LOGIN(Luca’s perspective)
I couldn't shake her words from my head.
"Are you happy now? Was this all just to get under Ethan's skin, or are you really just that cruel?"
Her voice echoed in my skull like a bad song stuck on repeat. Cruel? Did she actually think that about me? That I could mess with her feelings just to screw with Ethan? The sting of it cut deeper than she'd ever know. If she could see inside my head—if she knew the way she lived in my every thought—she'd never doubt that I meant every word I'd said about us being mates. This wasn't some game. It wasn't a twisted pleasure in messing with her emotions. She didn't understand, or maybe she just didn't want to.
Fine. If giving her the cold shoulder would make her figure out her feelings and make her realize that I am not just a stupid boy with a crush, then that's what I'd do. Even if it gutted me every time I saw her.
The last few days had been brutal. Each time she passed by, each time I caught her looking in my direction, it felt like someone was driving nails through my chest. There was this invisible pull between us—a bond that defied every shred of self-control I had. I'd catch her biting her lip or looking down when I walked by, like she was just as torn up by this as I was. But I couldn't give in. She needed to figure it out on her own.
The night we shared was burned into my memory. Her breath hitching, her heart racing, the way her lips felt under mine. We were tangled up on her bed, and how wet she was for me—my moon god, for one fleeting second, I let myself believe this was it. That she finally understood. My wolf roared inside me, desperate to claim her right then and there. Every instinct screamed to make her mine. But I forced myself to stop. If she weren't ready, it would ruin everything.
I pulled away, leaving her lying on her bed with wide, questioning eyes. Walking out of that room was the hardest thing I'd ever done.
When she cornered me in that closet, I almost lost it. She practically threw herself at me, her eyes wild with frustration. "What if I'm starting to figure it out?" she had whispered, her voice raw and unsteady.
It took everything in me not to drop the walls I'd built. I wanted her in every way possible. But I needed more. I needed certainty.
So I left her there, watching her frustration mix with confusion as I walked away. Seeing her unravel was supposed to give me satisfaction, but all it did was make me want to end this silent torture and pull her into my arms and tell her everything.
The next day at lunch, Marcus shot me a deadpan look. "Dude, this is getting ridiculous. You look like you're going through withdrawal. Just talk to her."
"Not how this works," I muttered, stabbing at my food.
He rolled his eyes. "Oh, right. Because playing these emotionally stunted games is so mature."
"Shut up, Marcus."
He grinned, leaning back with his hands behind his head. "Whatever, man. But you're both miserable, and everyone can see it."
I forced myself to take a bite, even though it tasted like cardboard. "She'll get there eventually."
Marcus snorted. "Or she'll punch you first and kiss you after."
A smirk tugged at my mouth despite myself. "Wouldn't mind it."
"Wow," Marcus said sarcastically. "So romantic. You're killing it, man."
My gaze drifted to her despite myself. She was across the cafeteria, staring down at her lunch, pushing food around her plate. She looked as miserable as I felt. This wasn't supposed to be like this. But if she didn't know what she wanted, I'd make her see what it felt like to lose me.
God, it was harder than I thought. Each time we brushed past each other in the hall, my resolve crumbled a little more. One morning, her arm brushed mine, and I swear sparks ran up my spine. Our eyes met, and for a split second, I couldn't look away.
Marcus groaned beside me. "Pathetic," he muttered.
I forced myself to break the gaze, glaring at Marcus as I walked on. My heart was still racing, my hands shaking with the effort.
Then lunch came, and everything went sideways.
Nick came barreling down the hallway toward our table, panic written all over his face. Nick was usually excitable, but this was different. Whatever he was about to say, I knew it wasn't good.
"Nick, what's got you buzzed?" I asked, trying to sound casual, even though the look on his face set me on edge.
He took a second to catch his breath, eyes darting around the room. "It's Quinn."
My chest tightened. "What about her?"
He swallowed, looking me dead in the eye. "She's... gone."
No. Please say No.
"What do you mean, gone?" My voice was sharper than I intended.
Nick shifted uneasily. "She didn't come to her last few classes. I checked with Kimmy and the others, and they haven't seen her either."
I pushed my chair back, the air around me turning tense and charged. "You're saying she just disappeared?"
"Maybe, yeah," he nodded, worry etched all over his face.
Marcus clapped me on the shoulder. "Alright, man, looks like you've got to stop playing hard-to-get and actually go after her. She's not just any girl to you, and you know it."
I clenched my fists, torn between frustration and the gnawing worry building in my gut. "I can't just... Look, I'm supposed to be teaching her something. I can't just—"
"LUCA," Marcus interrupted, his voice deadly serious. "Lessons or not, you can't ignore the fact that she's missing."
He was right. All my carefully laid plans, the boundaries I'd set to protect us both—none of it mattered. Because if anything happened to Quinn, I'd never forgive myself.
Without another word, I pushed away from the table, my heart pounding. I didn't have a plan, didn't know what I was going to say if I found her. But I had to go to make sure she was safe.
As we bolted down the hallways, my wolf stirred, restless and ready, sensing the fear I was trying to keep under control.
I just hoped I wasn't too late.
Team Luca or Team ‘he needs to grovel’? 💋
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







