LOGINThere is nothing Iris loves more than curling up with a ridiculous werewolf romance, laughing her head off at every over-the-top, cringey scene and swooning at the shameless smut. But one night, partway through an e-novel by a mysterious "Author 456", she chokes on a Doritos chip, dies, and wakes up inside the story as the doomed heroine. Now she’s trapped in a medieval werewolf afterlife with bizarre werewolf laws, dangerously hot Alphas, and plotlines she knows will end in her eventual demise. There’s Alpha Kieran, her volatile, possessive fated mate who’ll tear kingdoms apart to keep her. And there’s Alpha Rowan, the charming first love who still holds a piece of her heart and isn’t afraid to fight for it. Their rivalry is a ticking time bomb that is already threatening to spark a war, and Iris is right in the middle. As if juggling two jealous, dominant Alphas isn’t enough, a human rebellion is rising, and every move she makes could shift the story’s fate. She's got only one goal; to survive long enough to find a way back home before her “tragic ending” catches up to her. Expect heated glances, possessive growls, steamy arguments that turn into even steamier reconciliations, and enough bedroom (and not-so-bedroom) scenes to make you blush in public. This is a laugh-out-loud, heart-racing, smut-laced romance you won’t be able to put down.
View MoreThe Great Hall of the North felt different when it wasn't a crime scene or a courtroom. Under the new "Stable Reality," the hearths roared with a warmth that felt earned rather than scripted, and the long wooden tables were laden with actual food—not just the decorative roasts of a high-fantasy banquet.Kieran and Rowan sat across from me in a private alcove, their eyes fixed on the silver quill resting on the table between us. It sat there innocently enough, but the way the light caught its nib made it look like a needle poised over the fabric of the world."You're saying," Rowan began, leaning back and swirling a goblet of wine he hadn't touched, "that we are characters. That my father's death, my exile, and Kieran's 'beast' nature were all... creative choices made by someone in another world?""Worse," I said, tearing off a piece of crusty bread. "They were tropes. You were designed to be the 'Golden Rival' who loses the girl and goes mad with grief. Kieran was the 'Brooding Alpha'
The blue light didn’t fade so much as it curdled, turning into the grey, muted dawn of a world that felt like a fresh sheet of parchment.When I opened my eyes, the obsidian pillars of the Archive were gone. The smell of old paper had been replaced by the sharp, metallic tang of morning frost and the distant, rhythmic lowing of cattle. I was lying on a cold stone floor, but it wasn't a basement. It was a courtyard.I sat up, my head throbbing with a rhythmic pulse that matched the weight in my right hand. I looked down. The silver quill was still there, gripped so tightly in my fingers that my knuckles were white. It felt heavy—unnatural—like a piece of the sun had been cooled and shaped into a writing tool.I looked around. I was in the heart of the Northern Stronghold, but it wasn't the fortress of thorns and shadows I remembered. The walls were clean, the banners were a vibrant, un-torn crimson, and the air lacked the heavy, suffocating scent of "Alpha Aura" that usually hung over
The Great Library of Oakhaven didn’t look like a place of learning. It looked like a wound in the earth. To reach it, we had to descend beneath the palace through staircases that were literally crumbling into white light as we stepped off them."Don't look back!" I yelled, my voice echoing against the smooth obsidian walls of the lower levels.Kieran was the last one through the heavy bronze doors of the Archive. As he slammed them shut, the sound of the outside world—the humming, the static, the "Revision" screams—was cut off instantly. Here, the air was thick with the scent of old parchment and cold, dry stone."Is it safe?" Rowan asked, his chest heaving. He reached out to touch a shelf, but his hand stopped an inch away, as if he was afraid the books would turn to dust."For now," I said, leaning against a pillar. "The Archive is 'hard-coded.' It’s the world’s metadata. The Author can delete the furniture, but she can't delete the foundation without crashing the whole system.""Yo
The "victory" at the High Peaks felt a lot more like a stay of execution.We had been traveling south for two weeks, leaving the lush, pine-scented mountains of the North for the parched, jagged canyons of the Southern Border. The truce between Kieran and Rowan was holding, but it was brittle—held together by the fact that neither of them knew how to exist in a world where a "bond" didn't dictate their every heartbeat."You're doing it again," I said, not looking back as I adjusted the pack on my horse."Doing what?" Kieran growled. He was walking behind me, his eyes constantly scanning the ridgeline. He was back to wearing a tunic, thank the gods, but he still moved with that prowling, restless energy of a wolf who had lost his scent-trail."Staring at the back of my head like you’re trying to see if the 'Author' left a barcode there," I said. "I’m still me, Kieran. I’m just... unscripted.""It’s too quiet," Rowan intervened, riding up beside us. He looked exhausted. The golden Alpha






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