LOGIN“No,” I say, sharper than I mean to. “You don’t get to ‘Lilah’ me like that fixes anything. You stood in that room and watched them draw the outline of where they’re going to cut me open, and you still let the day end without coming here.”His shoulders tighten. “I stopped them from moving the Rite up,” he says. “I forced them to wipe the circle. I bought us time.”“Us?” I echo. “Or you?”Anger flashes in his eyes. “Do you think this is easy for me?” he snaps. “Every choice I make has a hundred lives balanced on it. I’m trying to keep you alive, and this pack intact and the curse from detonating in our faces. Forgive me if that takes more thought than just charging in and biting a mark into your neck.”“If you loved me,” I say, and the words come out calm, somehow, “you wouldn’t have let it get to the point where they needed chalk.”Silence slams into the room.He looks like I hit him. Maybe I did.“I do love you,” he says, voice low and hoarse. “That’s the problem.”Something in my c
Ronan I don’t feel the sun set so much as I feel her decision hard. The pack goes about its evening—patrols shifting, cooks shouting over simmering pots, and pups herded inside by weary parents—but under it all, the bond hums like wire under tension. Lilah’s presence has edges tonight. No more hazy indecision, no more soft, searching pulses. She’s… braced. Gathering herself. Preparing to jump. Or cut. The knowledge sits in my gut like a stone. I pace the length of my office for the fifth time, then force myself to stop. Movement won’t solve this. Strategy won’t solve this. There’s no clever angle, no political maneuver that will magically make the curse evaporate, and the Rite vanish and Malric choke on his own scheming. If I want her—truly want her—there’s only one thing I haven’t done. Choose her. Unqualified. In front of everyone. Mark her. Claim her. Stand between her and whatever the Goddess throws at us after and tell fate to choke on it. Every time I think
“Best case?” she says. “You and he come to an agreement before the Rite ever begins. Either he chooses you fully and publicly on his own terms, not as a panicked reaction in a ritual circle. Or you choose to end the bond cleanly, with the old severing I mentioned. Away from their chalk and their fear.”“And the Goddess?” I ask. “She just… accepts that?”“She accepts a choice made freely,” Morwen says. “That was the point of all this. Not that you dance to the elders’ tune.”I stare at a knot in the wood of her table until it stops swimming.“He’s not going to decide in time,” I say quietly. “Is he?”Morwen’s silence is answer enough.“He’s clinging to the idea that he can protect everyone,” I say. “Me, the pack, his position, his conscience. He thinks if he just waits long enough, the right answer will reveal itself without him having to pick it.”“It’s an old habit,” she says. “From another life.”Her gaze flicks up, knife‑sharp. “The last time he hesitated,” she says quietly, “you d
LilahThe whole compound knows about the Rite before breakfast.Whispers move faster than patrols. They slide under doors, down corridors, through the steam in the dining hall. By the time I get there, the air is thick with half‑truths and fear.“…full moon…”“…witches summoned…”“…the Luna—”I stand in the doorway with a tray for a full ten seconds, letting the noise wash over me.Naomi spots me first. She’s wedged at a corner table with Cassian and two warriors, one hand wrapped around a mug, the other stabbing at something on the table like it personally offended her.Her eyes flick up, find mine. Her shoulders tense.Bella sits at a nearer table with Leo and Wren, the pup’s arm free except for a thin brace. He’s drawing something fiercely on a scrap of parchment. Leo’s head is bent low, listening like the scribbles are battle plans instead of whatever eight‑year‑olds draft over porridge.Bella feels me and turns. Her expression does something complicated when she sees my face.I d
“I’ll talk to her,” I say. The words taste like ash. I’ve been putting off this conversation, hoping—what? That the Goddess would swoop down and cancel the Rite herself? That Malric would trip on his own schemes and fall on his face?Coward, a familiar inner voice, whispers. The same one that watched a banner recede on a hill in a life I half‑remember.“I’ll talk to her,” I repeat, firmer. “Tonight.”Morwen studies me for a long beat, then nods once. “See that you do,” she says. “Time makes cowards of us all. Don’t let it steal what little courage you have.”She glides out, leaving sage and iron in her wake.Cassian claps a hand on my shoulder. “You’re not alone in this, you know,” he says quietly. “Whatever you decide.”“That’s the problem,” I say. “What I decide hits more than just me.”He squeezes once, then let's go. “You keep pretending you can protect everyone by sacrificing the one person who makes you want to live,” he says. “It’s not going to end the way you think.”“Is this
RonanI used to think the worst sound in the world was a wolf’s death cry.Today, I learned it might actually be the scrape of chalk on stone.The council chamber has been cleared, tables pushed back against the walls. In the center, the floor is bare—smooth gray rock veined with pale lines like old scars.On his knees in the middle of it, an elder witch draws a circle.The chalk hisses as it moves. Slow, deliberate arcs. A ring wide enough to hold two bodies and the weight of a curse.I stand at the edge of the room, arms folded tight across my chest, every muscle quivering with the need to move.“Explain,” I say.My voice is calm. Too calm. Cassian, standing half a step behind my right shoulder, hears what’s under it; I feel the way his posture shifts, ready to intercept.Malric doesn’t flinch. Of course he doesn’t. He stands opposite me, hands clasped behind his back, expression composed.“The council voted last night to formalize the Rite preparations,” he says. “In light of recen
*Ronan*For a breath, all I can do is stare.Half‑moon grooves scar the floorboards where her nails dug in. Her fingertips are tipped in blunt, half‑formed claws. The air in the room crackles with the echo of her scream.And her eyes—Gold. Not a flicker. Not a trick of the light.A full, predatory
*Lilah*He walks me back to my room in silence.Leo falls in behind us without a word. The tension in the corridor follows like a ghost—cracked stone, torn fabric, the echo of a boy’s scream, and the memory of Ronan’s hand on my face.My heart hasn’t quite figured out how to calm down yet. It stutt
*Lilah*The dining hall looks like something out of a dark fairy tale.Long wooden tables stretch the length of the room, lit by iron chandeliers and the glow from a massive fireplace at one end. Wolves fill the benches—some rowdy, some stiff, all too aware that this is more than just dinner.It’s
*Lilah*The dress stares at me like it has opinions.Cream‑colored. Long sleeves. Soft and deceptively simple, the kind of fabric that will cling in the right places and float everywhere else. A “Luna dress,” if there ever was one.*Fake Luna uniform,* I think again.I don’t put it on right away.I







