Griffin's Point of View
I sit in the shadows beneath the trees, perched on a thick branch like a predator waiting for the right moment to strike. The royal wing of the pack house glows faintly in the distance, four stories of arrogance and blood stained power wrapped in polished stone and gold trims. Every light that flickers on behind those high windows makes my jaw tighten. Lycan King Alpha Jensen. Even thinking his name tastes like iron on my tongue. He took my father from me, ripped him away like he was nothing. I was eight years old, and I watched the king’s guards tear our home apart just because my father dared to say what no one else would: that werewolves should not be treated like equals. That they were no more than the Lycans' shadows. For that, he died screaming. I remember his eyes, defiant even as they dimmed. Jensen calls it justice. I call it what it was: murder. For fifteen years I’ve worn the mask. I've been loyal. Quiet. Controlled. I've trained beside his soldiers. I've bowed my head. Waited. Knowing one day, he’ll bleed. But it won’t be enough just to kill him. No, he needs to be broken. And now, I might finally have the key. Her. The rumors reached me months ago, quiet whispers, exchanged in breathless hushes when they think no one’s listening. The princess. The king’s disappointment. The werewolf girl born to royalty. I’d almost dismissed them as nonsense. Until I saw her. Aria. She isn’t what I expected. Not at all. She's small, yes, but there's something wild and dangerous beneath the surface. Like a storm pretending to be a breeze. She doesn’t strut around the pack grounds like royalty. She barely lives here. She’s always watching everyone, never quite present, never quite one of them. I know that look. I’ve worn it too. And every few nights, like clockwork, she vanishes. I shift my weight slightly on the branch, my eyes locked on the fourth floor balcony across the clearing. The doors are open. The silk curtains stir in the night air. Come on… I wait a few more minutes, then there it is. Movement. She steps out into the moonlight, climbing over the balcony ledge like it’s nothing, like she was born for this kind of escape. Her hair falls in waves around her shoulders, catching the light. And what she’s wearing, damn. A black dress so tight it looks like a second skin. So short it barely qualifies as clothing. She lands lightly, silently, barefoot, and stands there for a moment, her shoulders back, her chin high, like she owns the darkness. My breath catches, just for a second. She doesn’t even look around. She just runs. Not out of fear. Out of freedom. Her legs move with practiced grace as she disappears into the trees, fast and sure, vanishing down that same path I’ve seen her take before. Towards the human town. Towards the noise and the lights and the place where no one cares who her father is. I stay still. Silent. So that’s who she is. The Lycan king’s daughter, but nothing like him. Running from a life most would kill for. So beautifully, blissfully unaware of what she’s walking into. I smirk. Let them whisper about the rebellious princess. Let her keep sneaking off to her precious little club in the human town. Let her feel untouchable. Because I’m watching now. And soon, Aria won’t just be Jensen’s weakness. She’ll be mine to use. To break. To turn against him in the one way he’ll never see coming. I climb down from the tree slowly, quietly, my boots sinking into the moss. Time to see how far the daughter will fall… before the king comes crashing down with her. The forest air is cool against my skin as I step out from the cover of trees, moving with the quiet confidence of someone who’s been hunting all his life. My boots press into the moss covered ground without a sound. I glance once over my shoulder, back towards the pack house glowing in the distance. No alarms. No guards. No one saw her leave. Good. I make my way down the back trail I’ve used more times than anyone would guess. It winds towards the old service road, half overgrown and long forgotten by the rest of the pack. That’s where I parked, far enough that no one hears the engine, close enough that I can follow quickly if I need to. The truck waits in the shadows, matte black and quiet as death. I climb in, shut the door, and the engine rumbles to life beneath my hands. Low. Controlled. Just like me. I don’t bother with music. Instead, I drive through the winding roads that stretch from the edge of the territory into the outer limits of the human town. The headlights cut across the darkness like twin knives, illuminating signs and passing trees, then the first hints of civilization, dim storefronts, cracked pavement, the flicker of distant neon. It doesn’t take long to find the club. I know the route by now. Eclipse. A pulsing heart in the middle of an otherwise forgettable town. Loud, chaotic, and crawling with humans who think the worst thing in the dark is a drunk driver or a broken heart. Idiots. I pull up across the street and kill the engine. And there it is, just where I expected it. The motorcycle. Parked right out front, angled towards the curb like it belongs there. Sleek, black, and customized with just enough rust and character to scream Alaric. Her best friend. Her shield. The only one she ever seems to let close. My fingers tighten around the steering wheel. They’re already here. I step out of the truck, lock it, and cross the street casually, my hood drawn up over my head. The bouncer barely glances at me. I’m tall, broad, confident, no fake ID or sweet talk needed. I give a nod, and the door opens. The music hits me like a wave. Inside, it’s a different world. Strobe lights slash through the dark, cutting the crowd into flashes of color and movement. Sweat and perfume and adrenaline mix in the air. People sway and twist on the dance floor, faces blurred by light and shadow. A thousand heartbeats thrum around me. But I only care about one. I spot her instantly. Aria. She’s in the center of the chaos, dancing like the music is part of her bloodstream. That same tight black dress, clinging to every curve. Her hair wild. Her eyes bright, sharp even in the flashing lights. She moves with abandon, her body fluid and unafraid, lost in the rhythm. Alaric is close, of course he is, but not touching her this time. Not like the other times. I keep to the edge, sliding between bodies without drawing attention. Shadow to shadow. Always watching. Just watching... There’s something fascinating about her. She shouldn’t matter, just a girl born into power she doesn’t deserve. Just a werewolf in a Lycan’s world. But she does matter. Because she’s the crack in the armor. The loose thread in the king’s perfect legacy. And I intend to pull it. So I watch. Patiently. Focused. Calculating. The night is still young, and I’m just getting started. The bass is pounding hard enough to shake the walls. Lights flash across the dance floor in jagged bursts, blue, red, white, like lightning caught in a bottle. I lean against a dark corner column, half-shrouded in shadow, my arms crossed as I track her through the crowd. Aria. She moves like a flame in a storm, untouchable, wild, alive. For someone born under the weight of a throne, she wears rebellion like it’s stitched into her skin. There’s a bite in the way she sways, like the world burned her and she decided to dance on the ashes. And then he shows up. Alaric. He slides in behind her like it’s the most natural thing in the world. No hesitation. No doubt. His hands find her waist. Her arms loop around his neck. They move together, like they’re one rhythm, one heartbeat. He's too close. My jaw tightens. I tell myself it’s because she’s important, a key piece in the plan, a pawn with royal blood and a mind sharp enough to use. But that doesn’t explain the heat rising in my chest, or the fact that I can’t look away. It doesn’t explain why I suddenly want to rip him off of the dance floor, off of her and remind him that proximity doesn’t equal possession. What the hell is this? I shift my weight uncomfortably, my arms still folded, willing the flicker of emotion to die before it turns into something dangerous. “Hey, handsome,” a voice purrs beside me. I glance to my left. A girl, blonde, tall, legs that go on forever, squeezed into a neon pink dress so tight it looks painted on. She gives me a smile like it’s a weapon. One manicured hand rests on her hip; the other trails her fingertips up my arm like she thinks she’s already won. “Why are you hiding in the dark?” she asks. “Someone like you should be out there, leading the party.” I don’t answer. My eyes flick back to the dance floor. Aria’s laughing at something Alaric said. Her head tilts back, and that sound, genuine, raw, unguarded, cuts through the music like it was meant only for him. The blonde presses closer to me. “You don’t talk much, huh? That’s okay. I like a challenge.” My hand lifts without thought, catching her wrist just before it lands on my chest. Not hard, but firm enough to make her blink. “I’m not interested.” She huffs. “You don’t even know my name.” “I don’t need to.” My tone is sharp. Cold. But I never take my eyes off Aria, not for a second. The blonde lingers, hesitating, maybe thinking I’ll change my mind. I don’t. After a beat, she mutters something under her breath and saunters off, her heels stabbing into the floor with a little more force than before. Good. One less distraction. I exhale slowly, dragging a hand down my jaw. What is it about her? She’s nothing like the others. Not polished. Not predictable. And yet, even surrounded by noise and light and movement, she commands the space like a queen in exile, unaware of the power she radiates. Or maybe she knows, and just doesn’t care. That makes her dangerous. It should make her expendable. But as I watch her smile at him, as something hot and irrational coils tighter in my chest, I realize I’m not just watching anymore. I’m feeling. And that’s a problem. Because feelings complicate plans. And I don’t have room for complications. Not when the king still breathes.Griffen's Point of ViewThe sunlight is warm as we step out of the shop, groceries in hand, laughter still lingering between us from Aria’s last joke. My hand brushes against hers as we walk, the moment light and easy. And I feel truly happy for the first time in forever.But then I see him.Maddox.He is across the street, just exiting a hardware store, talking to someone I do not recognize. Instinctively, I stop mid step. My entire body stiffens, like a wire pulled too tight. The bags in my hands creak as I grip them harder.Aria bumps into me slightly, glancing up with a soft, curious smile. “Griffen?”I do not answer. I do not even look at her. My eyes are locked on Maddox, my heart thudding hard in my chest now, not from affection or joy, but adrenaline. His presence is like a toxin in the air. A threat.He has not seen us. Not yet.“Get in the truck,” I say, my voice low, and tense.She blinks up at me, confused. “What is going on?”“Aria, please... just get in.”She does not mo
Griffen's Point of ViewThe soft morning light filters in through the curtains, painting golden lines across the room. I blink slowly as I wake up, the warmth beside me more comforting than any sunrise. Aria is still curled against my side, her arm draped lazily across my chest, her breathing deep and even.I lie there for a moment, completely still, soaking it all in.I could get used to this.The thought settles quietly in my chest, undeniable and certain. The calm. The closeness. Waking up next to her like this. There is something about it that just feels right.I shift just enough to press a soft. kiss to her forehead. She stirs slightly, her lips brushing against my shoulder before she opens her eyes, meeting mine with a sleepy smile.“Morning,” she whispers.“Morning,” I murmur back, and lean in to kiss her. It is lazy and unhurried, the kind of kiss you only share when there is no rush to be anywhere but here.Eventually, we pull away. “Food?” I ask.She nods her head, stretchi
Leo's Point of ViewAs I step out of my Dad’s office, the door clicks shut behind me, and I am already reaching into my pocket. My fingers close around my phone and I pull it out in one swift motion. My chest feels heavy. The worry that has been building over the past three days is now fully settled in my bones and it feels cold and sharp.I swipe across the screen and open my contacts, searching for Alaric’s name. My thumb hovers over the screen for a few seconds before I hit call.The line rings once.And a second time.Then I hear his voice.“Hello, Leo? Is everything okay?”I shake my head before I even speak, even though he cannot see me. My voice is low and tight. “Hey. No... we still do not have any news on Aria’s whereabouts.”There is a short pause on the line, not long but enough to hear the tension pull tighter between us.“Would you mind meeting me at the Dark Moon pack house?” I ask. “I could use your help looking for her.”His response comes instantly, firm and clear.“I
Rosalee's Point of ViewI sit stiffly in one of the high backed chairs across from Jensen’s desk, my hands clasped tightly in my lap. The air in the office feels heavier than usual, thick with worry and the unsaid things that have been building up between us for days now.“She has never been gone this long,” Jensen says, breaking the silence first. His voice is low, but not emotionless. There is a tightness in it, the same tightness I have been feeling in my chest since the morning we found out Aria had disappeared.I nod my head slowly, my throat tightening as guilt begins to creep in, uninvited but persistent. “I know,” I whisper, my voice barely audible. I glance towards the window, hoping, foolishly, that maybe I will see her walking back through the trees, angry but safe.Then I add, more quietly, “Do you think we were too hard on her?”Jensen leans back in his chair, his expression unreadable. That alone makes my heart beat faster. He has always been the one who held steady, eve
Griffen's Point of View It is just past noon, and the cabin has fallen into that kind of peaceful silence only late morning can offer. The soft drone of the TV fills the space, some movie neither of us are fully watching plays on the TV. Aria is stretched out across the couch, her head resting comfortably in my lap, her legs are draped over the couch armrest like it is the most natural thing in the world. I absentmindedly twirl a strand of her hair around my fingers, letting its softness slide between them before curling it again. She has not said anything in a while, just the occasional soft hum or chuckle when something mildly amusing happens on screen. Her body is relaxed, her breathing slow. She looks perfectly at peace, and if I am honest, I do not want to move either. Then, suddenly, she shifts a little, turning her face up towards me. “I want something to eat,” she says, her voice soft and casual. “How about you?” I glance down at her and nod my head, my fingers still
Aria's Point of View Griffen kisses me like the moment is bigger than both of us, slow at first, then deeper, more certain. His free hand settles at my waist, fingers pressing gently through the lace, and then, without effort, he lifts me. I gasp softly against his mouth, arms looping around his neck as he draws me in. My legs instinctively wrap around his waist, and we are still kissing, still tethered, like breaking contact would break whatever is forming between us. He moves his free hand briefly, blindly placing the spatula on the counter without looking, never once faltering. His other arm stays strong around me, holding me as if I weigh nothing, like I am something precious. My heart beats wildly, not out of nerves, but out of knowing. Griffen finally breaks the kiss, just enough to breathe, our foreheads resting together, the space between us charged and fragile. His voice is low, a rumble I feel more than hear. “Are you sure?” My eyes flutter open. He is so close I