The Alpha's Fated Kiss
“The Heartstone wasn’t a relic. It was a protocol. Lenape, Dutch, Aztec, doesn’t matter. It’s been here since the island was stolen, feeding on betrayal, on blood, on deals. Javier’s loan, Victor’s wager, my rewrite, they were all inputs. The petal’s the output. It’s not after our hearts. It’s after our story.”
Mamá’s laugh was a dry, broken thing, blood bubbling at her lips. “Our story? Mijo, it can have mine. I’m done.”
The petal moved. It didn’t float. It crawled, legs sprouting from its edges; spindly, insectile, red as vein. It scuttled toward me, fast, too fast. I stumbled back, tripping over a beam. Elena slashed with the knife, severing a leg. Ichor sprayed, hissing where it touched
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