Blurb Death was supposed to be her escape. Instead, it was just the beginning. When Isabella’s fated man is killed by her stepbrother and she died to escape his dangerous obsession, what she never expects is to get reborn. Now determined to protect her mate, she vows to rewrite her cruel fate. But the Moon Goddess has changed the rules. On the night of the mating ceremony, not only was she shocked that Asher doesn’t recognize her and introduces her to his brothers, she discovers that she is mated to the Triplets Alpha. Her mate now exists as identical triplets, all three bound to her by an unbreakable mate bond. And the peaceful new life she imagined? Shattered when she locks eyes with the one person who shouldn't exist in this world: Enzo. "Death couldn't separate us," he warns her. "What makes you think these three puppies can?" What happens when Isabella is trapped in a fate she can’t escape from, and she discovers her Triplets Alphas harbor a deadly curse that could destroy them all and Enzo will stop at nothing to claim what he believes is his. Can she defy destiny and carve out her own destiny?
Lihat lebih banyak“The first thread,” she whispered.The words tasted wrong in the air—like they were never meant to be spoken out loud.We stood in a place that shouldn’t exist.No walls. No ceiling. Just endless shimmer and shadow, as if the world had split at the seam and folded in on itself. The floor pulsed beneath our boots—not stone, not soil—thread. Woven magic. Woven memory.And Isabella’s reflection was still there.But it didn’t move when she did.It watched.Waiting.And I didn’t trust it.“You’ve been here before,” I said, low.Her jaw clenched. “When I was marked.”“You never told me that.”“I never told anyone.”I looked at the reflection again—at its pale skin and silver-lined eyes. Not the red of tether-possession. Not the black of shadow-echoes.This was older.Deeper.Worse.“You’re not marked anymore,” I reminded her.But she didn’t respond.Because the reflection did.“No,” it said softly. “She’s woven now.”And then it smiled.My blade was in my hand before I realized I’d moved.“
Duskmere didn’t sleep that night.Again.We moved through the halls like ghosts who still remembered what it meant to be hunted. Every candle re-lit. Every ward checked. Reinforced. Etched again with bleeding hands and splintered will.I didn’t sleep either.Not with Kaia unconscious in one room, Aelira silent in another, and that voice—her voice—still crackling in the air like it had permission to breathe my name.“She’s escalating,” Asher muttered as he finished reinforcing the last mirror ward in the eastern stairwell. “Whatever’s coming—whatever she’s building—it’s almost done.”“She’s not building,” I said. “She’s remembering.”He turned to me. “What does that mean?”I held up the shard of obsidian from the catacombs. The same symbol from the parchment now carved into the stone, the glow still fresh like it hadn’t stopped breathing since I touched it.“She wasn’t waiting to win,” I whispered. “She was waiting to be remembered. That’s why she marked the children. That’s why she se
The wind changed the night after we returned. Not just a shift in weather. A shift in everything. I stood at the edge of the north tower, cloak pulled tight around me, watching the storm build over the Duskmere valley like it had a vendetta. Lightning cracked low across the ridge line, silent and sharp. But there was no rain. Not yet. “She’s calling them again,” the voice behind me said. Asher. Of course it was. I didn’t turn around. “I know.” “She’s louder this time.” “She’s desperate.” “She’s close.” That one I didn’t answer. Because I’d felt it too. In the marrow. In the skin. In the thin place behind my ribs where no blade could reach and no ward could seal. She was closer. Not just whispering. Pressing. Testing the boundary like a tongue against a cracked tooth. “How long do you think we have?” he asked. I didn’t hesitate. “Days. A week if we’re lucky.” “And if we’re not?” I looked at him finally. “If we’re not, then she’s already here.” --- Aelira slept c
Kaia didn’t wake for two days.The healers said it wasn’t physical. No burns. No fever. No trauma to the head.Just exhaustion.But I knew better.It was the mark.Or what was left of it.The threads had been severed, but threads didn’t vanish. They frayed. They bled into the soul like ink into parchment. Sometimes, if you weren’t fast enough—if you weren’t brutal enough—it stayed.I sat with her through the second night.Not because I was needed.But because I couldn’t stop thinking about what she said.“She says I’m still soft.”That voice still echoed in the corners of my skull. Soft. Like a warning. Like a promise.She was watching.She was always watching.The others avoided the infirmary. Even Demian. Even Corrin. Like the room was cursed.But Asher stayed.He didn't talk much. Just stood at the door sometimes, arms crossed, scanning for shadows like they could sprout teeth and tear through the wall.Maybe they could.This was Duskmere, after all.We didn’t get happy endings her
Isabella — POVThe capital didn’t feel like rot.Not the way the Hollow had. Not like Duskmere on a bad night. No, the capital was slicker. Cleaner.Which only meant one thing.The rot here was dressed in silk.I crossed the outer ridge an hour before sunrise, tucked beneath a glamour ward and wrapped in silence. My sigils were hidden beneath linen and shadow, my blade folded inside the lining of my coat.No banners. No insignias.Just a forged pass, a name I’d stolen, and the iron weight of fury curled beneath my ribs like a second heart.They called this place Eleryn.A city of spires and bells.A city that preached progress while hoarding the past.I passed the outer gate without a word. The guards barely looked at me—just another courier on a dawn run. My forged badge read “Scribe Division. Secondary Hall. Clearance: Mild.”Mild.That was cute.I kept my head down until the cobbled streets widened into something that looked like pride—white stone, clean banners, polished doors wit
Isabella POVDuskmere didn’t sleep that night.Neither did I.Not even after the Hollow was cleared, the wards burned, the boy safe in the west wing with Rowan and a healer who never looked me in the eye.Not even after I washed the ash off my hands and scrubbed my skin until it stung.The kind of tired I felt wasn’t the kind sleep fixed.It was the kind that made your bones feel borrowed.I stood by the window in my quarters, watching smoke curl up into the night like a prayer no one wanted to say out loud. Somewhere behind me, my tea was going cold. Again.I hadn’t touched it.Again.The knock at the door came soft, but steady.Not Asher.I could always tell.Demian let himself in without waiting.“You’re supposed to be resting,” I said without turning.He snorted. “That’s rich, coming from the girl who lit a puppet-witch on fire and then rode straight into battle like it was a hobby.”“I don’t have hobbies,” I said. “Just obligations.”“You’re aware that’s not healthy, right?”“Nei
Welcome to GoodNovel world of fiction. If you like this novel, or you are an idealist hoping to explore a perfect world, and also want to become an original novel author online to increase income, you can join our family to read or create various types of books, such as romance novel, epic reading, werewolf novel, fantasy novel, history novel and so on. If you are a reader, high quality novels can be selected here. If you are an author, you can obtain more inspiration from others to create more brilliant works, what's more, your works on our platform will catch more attention and win more admiration from readers.
Komen