The restroom door clicked shut behind them.Dim light flickered overhead. Peeling wallpaper. A cracked mirror. The stench of disinfectant didn’t quite mask the mildew in the corners, but none of that mattered to her. For the girl, it felt like the spotlight was solely on her. Her gaze locked on Dante like a woman already drunk on fantasy.To her, this was spontaneous. Risky. Electric.To him?This was war.He pressed her back against the sink, caging her in with one arm while the other slipped her duffel from her shoulder and tossed it aside. She gasped. Not from fear—no, from excitement. The girl was trembling with anticipation. Her cheeks flushed, lips parted in that naive, breathless expression he’d seen a thousand times before.Dante leaned in close, letting his breath fan against her neck."You matter, you know that?" he whispered silkily, tracing a finger down her throat. "You're not like the others."A lie. He’d used it before.His eyes, dark and intense, held hers, making her
DANTEShe was gone.Days had passed. Then a week. And Lila—the woman who shared his hunger, his vision, his vengeance—hadn’t returned.Lila was supposed to come back. They had a plan.Destroy Richard and Marcus Blackwood. Share the crown of chaos together.But she didn’t return.Dante told himself it was part of the plan. Maybe she went underground. Maybe she was lying low until the dust settled from the last time.But deep down…He knew better.Something was wrong.At first, he ignored the tug in his chest. The dull ache. The itching pull of something missing. He was human, not a wolf like her. His instincts were supposed to be logical. Controlled.But Lila? She wasn’t just his partner.She was his addiction.His match in madness.His anchor to the world.And now the cord was fraying.The hunt began the moment the doubt entered his mind. He mobilized his men—low-tier criminals, deserters, mercs, and junkies. People who owed him. People too scared to ask questions.He pulled out a pho
Lila’s POVI can’t feel my hand.No—I don’t have a hand.The pain is unbearable, but it’s not the worst part.The worst part is the silence now that the crowd is gone. No more curses. No more stones. No more mocking children.Just the steady drip of blood and the sound of my own breath—sharp, uneven, like my chest is trying to rip itself open.They threw me in the old kennels. Where mutts used to sleep. Where strays were dumped. The floor is damp with piss and mold, and my blood is mixing with it like ink spreading through water.I lie there, half-curled, the stump of my right arm wrapped tightly in rags that already reek. It pulses with agony, and each throb is a cruel reminder of what they took from me.They stared at me like I was a monster.But I’m not the only monster.They forget she and I were born of the same womb.The same face.The same blood.The same scream.We were twins.And they always, always loved her more.I remember the way Aria used to smile when we were kids. That
The dungeon reeked of blood and regret.Lila’s screams had long since turned hoarse—guttural gasps and broken whimpers echoing against cold stone. The floor beneath her was slick with blood from the severed hand, staining her pale skin like ink across parchment. Her breath came in short, desperate pants as her chains rattled softly with each shudder.And still, Connor watched her.No pity. No mercy.He crouched again, elbows on his knees, just inches from her. She tried to shrink away, but her chains yanked her back into the pain. He let the silence hang for a moment longer, letting the weight of her agony settle.Then he reached behind him.The iron branding rod he pulled out glowed faintly red, still hot from the forge.Lila’s eyes widened. “No… no, no—”He grabbed her by the jaw."You branded your sister as a murderer," he said coldly. "Now let me return the favor. But with truth."He slammed the glowing metal against the soft flesh of her collarbone.Her body arched.A scream—anim
Two days later;Connor stood at the window, staring down at the quiet courtyard.He had failed.Not just Ivy—but himself. His pack. Everything he was supposed to protect.And now, he was paying the price.He had rejected her back then. The one person who would have loved him more than any other. And now he has lost her completely. Nothing he said or did would bring her back.So he would live with that. The only thing he can do is to let her go, and carry the regret like a scar for the rest of his life.But he wouldn’t carry it alone.No.Lila would burn with him.She started the fire—he would make sure she felt every single flame.And it starts now.****The scent of rot was thicker on the east side of the dungeon.The damp, suffocating air clung to Connor’s skin like guilt, yet it was nothing compared to the rage simmering just beneath his surface. He’d contained his wolf. Barely. For two days, the beast within him had clawed at his insides, demanding blood, demanding vengeance.But
Ivy’s POVThere’s something about cocoa. The way it warms you from the inside out. How it makes you feel like maybe—just maybe—you’re safe.But safety is an illusion.The warmth doesn’t reach the cold that’s starting to creep up my spine.Because while Rosa hums softly in the kitchen, while the world is soft and full of light again, something inside me is unraveling.Thread by thread.Flash by flash.It starts small.A flicker of darkness.Then mold. Thick, black, suffocating. I can smell it.My stomach twists violently.Then the room—Small. Windowless. The kind of place that forgets sunlight exists. My breath shortens and I feel it in my bones before I even see it again: the cold.The air was wet and heavy. The walls wept with condensation and the ground was slick beneath me. I was barefoot. Bruised. There was a chain around my ankle. Tight. Rusted.I couldn’t scream. I couldn’t speak.But worse than the mold, the dark, the filth——was her.That humming.That terrifying, sing-song l