LOGINFor five years, Mira poured her obsession into The Reckoning of Caelen Mors—a dark fantasy about a ruthless duke and the woman he becomes dangerously fixated on. At 2:47 AM, exhausted and alone, she died at her laptop. Her final words still glowed on the screen: "Duke Caelen finally showed her his true face. It was nothing like she imagined." She woke as Isadora Vess—the secondary character from her manuscript—in a silk bed, in a monster's house, with servants calling her by a name she'd invented. The problem: Mira remembers writing this world. She knows every dark secret. She knows how the story should end. Except her memories are fractured. The manuscript was never finished. And the characters have evolved without her input, making choices she never wrote, saying things she never scripted. Worse—Duke Caelen knows she's different. He's been waiting for her. Across seventeen timelines, he's seen her arrive at this exact moment. And in three of them, everything burned. Now Isadora must navigate a world she created but no longer controls, surrounded by men who each want to use her—a charming prince offering escape, a dark count offering power, and a villain offering the only thing that might be true: the answer to why she's here, and what happens when an author gets trapped in her own story. Because in every version where Isadora arrives, the empire falls. And Caelen has been waiting a very long time to see which ending she'll choose this time.
View MoreLa mejor época en la vida de cualquier chica es........ su adolescencia, el colegio, las amigas, el primer amor, eso era lo normal para cualquiera, sin embargo, para mí eso era un cliché de una novela romántica, apenas tengo 17 y todo me fastidia, no me gusta estar rodeada de gente, solo tengo una amiga y un amigo (Clara y Henry) no necesito más, mis clases son aburridas hasta morir y aun no llega mi transformación, es lo unico que me tiene intrigada ¿Cómo será sentir a mi loba?
—Sigues soñando despierta Anastasia, recuerda que a ti nada bueno te pasa, es mejor que te bajes de esa nube
Quien hablaba era nada más y nada menos que mi hermana mayor, una beta frustrada por ser de ese género, me culpaba por todo, desde nacer, hasta respirar, ya me tenía fastidiada, lo bueno es que acepte una beca para estudiar fuera despues de mi graduación o talvez terminaría matándola por su sarcasmo, la ignore y baje a la cocina donde mamá y papá nos esperaban. Buen día, padre, madre
—¿Cómo amaneció mi princesa?
Sonreí a mi padre, era el unico que me amaba en esta casa (Al menos me tomaba en cuenta) no sé por dónde lo de princesa, solo a él se lo aceptaba que me llame de la forma que guste. Amanecí dormida padre, dije poniendo los ojos en blanco, digamos que bien con ánimo de aguantar a la bola de tontos en la universidad
—No tienes que restregárselo a tu hermana siempre Anastasia, deja de ser pretenciosa frente a ella
¿Que hice ahora? Mejor ni preguntar, me voy padre Henry va a pasar por mi
—No está bien que le hables asi a la niña, eres su madre Belén debes estar feliz con sus logros, Naomi es muy inteligente sabrá sobresalir en su último año de secundaria, no debes enemistarlas
—Tu siempre defendiéndola Nashir, por eso es asi de insoportable, ven Naomi te prepare el desayuno que te gusta mi niña, hoy será un día espectacular, debes recordar que es el baile anual de la manada, todos debemos ir a la sede
—Lo habia olvidado madre, por fin podre conocer al alfa de la manada
—El quedara prendado de ti mi cielo, eres la más bella de todas
Si la más bella de todas no se apura tendra que correr a la escuela, su autobús espera en la puerta de su castillo
—Deja de ser sarcástica Anastasia. Corre cariño, que te vaya bien
—Adiós mamá
—Tan educada como tú, no se despidió de su padre, a que día para maravilloso
No te preocupes padre, será el mejor, por cierto, necesito preguntarte algo
—Claro princesa, pregunta lo que quieras
Sera posible ¿Que no asista a la reunión? Sabes que odio estar rodeada de gente indeseable
—Lo lamento "princesa" es la obligación de todos los de manada de Silver, nadie puede faltar o serás castigada y ni tu padre podrá salvarte
Gracias por la acotación madre, tendré que comprar ropa "decente" ¿Cierto?
—No lo veas asi princesa, es por una ocasión especial, nunca te pediría que lo hicieras si no fuera importante
Lo sé, me voy ya llego Henry, que tengan buen día, besé la frente de mi padre y salí, este era un di anormal en mi casa
—Hola belleza, que tal tu día
Como siempre Henry, no hay día que mi madre vea algo bueno en mi ¿Iras a la reunión de la manada?
—Por supuesto, nadie puede faltar o será vilmente castigado
Lo mismo dijo mi madre, odio esos eventos, bien cuando salgamos de clase tendras que ir de comprar con Clara y conmigo
—¿Que? ¿Porque yo? "¡Que de mal le he hecho al mundo para merecer esto!"
—Deja de quejarte Henry, no es tan malo llevarnos al centro comercial
—Buen día Clara, por supuesto que no es malo llevar a Anastasia, otra cosa eres tú, puedes llevarte medio centro comercial en ofertas y eso es cansado
—No te quejes y conduce o llegaremos tarde a las clases ¿Que ocurre cariño? Tienes cara de .... mejor no lo digo
Hola Clara, es porque no quiero ir a esa estúpida reunión, odio la gente hipócrita y las fiestas
—Lo siento cariño, esta vez no podemos cubrirte, todos deben de ir a la sede es una orden del nuevo alfa
Estúpido alfa, debe dejarnos vivir nuestra vida en paz, ya no somos meras bestias salvajes, somos seres civilizados
—Dilo por ti
Vi a Henry olfateando a Clara, ellos son destinados, pero decidieron que no se dejarían llevar por la lujuria y pasión de su lazo inseparable, esperaran un poco para experimentar, si es que son sensibles a otras personas, como dicen ellos "una relacion abierta" al ser mayores que yo deberían darme otro ejemplo, al parecer esto es lo contrario y yo soy la sensata en este grupo. Deja de olfatearla Henry se le acabaran las feromonas si sigues asi
—Lo siento, no pude evitarlo hoy huelen más dulce
—Deja de hacer eso, sabes la fecha que se acerca y como se ponen de loca mis feromonas, mejor has tu trabajo para que pueda seguir mi día, odio estas fechas por esto hubiera querido ser beta
¿Duele mucho?
—No es que duela, molesta que tengan que estar cubriéndote con feromonas alfas, para que otros no puedan pegarse a ti como perros en celo
—Te lo dije que esto no pasaría si me dejaras hacer la marca, nos libraríamos de esta situación
—Y nos encadenaríamos Henry ¡Piensa por un segundo! Has funcionar ese maní que llevas dentro de tu cabeza
—Todo es tan complicado, lo bueno es que ya llegamos, cuídense mucho, me llaman por cualquier cosa, estaré pendiente al teléfono, usare mi mani como dice Clara
Gracias, no dejare sola a Clara, no te preocupes Henry, aunque todo un idiota vivía preocupado por su gruñona Clara
*****
—Ese olor, es muy ....... excitante
—Alfa, el director va a recibirlo en la sala de sesiones
—Gracias, deje que me guiaran sin poder sacarme de la cabeza ese aroma que me embriago, despues lo buscare, mis colmillos picaban al percibirlo, despues de tantos años me siento tan emocionado, no lo dejare pasar, encontrare a esa delicada flor
EPISODE 3: THE WARNINGThunder crashes overhead, so loud that the glass panes in the window rattle in their frames and small flakes of paint fall from the walls. Isadora flinches, her shoulders lifting toward her ears before settling again, and her fingers curl into the sheet beneath her. She turns her head to look at the window, watching water run in thick channels down the glass—each channel a perfect line, twisting and turning as it makes its way to the sill. Lightning flashes outside, bright enough to turn the room white for a split second, and in that moment she can see every detail with perfect clarity: the stain on the ceiling where water has seeped through and left a dark circle like a bruise, the threadbare patch on the rug at the foot of the bed where the pile has worn away to reveal the webbing beneath, the small crack in the ceramic jug on the dresser that runs from the rim to the base like a thin black line.Caelen stands, his body moving with a fluidity that makes no sou
EPISODE 2: WAKINGThe sheet beneath her cheek is cool and smooth, woven with threads so fine they catch the light like spider silk. Isadora’s eyelids flutter once, then stay closed. Her fingers curl into the fabric, gathering a handful that she presses to her face. The material smells of lavender and clean linen, of heat from an iron and something else—smoke, maybe, or wood smoke from a fire kept burning too long.A hand rests on her wrist, fingers wrapped around the bone just above the palm. The grip is firm but not tight; when she tries to pull away, the fingers do not loosen but do not squeeze harder either. She opens her eyes. The room is dark except for a single candle burning on the bedside table, its flame so small it seems to float in the air between the wick and the ceiling. The light casts shadows that stretch across the walls, making the wallpaper—peeled at the edges in thin yellow strips—look like rows of teeth.Caelen sits on the edge of the bed, his body angled toward he
EPISODE 1: THE APOTHECARY Wood grinds against wood as the door to the apothecary wing catches in its frame. Isadora puts her shoulder to the panel, muscles tensing along her back, and shoves. The wood gives with a dull thud that sends a jolt up her arm to the elbow; she rolls her shoulder once, then again, watching the joint move beneath her skin. Rain streaks the small window set into the door, water running in thick rivulets that warp the gray light from the storm outside. Inside, shelves climb from floor to ceiling, packed tight with glass jars and ceramic pots. Some jars stand straight as soldiers, their lids sealed with wax that has cracked and yellowed into patterns like dried riverbeds. Others lean against each other, mouths open to spill the scent of dried leaves and crushed roots into the air. Lavender hangs in bunches from hooks driven into the ceiling beams, stems brittle as old wire; when thunder rolls through the walls, the bunches sway and brush against each other with
EPISODE 3 — THE SACRIFICEThe words landed with the weight of a stone dropped in deep water, sending ripples of shock through every part of Isadora’s body. She doubled over, her hands on her knees, as the room tilted violently—floor sloping so steeply she felt she might slide into the shadows that gathered at the walls. The air tasted of metal, like she had bitten her tongue hard enough to draw blood, and her stomach twisted into knots so tight she could barely breathe.For weeks, she had told herself a story—her story, the one she was trying to rewrite even as she lived it. She had convinced herself that she could fix the mistakes she had made in her manuscript, that she could turn Caelen from the villain she had created into the hero she had always meant him to be. She had believed that her presence here was a gift, a chance to set right the damage her words had done. But the woman standing beside the table was looking at her with eyes that held no pity, only a deep and terrible und
EPISODE 3 — MEMORY CORRUPTION The woman sets the cup down and stands, her legs steady now, her breathing under control. Recall, she tells herself, walking to the window, pressing her palm to the cold glass until it leaves a white mark on her skin. You are the author. You know this story. You know
EPISODE 2 — THALIA ARRIVESThree knocks at the door. Slow, measured, spaced exactly three seconds apart — the rhythm of a clock ticking down to something irreversible. The sound echoes in the silence like a countdown, like footsteps approaching in a long dark corridor.“Lady Isadora?” The voice is
EPISODE 1 — THE BEDROOMThe marble floor of the guest chamber holds cold like a stone tomb left open to winter air, each slab cut so precisely the seams between them are nearly invisible. In the coffee shop where Mira’s life ended, the floor had been sticky linoleum stained with decades of spilled
EPISODE 3: The Wrong Body The silk was the first thing she noticed, and it was wrong. Not soft like silk should be — slick and cool, like water over glass, sliding against her shoulders with a sound like snakeskin on stone when she moved. The movement itself was wrong too. Her arms were longer than






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