Mag-log inSydney
Sarah doesn’t turn from the window. The sunrise hasn’t reached us yet, not fully, but the first inklings of morning creep through the curtains. Frost hugs the glass panes. It will be another frigid day, colder than the last. The faint light ghosts over her skin, illuminating her face in silver.
“Sarah?” I say into the soft light.
She turns her head slightly but doesn’t look at me. I notice two pieces of paper
Fallon“I am on my moon cycle!” I rush out between kisses, but Zayn is out of his damn mind. His tongue sweeps over mine before he bites down on my lower lip and groans. I suppose, at some point, I wished to the Goddess that this man would eventually unleash himself, but seeing as I am in a state of hormonal duress, he needs to calm the fuck down. “Zayn,” I pant, giving him a slight shove. “We can’t.”“One bite,” he breathes, chasing my mouth with his, “and I’ll have you ovulating. Don’t worry.”“What in the Goddess’s great kingdom are you talking about?” I bark a laugh, shoving him back again. “You’re a lunatic.”His eyes are still that polished hazel that sets fire to my veins. I suppose it wouldn’t be that bad, all things considered. I am the one in my own way, so to speak. My embarrassment and uncertainty mingle with the waves of desire threatening to have me throwing caution to the wind. “You know so little about shifters,” he says, pressing the words against my neck in a feath
FallonI point to the group of orbs bobbing over our heads. Zayn braces his hands against the table, bowing his head for several aching seconds, no doubt soaking in the scene that just played out. I’m past it. I have to be. I have to swallow that painful, involuntary vision deep and let it fester for later, when we’ve both had a moment to think back on it. I can’t let him see me hesitate. Not now. Zayn is barely hanging on by a thread as it stands. He has the entire burden of KiloKilo’s future on his shoulders. I can cut him some slack. For the night, at least. No more than that, though. I have a reputation as a supreme pest to uphold. “You’re missing it!” I hiss, nudging his shoulder. “Look!” Several different memories play out within the orbs. Some are mine, from my childhood. Some are his, from his earliest days. Me as a baby. Zayn as a toddler. Me at maybe five or six, finally coming to some kind of truce with a toddler version of Naomi after Sterling was born. Zayn and Tali a
FallonMy wavering, uncontrollable emotions and utter lack of a rational brain are confirmed directly after supper, when I feel the sudden urge to curl into a ball and cry. My moon cycles are incredibly regular–to the day, to the hour. Back home in Moonrise, I could give myself a ten-minute countdown to the grand event. But here? I manage to pull myself out of bed and scrub my hand through my hair, glowering at my reflection in the bathroom mirror. I look exhausted. Run through. The works. I should go to bed. I should raid the kitchen for anything sweet. I shouldn’t be slipping into a nightgown while eyeing the magic journal Zayn keeps on the dresser, which is open, waiting for the moment I finally summon the courage to write to my family. Zayn has been the one corresponding with them. I’ve read the letters, of course. Naomi and Zayn have formed a camaraderie at my expense. My dad writes short, blunt notes pertaining to the events taking place in the Allied Kingdoms and asks about m
ZaynTali purses his lips while leaning against the old well in the center of Eurye’s market district. With his eyes, he follows the progress of a woman in a black cloak and two preteen shifter girls squealing in delight as the witch bounces on her heels, straddling a wiry old broom, with the two girls seated behind her. In a flash, the broom is airborne, and the girls screech in delight, the trio zooming through the crowd, people jumping to get out of their way. I eye the Alpha of this territory, who looks as pale and unsure as every other shifter visiting the market today. Black cloaks dot the crowd, broomsticks strapped to their backs and baskets hanging from their elbows. The shifters selling wares begrudgingly drop into conversation with the witches, accepting coins and the occasional potion in exchange for vegetables and loaves of bread. Some sellers are more enthusiastic about the witches than others, but most are unsure how to act. The children at the market, however? They’r
FallonI don’t like feeling this way. My chest feels heavy and tight. My throat hurts every time I swallow. Grief and jealousy mingle into a tangled net that creates another kind of feeling–a twisting of the two that makes me want to cry more than anything, which is ridiculous. I am ridiculous. I’m being insane. Stella is beautiful, though, which makes this worse. Her sculpted bone structure and thick, red hair catch shadows painted by master artists as she slowly unbuttons Eniana’s nightgown, exposing her bare, pale chest. Her green eyes remind me vividly of Posey, my uncle Aris’s mate, which brings me a single, fleeting shred of comfort. Everyone loves Posey, even if she’s extraordinarily antisocial and awkward. Stella is neither of those things. “Did I make you uncomfortable, Luna?” she asks with a brief, almost shy smile that betrays the sharpness of her eyes. I stare at her coolly before going back to grinding herbs with a mortar and pestle. She is making me uncomfortable. No
FallonZayn is a cuddler, which I find hilarious, given that he’s spent months growling, grumping around, and being overall ridiculously standoffish. At least, he likes me touching him. He likes spreading out on the bed like I’m not in it, his arm flat over my body, his leg pinning mine to the mattress. His cheek is pressed against the top of my head, and every breath he takes fluffs my hair. I don’t mind this. Not a bit. I’m used to sleeping with a dozen pillows around my body and a weighted blanket, and his weight is more than enough to send me into a stupor. I should be sleeping now. It’s raining softly–a naturally occurring rain. I’ve learned to tell the difference between the scent and electric current of his magic and the soft, breezy kind of storms that swirl over the islands. I’m not sure what woke me up. I don’t think it was the rain. It’s not morning and won’t be for another few hours. No maids are awake yet. The house is utterly silent, save for the trickling pearls of r
*Maddy*I wake with a start to my bedroom door opening. After a week spent living in this castle full time, I’m still not used to the maids fluttering in and out and around the castle day in and day out. They move like ghosts most of the time, save for Hannah, who always stops to talk if she has a mo
*Maddy*He doesn’t even know my name.That’s all I can think about as I sit beside Ella and desperately try to pay attention to the workbooks in front of me on a long wooden table etched with little carvings of stick figures. I run a fingertip over several sets of carved letters, a testament to the pa
*Maddox*“Are you going to be a good girl for me while I’m gone,” I rasp into her ear. We’re covered in sweat, and I’ve been drawing out every minute of the last hour to make this last as long as possible for both of us. I’ve made Isla come at least three times, but I’m not done with her yet. It coul
*Maddy*I can’t understand a word these people are saying. I sit in on a bench in a large kitchen, a cup of hot tea with milk and honey in my trembling hands. King Isaac is arguing with the copper haired man, a shade a few lighter than my own. I recognize him from the day Reginald dragged me here. Th







