로그인NaomiNothing good happens after midnight. At least, that’s what my dad, a retired criminal and vigilante turned Alpha King, always told us growing up. I beg to differ, which is why, around what I believe might be 3:00 in the morning, I pull my arms into a robe left hanging on a hook near the door in my room and decide to pace Fraser’s hallways instead of lying wide awake in the regal stone bedroom he left me in several hours ago to rot. I’m not tired in the slightest. My sleep schedule, which is already a Goddess-damned mess, will pay the price for my unintentional translocation across the globe, but I digress. I have no plans, no course of action to speak of, and, unlike this past summer, I have the chance to calmly explore the castle without the burden of several other lives bearing down on my shoulders. I search the room for anything resembling slippers but come up empty-handed after several minutes of tiptoeing my way over smooth, cold stone. Like every room in this insanely l
NaomiI wake with a start. My vision is, at first, hazy. A high, domed ceiling of smooth, gray stone and an ancient, candle-lit chandelier come into focus. Little speckles of amber light dance over the stone like stars, highlighting carvings that are wholly unfamiliar. At least, unfamiliar for a moment. Color begins to bleed into my vision. Shelves of dark wood spiral all the way to the ceiling. Books and scrolls rest in impeccable rows, everything perfectly in place, everything exactly where it belongs. Clean. Not a speck of dust or cobwebs in sight. I roll to my side, wincing as cool stone bites into my bare shoulder. Table legs take up my vision. Beyond the maze of wooden tables and chairs, a fire roars in an arched stone hearth, flames licking soot-stained stone. And in his usual armchair, the only worn piece of furniture in the entirety of this library, Fraser crosses his ankle over his opposite knee and casually flips a page of the book resting in his lap. “You forgot to br
NaomiNymphidora, or simply Phi, as she’s known in our close-knit group of friends, has never had a bad day in her life. Truly. Everything works out for her, regardless of how terrible the situation may seem. Take her ex-boyfriend, for example. He’s currently sitting next to me at the bar of Phi’s apothecary shop in the dead center of Moonrise, tucked down a well-traveled alleyway just beyond the main drag of more modern and magically appropriate shops. But instead of sitting on the stools on either side of me, her ex is resting on a little velvet tuffet on the countertop, his once handsome humanoid body now resigned to that of a toad. He ribbits, staring at me with beady, froggy black eyes. I sigh heavily and roll my gaze to Phi, who has her chin propped on her fist, smiling lovingly at her most recent experiment. “Isn’t he amazing?” she purrs, her long, thin, black braids falling over her shoulders in ropes of onyx. “Is he… sentient?” I glance at Geoffrey. “Oh, of course.”I s
FraserForty eyes blink up at me. Twenty heads that don’t reach my hips bob and crane to peer into a dusty, dark room. I hold open the door in silence, giving the crowd a few moments to get a look, then I clear my throat and say, “Off limits.”A few giggles whisper through the group. I cup my ear, and more giggles ring out until one buck-toothed fox kit says with a horrible lisp, “Off limits!”“And what does off limits mean?” I ask the group of 20 five-to-seven-year-olds. “No touching!”“Right. Right. Let's go.” I close the door, and forty feet shuffle and bounce behind me. The hallway stretches for an eternity, but knowing children, that doesn’t mean a gods damned thing. Since this fall, when I opened one of the rooms off the library to the children of the den to use for study, this group in particular has lost themselves to the catacombs of the palace on more than one occasion, but it’s not necessarily their fault. Children this age are dangerously curious. I’m always shocked whe
NaomiThere’s a room in the palace that people rarely use. It’s made entirely of quartz: the walls, the floor, the windowsills, even though there aren’t many, and they’re stationed high along the domed ceiling, letting in muted, fractured light through patchwork glass panes with no view. The quartz is a dark variety, with veins of black and brown splitting its creamy white base. The only outlying materials are six pillars of pure, carved moonstone that supposedly hold up the ceiling, but I find that hard to believe. I doubt it needs any help. The room itself constantly feels alive, like it has its own heartbeat. Or, it’s just mimicking mine.Fallon refuses to even grace the subterranean hallway outside the room with her presence. She says it gives her the creeps and that this room feels like it’s caving in on her, crushing her from the inside out. Mom is the same, and she has mentioned a few times that this daunting arena of quartz causes her powers to bleed in a way that makes her
NaomiMoonrise gleams under a light snowfall. The golden city shines in shades of silver, and the neon reach of shop signs and streetlights casts a multicolor blur through the fourth-story windows of my mom’s office in the palace. She rises from her desk, but her gaze is locked on the piece of paper clutched between her hands. I glance away from the window, eyeing her progress across the room to where she comes to a stop near the main doors and carefully folds the paper, slips it in an envelope, and stamps it with hot, tacky wax, stamping it with our family’s royal crest. She drops the envelope in a box, where one of her many assistants will find it in the morning and mail it. To where? Beats me. I avoid all mention of paperwork if possible. It seems against nature, all witchy things considered. “You’re up awfully late,” Mom murmurs. She glides in my direction but takes a seat on one of the bright red velvet couches in the center of her office instead, arching to pour herself a cup
*Maddox*I walk ahead of the stretcher carrying Isla and try not to pull my fur out. If I had thumbs, I might’ve already pulled out enough fur around my forehead that I’d look bald.Images of a wolf with a receding hairline come to mind, and I almost laugh. But nothing is that funny right now.What the
ArisPosey disappears in a flurry of gray wool the second my powers fade like tendrils of smoke across the dark mosaic tiles of the grand foyer. Her footsteps echo down a darkened corridor, the only sound for what feels like an eternity–an eternity spent willing myself to stand still and not chase
Posey“I don’t think I understand.” I set the letter down and turn to Aris, who’s leaning against the hearth in our bedroom. “My father wrote this?”“It’s his blessing.” He crouches, inspecting the fire with a poker. I resist the urge to crumple the letter but set it neatly on the bed instead. “In
ArisMorgan’s long fingers trace over the top of my hand, her red painted nails shining in the firelight as she smiles at me, cat-like, her dark eyes giving away nothing. When I don’t react to her touch, she leans away to refill her glass of sparkling wine, clicking her tongue. She rises and turns







