LOGINThe bed is harder than I remember, unforgiving beneath my body.It doesn't have the luxurious softness of the feather mattress back in the Luna suite at Silver Lake. The sheets smell sharply of industrial detergent and accumulated dust, not the comforting blend of pine, fresh rain, and Zeke’s unique scent that I now crave more than oxygen. I clutch the intricately folded spell paper in my hand so tightly the magic feels warm against my palm, and I close my eyes, praying with every frantic beat of my heart that I’m not making the single biggest mistake of my entire life.Please work. Please, Goddess or whoever is up there, let this work.Isla slides into my thoughts, her voice a low murmur, both soft and sharp with suspicion all at once. "Are you absolutely sure this isn’t an elaborate trap? Malakai never, ever helps another being without a self-serving purpose."“I don’t care about his purpose,” I whisper into the darkness, my eyes still clamped shut, focusing only on the rhythm of
Malakai stretches his arms lazily over his head and grunts casually, as though we’re in the middle of a casual coffee meeting instead of a dark, soul-wrenching bargain concerning life and death.Then he turns his palms upward, holding them open. “Go on, Olivia,” he says, his voice mocking my hesitation. “Take them. The goods are yours.”I stare intently at his smooth, empty hands, my body coiled, but I don’t move a muscle. I half expect him to drop a handful of snakes or razor wire.He groans, the sound deeply exaggerated for theatrical effect. “Really, princess? I haven’t bothered to put teeth in my palms. Relax.” He reaches out unexpectedly and catches my right hand firmly before I can pull it back, his grip surprisingly tender for a second. “I absolutely won’t bite. Yet.”His touch is initially cold—cold like the bottom of a deep, forgotten lake—but his skin feels impossibly soft, almost silky. For a dangerous moment, the sheer contrast between his aura and his physical touch is co
The bitter wind cuts through my thin coat the second I step off the rattling public bus. My clothes feel foreign, too thin for the night chill.I can still smell the rain that must have fallen a few hours prior and it's a bit weird considering that it's mid February, so it's supposed to be a little bit of snow, though it didn't snow in Silver lake. But none of that here either. Climate change, huh?The world smells different here, not the perpetual damp earth and pine of Silver Lake, but more contaminated. Colder. A specific blend of dust and cheap human perfume.I stop dead in front of the familiar three-story brick building, my heart pounding a panicked rhythm against my ribs. This is it. My old dorm. My old life. The last place I was simply Olivia. No visions, no prophecies, no crushing weight of a pack on my shoulders, No wolf... hybrid...lycan princess burden.The main hallway smells precisely like I remember: stale coffee, industrial detergent, and dust motes dancing in the mea
“Naomi, can you braid my hair into two long strands?” I ask, settling onto the cushioned stool before the ornate mirror, feigning a tired indifference. The light is soft, illuminating the subtle tension in the room.Leila looks up instantly from folding a meticulous stack of towels on the dresser, her loyalty shining through. “I can certainly help, Luna. I’ve had years of practice with my sisters.”I shake my head gently, maintaining the soft voice. “No, thank you, Leila. Naomi’s hands are somehow softer and gentler than yours. Or Beatrice’s.”And I need to be close to her...to see what I can sense from her energy. To see just how dark it is, and gauge what she's capable of.Beatrice snorts loudly from across the room, where she’s elbow-deep in my massive wardrobe, sorting garments for the next season. “That’s only because she’s lazy,” she mutters under her breath, tossing a velvet dress onto the bed with unnecessary force. “Her hands haven’t seen a single day’s worth of hard, hones
“Wait…” I gasp, my voice catching high and sharp in my throat, coming out strained. “What did you just say?”The pack messenger’s face is tragically pale, his hands trembling violently as he clutches the rolled scroll to his chest, the bad news too heavy for him to bear alone. He swallows hard, painfully, before repeating himself, slower this time, as though enunciating the devastating facts out loud makes them more real, more official.“A strange sickness, Luna. It’s spreading rapidly across the neighboring Alpha packs, not just the outer communities. Wolves are collapsing and going unconscious. The specialized healers who have managed to examine the afflicted say they’re…" he gulps, "they’re falling into deep, unresponsive comas.”A ball of pain shoots up my chest and I stumble backward a single step, my hand flying up to soothe the pain in my chest.My heartbeat stutters wildly, skipping beats. The air feels too thin to breathe, yet too heavy all at once, crushing me.Around me, t
The meeting room is a storm of frantic, overlapping voices when I walk in, exhausted but driven by a core of pure, desperate focus.Roman stands squarely at the center of the organized chaos, his deep voice carrying the undeniable weight of command, ordering every enforcer within sight. “I want every inch of Silver Lake searched. The woods, the tunnels, the hidden bunkers, and a hundred miles beyond the borders. I want Erica found, alive or dead. Bring me answers, not excuses.”The enforcers bow their heads instantly, already moving toward the doors. The air is heavy with urgency, fear, and the intense anxiety of a pack suddenly without its Alpha.I fold my arms tightly across my chest and lean against the sturdy doorframe, ignoring the exhaustion that wants to pull me to the floor. “When was the last time anyone actually saw her?”One of the younger, more honest enforcers—Eli, I remember his name is—steps forward nervously, avoiding my eyes. “Three days ago, Luna. We were patrolling







