LOGINThe night her father was killed, Sydney saw a wolf with a crescent scar. Years later, she falls in love with a man who bears the same mark. Liam is charming, protective, and everything she didn’t know she needed. He’s also a lie. A runaway Alpha’s son hiding in the city, pretending to be human while his pack searches for him. When Sydney is kidnapped and dragged into werewolf territory, the truth tears her world apart. Liam isn’t just a wolf — he’s the heir to the very Alpha who murdered her father. Love dies quickly after that. Sydney walks away. Disappears. Starts over in another city. Another life. Another man. But two years later, the wolves come hunting. Liam is dying from a curse tied to the mate bond he tried to escape, and the pack believes Sydney is hiding his heir — the only one who can save him. They’re wrong. The child they’re searching for isn’t Liam’s. Now Sydney must protect the life she rebuilt while the pack closes in, convinced she carries their future. Because in a world ruled by wolves, truth doesn’t matter. Blood does.
View MoreDean sent three photographs. All taken from street cameras in the forty-eight hours following Victor's call.The first was a man Sydney didn't recognize—broad, dark-haired, mid-thirties, standing outside her office building's rear entrance at seven in the morning. The second was a woman parked in a gray sedan two blocks from Jeremy's residence, photographed twice in the same position sixteen hours apart. The third was familiar: Aiden Cross, Liam's former beta, standing at the corner of the street where Sydney's storage unit was located—the one she had not visited since the night she had gone dark, over a year ago.Aiden. That one landed differently.Sydney forwarded all three images to Liam without comment and received a response in under four minutes: *I know all three. Give me six hours.*She sat in her office and gave him six hours.Jeremy landed from Tokyo at noon. She met him at the lobby, which she did not usually do—it was the kind of gesture that registered—and he looked at he
Liam found out about Victor's call in a way he hadn't expected—which was from Sydney herself.She had texted him. Not a long text. Four words: *We need to talk.*He stood in his basement apartment and read it four times. He was aware that his hands were not entirely steady. He typed back a single word—*When*—and then sat down on the edge of the bed and breathed carefully, the way his wolf required when it was pressing too hard against the surface.She replied: *Coffee. Public. Tomorrow morning. Eight a.m. Send me an address and I'll confirm.*He sent the address of a place two miles from her office—wide windows, good sightlines, busy enough that she would feel safe, quiet enough to hear each other. She confirmed in under a minute.He didn't sleep.He arrived fifteen minutes early and sat with his back to the wall, facing the door. He ordered a coffee he didn't drink.Sydney walked in at exactly eight. She was dressed for work but without the armor quality that her office clothes usual
The call came on a Thursday at six in the morning.Sydney was still in bed, and the screen read: UNKNOWN. She stared at it for three rings, her gut performing the specific kind of gymnastics that meant this was not a spam caller.She answered. "Who is this?""Someone who knew your father." The voice was male, older, with the particular cadence of a man who was accustomed to complete sentences carrying the weight of orders. "Sydney Hale, formerly of Beaumont City. Daughter of Thomas Hale, who ran from the Westfield Pack the year you were born."Sydney sat up. The room was dark. Jeremy was in Tokyo for a board meeting. She was alone and entirely awake."I don't know what you're talking about," she said, her voice flat."Of course you do." A pause. "My name is Victor Stone. I believe you've had some acquaintance with my son."The room felt smaller. She made herself breathe."I'm going to hang up," she said."Before you do." His tone did not change—no urgency, no threat. Which was the thr
Sydney made a mistake on a Wednesday.It was small. Almost nothing. She took a different route home than usual—a longer one, through the older part of the city where the streets narrowed and the lighting was amber and the coffee shop on the corner stayed open until midnight. She told herself it was because she wanted air. She did not tell herself the truth, which was that the crack Dean had put in her certainty with one name—Elara Stone, deceased—had been widening all week, and she needed to think.She was two blocks from the coffee shop when she heard footsteps.Unhurried. Not following, exactly. Parallel.She stopped outside a bookshop window and pretended to look at the display. In the reflection of the glass, she saw him. Liam, half a block back on the opposite sidewalk, hands in his jacket pockets, not looking at her.She could have walked faster. She could have called Dean. She could have crossed the street and made it obvious she knew, or ducked into any of three open establish
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