LOGIN“Quinn, wait…” he called after me.
I continued walking, ignoring his plea for me to wait. I was certainly not going to wait. I had enough. We hardly spent time together, and if I was going to endure his insecurities while we were in each other’s company, then this was a relationship that needed to end. It was dark out and the walk home was an hour away, but I was too angry to care. I barely walked two miles when a car slowed down and parked next to me. Of course it would be Luca. Who else?
“Go away!" I yelled as his window rolled down. I kept walking, but he matched my pace, creeping along beside me.
“You know I’m not going anywhere,” he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
“What do you even want?” I snapped.
“I’ve told you over and over—it’s not safe to walk around here at night, especially with something out there looking for you. Get in the car,” he ordered.
“No.”
“Get.in.the.car!”
“NO!” I shouted and started walking quicker.
He sighed, and before I knew it, he’d swung the door open and jumped out. I barely had time to gasp before Luca grabbed me around the waist, hoisted me over his shoulder, and started carrying me back to his car.
“Luca! Put me down! You’re insane!” I shrieked, flailing my arms and kicking my legs, but he was unbothered.
He chuckled, all too pleased with himself. “Didn’t want to do it this way, but you left me no choice. Now behave, or I’ll toss you into the trunk instead.”
“You wouldn’t dare!” I spat, but the way he was so calmly carrying me over his shoulder like I weighed nothing made it hard to believe he wouldn't. I kept struggling, but it was like trying to wrestle with a boulder.
Luca finally got to the car, opened the door with his free hand, and plopped me down into the passenger seat. Before I could try to escape, he leaned over me, buckling me in with a dramatic click. I crossed my arms, my face burning with embarrassment and frustration. He just smirked, backing away slowly, hands up in mock surrender.
“See? Not so hard, is it?” he asked, getting back behind the wheel and starting the engine. “You can be mad all you want, but you’re still coming home safe.”
“Oh, don’t you dare act like some kind of hero right now,” I huffed, glaring out the window. “You know, there’s this thing called ‘respecting people’s boundaries.’ You might’ve heard of it.”
“Respect, boundaries, yeah, yeah,” he muttered, clearly not caring. “If that’s what you want to call wandering around at night in a dark part of town by yourself.”
I clenched my fists, not giving him the satisfaction of looking his way. “You’re impossible.”
“Oh, I’ve been called worse,” he said, grinning like this was all just hilarious.
I sulked in silence the rest of the way, determined to ignore him, but he kept glancing over, his grin somehow growing even bigger.
“What?” I snapped, finally looking at him.
“Oh, nothing,” he said, shrugging like it was no big deal. “Just enjoying how cute you look when you’re angry.”
“C-cute?” I stammered, taken aback. “You can’t just... throw me in your car and then call me cute! That’s not how this works!”
He raised a brow. “Works for me.”
I crossed my arms tighter, ignoring how my pulse had started racing. I wasn't sure if it was from anger or something else, but either way, he wasn’t getting to me. No way.
When we finally pulled up to my house, I bolted out of the car the second it stopped, practically sprinting to the front door. But, of course, he was right behind me, following me up the porch steps with that infuriating smirk still plastered on his face.
“Do you mind?” I asked, spinning around. “I can take it from here, thanks.”
“Don’t be rude. I’m a guest. Won't you invite me in?” he asked, feigning hurt.
I rolled my eyes and tried to close the door on him, but before I could argue, he’d already opened the door and stepped inside. “Ugh! Do what you want.” It would be too much effort to chase him away, so I left him at the door hoping he would leave, but no, he followed me to my room. He had no sense of boundries.
We made it to my room, and I turned to tell him to leave, but he was standing way closer than I expected. The space between us seemed to shrink until it was barely there at all.
He was still smirking, his eyes flickering down to my lips for just a second before locking with mine again. “You’re so stubborn, you know that?”
“I... you’re one to talk,” I stammered, my voice softer than I wanted it to be. He was still close, too close, but I didn’t move. I couldn’t seem to make myself look away.
“Maybe,” he whispered, his voice barely above a breath, his eyes never leaving mine as he leaned in. And then, before I could even process what was happening, his lips brushed against mine.
My heart leapt up into my throat, and for a second, I didn’t push him away. The kiss was soft, hesitant, like he wasn’t sure I’d let him, but then something in me snapped, and I shoved him back, my face heating up.
“Luca! Stop—”
But before he could say anything, a shadow moved by the doorway, and my stomach dropped. Standing there, his face unreadable, was Ethan, watching us with an expression I’d never seen before.
I support women’s rights… and wrongs. 👑
The sun was setting low behind the towering Blackthorn estate, casting streaks of amber and crimson across the sky. The place looked more like a fortress than a home, with its wrought-iron gates and endless rows of perfectly trimmed hedges. My heart was already in my throat, but when I saw her walking toward us, I felt my chest tighten like a vice.Casey.Her smile was polite but sharp, the kind that felt like it was carved from marble—cold, unyielding, and fake as hell. She strolled up with the grace of someone who knew she was untouchable, her sleek navy-blue dress hugging her figure just enough to be classy but not so much as to be vulgar. Her eyes flicked to me, lingering for a moment longer than necessary, and I knew she was assessing me. Calculating.“They’re waiting for you inside,” Casey said, her eyes darting to Cale like she wasn’t sure if she should curtsy or bow. Her gaze barely touched me. To her, I wasn’t a threat. Not yet, anyway.Cale’s grip on my arm tightened as if h
Being "perfect" was never something I aimed for, but here I am, sitting in a high-end café dressed in a sleek beige outfit that hugs every inch of me like a second skin. My legs are crossed just so, my posture elegant and deliberate. The soft leather of the chair beneath me feels too plush, like it knows I don't belong here. But I make it look like I do. My every movement is measured, calculated, and graceful. I lift my coffee cup to my lips, pinky slightly raised, and sip slowly. My eyes stay forward, focused, even though I can feel the stares of passersby through the glass window.They always look. Men. Women. Even the baristas try to be subtle but fail miserably. I can’t blame them. It’s the aura I’ve built. I’m not just another woman sitting in a café. I’m the Luna. Cale’s Luna.The girl who once flinched at the mention of his name is gone. She’s buried so deep I doubt I could dig her up if I tried. This version of me? She walks beside him into meetings with alphas of other packs,
The smell of rosewater and jasmine clung to my skin, the oils still fresh from the omega women’s hands. My skin felt slick and soft, like I’d been molded from wax and dipped in honey. They’d scrubbed every inch of me, their faces blank as they worked. No words. No kindness. Just hands rough from duty. My hair was pulled back, loose curls spilling over my shoulders, and the dress they’d given me—if it could be called a dress—was nothing more than a slip of silk clinging to my body like a second skin. Every part of me was on display. Every flaw. Every scar. Every reminder of what had been done to me.But they didn’t see that. No one did. Not anymore.I caught my reflection in the mirror across the room and barely recognized myself. Pale blue eyes, sharp and unyielding. Not the dull, lifeless stare I’d seen for years. My gaze flickered with something I hadn’t seen in a long time. Control. Purpose.He thinks he’s testing me.“Trinity,” I whispered in my mind, my lips unmoving."I’m here,
CONTENT WARNING: This chapter contains contents of violence that may disturb sensitive readers and can be triggering for survivors of trauma and abuse.(Quinn’s perspective)Pain used to be a constant. Not the kind that fades after a few hours or even days. No, this was the kind that buried itself so deep in your bones that it felt like it would be part of you forever. But now… I don’t feel it anymore.The first time I noticed it, I thought I’d gone numb. It wasn’t a slow process either—one day, I was screaming and thrashing under their blows; the next, I just... stopped. The barbed wire bat hit my ribs with a sickening thwack, but I didn’t flinch. The guard cursed under his breath and swung it again, harder this time. Still nothing. My skin tore, and my bones ached, but there was no reaction. No sound. No satisfaction for them.I’d won that day. Not because I fought back. No, because I didn’t. They couldn’t break me anymore. Their weapons, their fists, their fire—none of it mattered.
(Luca’s perspective)I used to believe in things like love. Loyalty. Humanity. I thought those things made us strong—made me strong.They didn’t. They made me weak. A fool. A dreamer who thought he could keep his world intact with hope and sheer determination.But hope is a liar.It whispered in my ear for months, telling me she’d come back. That I’d find her. That Quinn would be okay.She wasn’t.I knew it the moment I burned the last picture of her. The edges curled under the flame, the image of her face shrinking into black ash. That photograph was the final piece of her—the last link to the boy I used to be.The boy who searched for her.The boy who loved her.Gone.I stood there, staring into the fire as the smoke curled into the night sky. My hand tightened around the lighter until my knuckles turned white. This was it. The final step.I let the lighter fall into the flames, and with it, I let Quinn go.I used to think I was different from my father. That I could lead this pack
CONTENT WARNING: This chapter contains contents of violence that may disturb sensitive readers and can be triggering for survivors of trauma and abuse.(Quinn’s perspective)I lay on the cold stone floor, the chill biting into my skin, but it was nothing compared to the ache in my bones. Every part of me throbbed, a dull reminder of what I had become—a prisoner, a plaything for the pack to break.My breathing was shallow, each inhale laced with pain. Ribs—probably cracked. Lips—split and crusted with dried blood. Eye—swollen shut. The room stank of iron, sweat, and fear. My fear. Their victory.They’d beaten me again today, just like yesterday. And the day before that. And the day before that.At first, I thought I’d die from it. I hoped I would. Death would’ve been a mercy, an escape. But no. My cursed blood healed me. Every single time. Bones snapped back into place, bruises faded, and cuts stitched themselves together. I was the perfect punching bag—never staying broken long enough







