All Chapters of Desiree mixed genre collection : Chapter 1 - Chapter 8

Cordelia’s Pov You'd think after five years of living as a hermit in the Scottish Highlands, I'd have perfected the art of avoiding awkward situations. Apparently, I was wrong. Dead wrong. Standing in my cozy little pottery studio, clay-covered apron tied around my waist, I stared at the official-looking envelope that had somehow found its way to my deliberately obscure address.The return address made my stomach drop faster than a poorly thrown pot; Ravenshollow Pack Council."Brilliant," I muttered, wiping my hands on a tea towel that had seen better decades. "Just absolutely bloody brilliant."My name is Cordelia Blackthorne, and I used to be somebody important. Well, important-adjacent. The rejected mate of Alpha Lysander Ashworth, to be precise. These days, I prefer to think of myself as Delia the Potter, maker of questionably shaped mugs and seller of overpriced ceramic nonsense to tourists who think everything handmade is automatically charming.The letter sat there like a

Cordelia's Pov Following the sound of destruction through Ravenshollow's corridors was like following breadcrumbs in a particularly violent fairy tale. A Ming vase lay in pieces near the library door. Claw marks scored the wallpaper in the hallway. Someone had definitely been having a proper tantrum."Perhaps," Margaret Ashworth said with the sort of brittle composure that suggested she was one broken antique away from a nervous breakdown, "you might consider a more... measured approach.""Measured?" I paused outside what used to be the blue drawing room, listening to the low growls emanating from within. "Your son sounds like he's trying to redecorate using only his claws. I'm thinking measured might not be the appropriate response."Another crash. Something expensive meeting an untimely end."He's been like this for weeks," Rupert muttered, running a hand through his hair. "The pack healers can't get near him when he's in one of these states.""Right." I rolled my shoulders back a

Cordelia's Pov The ritual chamber beneath Ravenshollow was exactly as pretentious as I'd expected. Stone circles, ancient runes carved into the floor, candles arranged in patterns that probably meant something deeply significant to people who took this sort of thing seriously. The whole setup screamed 'ancient supernatural nonsense' with all the subtlety of a neon sign."This is where the original mating ceremony was supposed to take place," Cordy explained, lighting what had to be the hundredth candle. "Before Lysander decided to make his grand rejection speech in the main hall instead.""How thoughtful of him to choose a more public venue for my humiliation," I muttered, examining the intricate stonework. "Nothing says 'this isn't personal' quite like an audience of three hundred."Lysander stood in the centre of the circle, looking about as enthusiastic as a man facing execution. Which, given his current condition, might not be far from the truth. The journey down to the chamb

Cordelia's Pov The mating bond snapping into place was like being struck by lightning while simultaneously drowning in starlight. Every nerve in my body sang with the connection, every breath synchronized with his, every heartbeat echoing the rhythm of his own. It was overwhelming, intoxicating, and absolutely terrifying.The curse screamed.I felt it writhing in the spaces between our souls, fighting desperately against the flood of pure bonding energy that was systematically destroying its anchor points. Dark magic that had fed on rejection and pain for over a century found itself faced with the exact opposite—acceptance, connection, the fundamental rightness of two wolves recognizing their true mate."Hold on," I gasped, my consciousness spinning between my own body and Lysander's as the bond settled into place. "It's fighting back."That was putting it mildly. The curse was throwing everything it had at us, sending waves of phantom pain and manufactured memories designed to bre