's voice was soft with old grief and fresh worry. "That stubborn tilt of the chin, like you're preparing to face a firing squad with dignity intact."Ferdinand had only vague memories of his biological mother, who had died when he was seven. But Isabella had been sharing stories about Queen Catherine's quiet rebellions for years, painting a picture of a woman