LOGINAspen's POVThe twine loosens beneath my fingers, slipping apart with far less resistance than I expect, and for several seconds I do nothing but stare at it where it lies curled against the brown paper. I could still stop. I could retie the bow, carry the parcel downstairs and leave it beside the communal bins, pretending it had never appeared outside my door. That would be the sensible thing to do when an unknown person somehow knows where I live. Sensible has kept me alive this long. Sensible is checking the lock twice before bed, keeping the curtains closed after dark and never giving strangers more information than they need. Yet the parcel is already inside my home, sitting beneath the warm kitchen light while Willow sleeps safely down the hallway. Whatever danger it contains has already crossed my threshold, and refusing to look will not make it disappear. Taking a steadying breath, I peel back the first fold.Whoever wrapped the box had taken their time, smoothing the paper t
AspenThere it is again.That stupid feeling.The one that starts as nothing more than the prickling sensation at the back of my neck before slowly creeping down my spine, settling somewhere between my shoulder blades until it becomes impossible to ignore. It isn't painful. It isn't even enough to make me panic anymore. It's just... there. Like someone standing a little too close in a queue or that strange feeling you get when you're convinced you've forgotten something important, but no matter how hard you think, you can't figure out what it is.I tighten my grip on Willow's little hand as we wait for the traffic lights to change, pretending to watch the cars roll by while my eyes casually scan the people around us. A woman in a bright yellow coat wrestles with a pushchair. An older man argues with the parking meter as though it's personally offended him. Two teenagers laugh so loudly the entire street could probably hear them.Nobody is looking at me.Nobody seems remotely intereste
Aspens POVEleven months agoPeople always assume working in a coffee shop means you spend your day drinking overpriced lattes and chatting with customers. They're wrong. Ninety percent of my shift is spent steaming milk, pretending I didn't hear someone ask for a cappuccino with no foam, wiping down tables that somehow become sticky five seconds after I've cleaned them, and wondering whether caffeine should count as a personality trait. Personally, I think it should. Some people have hobbies. I have coffee, books and an unhealthy habit of mentally redesigning small businesses in my head that don't belong to me.I glance up at the clock above the pastry cabinet before reaching for another takeaway cup. Three more hours. Three more hours until I can lock the till, head to the back of the shop and see Willow, and then head back to our tiny flat and decide whether I can justify putting the heating on or if another blanket will do the job instead. Payday isn't until Friday, the electricit
Thank you for reading Sierra and Nikolai's story.What started as, "I'll just write this one book..." quickly turned into me sitting at my laptop at ridiculous hours because these two refused to cooperate with any of my plans. Every time I thought I'd figured them out, they'd prove me wrong. Characters are rude like that.I honestly didn't expect their story to grow the way it did. Scenes that were supposed to be short became whole chapters, characters who were only meant to pop in for a moment decided they wanted more page time, and before I knew it, Sierra and Nikolai's journey had become so much bigger than I first imagined.They challenged each other, frustrated each other, and somehow managed to drag me along for the ride too. I laughed writing some scenes, stared blankly at my screen during others, and there were definitely moments where I had to walk away because these two were making my life unnecessarily difficult.But that's probably the best part about writing. Sometimes th
Sierra's POVSix months.It's strange how quickly life changes without you even noticing it happening.One day you're counting the hours until you can go back to a dungeon bedroom, not talking to anyone and feeling so lonely and in pain that you wish everything would slow down or stop completely, or you are counting down the hours until your son arrives, wondering whether you're ready to become somebody's mother, and the next you're chasing a six-month-old little boy across a blanket because he's somehow decided rolling is the greatest invention known to mankind. All the while changing his nappy.Every single day Noah discovers something new, whether it's his own feet, the sound of his laugh or the fact his father is apparently the funniest person to ever exist. I could spend an entire afternoon pulling ridiculous faces only for him to blink at me like I've lost my mind, yet Nikolai walks into the room, lifts one eyebrow, and our son erupts into the biggest fit of giggles imaginable.
Sierra's POVThe hours seem to lose all meaning after that.Time becomes something measured in quiet encouragement, gentle smiles and the squeeze of Nikolai's hand every single time another contraction rolls through me. At some point darkness settles outside the hospital windows, replacing the warm afternoon sunshine with the soft glow of lights scattered across the pack grounds in the distance. Somewhere beyond these walls, life is carrying on. Families are heading home after the festival, children are probably already asleep after eating far too much sugar, and the pack is still celebrating a day that somehow became even more memorable than anyone expected. It makes me smile between breaths, knowing they'll all have a story to tell for years to come. Trust me to wait until the middle of a festival to decide it was time to bring my son into the world."I'm beginning to think he's as stubborn as his father," I mutter, earning a quiet laugh from everyone in the room.Nikolai looks almo
Sierra's POV (12-year-old Sierra's POV)Is there a thing in life where you can erase all the bad? Replace it with the good and be done with it? A horrible, painful memory? A memory you remember and a memory you know. I wish there were certain memories I didn't know about. Certain things can turn
Nikolai's POV "What happens if she doesn't wake up?" I ask my mom as she hands me a coffee. One good thing about having a gamma and a beta is that when I'm not at the pack house, they are and they are decent at what they do. "With what?" I point to the bed. It's been 39 hours since she cam
Nikolai's POV"This is all my fault" I mutter to myself as I stand from the plastic chair for what feels like the 50th time this last hour. Sierra went into surgery 4 hours ago. 4 hours of painful waiting. Not knowing what's happening. "Son. Don't go beating yourself up over this. What's don
Sierra's POV (Right before the accident)Pain laces my heart. I don't want to feel this weak. Vulnerable. Useless. But when someone makes you think those things, hurting or not, it sticks. The pain and humiliation stick and I have a very hard time allowing someone to take that control from me now.







