LOGINTonight is the night; the night Elsa gives an heir to Blackwood pack. The strongest of all packs and in line to hold the Lycan king title. She had waited for this day, offered prayers and sacrifices to the moon goddess to bless her and her husband, Alpha Riguel with a son. What happened, during her labour; she had called her loving husband, only to hear the bedroom sound of him and her step sister. Elsa couldn't believe her ears. Riguel only needed her to breed pups for him and divorce her later. He never loved her from the beginning and to crown it all, her step sister was her rivalry. Now, instead of one son, she birthed three identical sons, which automatically makes Riguel the next Lycan king. But, after finding out the truth. Will Elsa confront the Alpha. Will she forgive him and present his sons to him or will redemption get in the way. FIND OUT!
View MoreRiguel’s POVThe drive back to Blackwood should’ve been simple, forty minutes of highway, then the familiar turn onto pack land. But my hands were locked so tightly on the wheel the leather creaked. My wolf paced under my skin, unsettled in a way I hadn’t felt in years.Something was off.Not wrong. Just… different.Selma Hartley.Even saying her name felt false, like it didn’t belong to her. She was exactly what she claimed, top-tier corporate lawyer, human, sharp, efficient. Perfect for the legal mess choking Blackwood’s expansion.And yet.The moment she’d walked into that café, gray suit, hair pulled tight, expression controlled, my wolf had stirred. Not just curiosity. Not attraction.Recognition.The mate bond.Which made no sense. Elsa was dead. I’d mourned her every day for five years. I’d replayed her collapse a thousand times, her falling at t
Elsa's POVThe coffee shop was all polished concrete and muted ambient noise, the perfect neutral backdrop for a performance.I sat across a small, marble-topped table from the man I had spent five years learning to hate, the man I was certain tried to kill me, and the man who, infuriatingly, still had the power to make my heart flutter like a trapped bird.Torture and triumph, the two emotions warred constantly, tightening the knot beneath my ribs until it felt like a steel vise.Riguel Earnhardt looked exactly as I had analyzed him, successful, impeccably dressed in a suit that cost more than my first year of law school tuition, and radiating an effortless, dangerous competence.His scent, the familiar, intoxicating mix of cedar, snow, and Alpha power, was a brutal assault on my senses. I had layered my disguise with a specific, unscented perfume, a tactic Killian had made me addicted to, but even that couldn't block the p
Riguel's POVThe business card felt incongruously heavy in my hand, an anchor in the shifting landscape of my office desk. Selma Hartley.The name was crisp, efficient, engraved in silver that caught the weak afternoon light. I kept turning it over, flipping between the name and the address of her high-powered corporate firm.I couldn’t stop thinking about her. And that was the core of the problem. It was irrational, illogical, and borderline dangerous. She was a complete stranger, a human, a high-flying lawyer with no connection to the scarred, political life of the Blackwood Pack, and yet, she had hijacked my thoughts since the brief, chance encounter where she’d helped find Noah.A stranger. A convenient, professional stranger who should have vanished back into the chaos of the city after that polite exchange.But she hadn't.And the triplets weren’t helping my self-imposed emotional quarantine. Their
Elsa's POVI made it to my car before completely falling apart.The parking garage was mostly empty, concrete and shadows, nobody to witness Selma Hartley's careful composure crumbling into Elsa Andrew's grief.I gripped the steering wheel with shaking hands and let the sobs come.I'd held Noah's shoulders. Felt his bones beneath my palms, solid and real and alive. He'd grown so much, taller, leaner, becoming a young man instead of the eight-year-old I'd lost.And he'd said I smelled like Mama's flowers.Like some part of him recognized me through the disguise, through the five years, through death itself.My baby. My quiet, sensitive Noah who still dreamed about me.And Luca. Gods, Luca's voice had gotten deeper. The way he'd moved through the crowd searching, purposeful, protective, already so much the Alpha he'd someday become.Mateo with his easy confidence, his concern for his father, the glimpses of the joyful chil
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