I put off telling Tristan that I’ve assured his death just as I have mine for as long as possible. Maybe for too long. A commotion outside my window snags my attention on the second morning…the day we’re supposed to leave. My ears prick at the familiar sound of Tristan’s voice, his fox growling. “Octavia!” I flinch, moving toward the window. Throwing it open, I lean out, catching sight of my best friend trapped behind two of our guards. His face is bright red, green eyes smoldering. Beside him, two bags have been unceremoniously dumped onto the gravel. “When were you going to tell me?” he demands, looking more furious than I’ve ever seen him. “Um…right now?” I bite my lower lip. “How are your bags packed already?” Tristan growls again, shoving the guards off him. They glance at me, only stepping back when I give a slight nod. Snatching up his bags, Tristan disappears inside. I hurry to my bedroom door, waiting. It doesn’t take him long. The door is thrown open, smacking again
I have just a few hours before my bride-to-be touches down. A few hours until I have to don the mask and play the game. Octavia has no clue what is in store for her here, but I know she isn’t stupid. She knows she’s flying right into danger, right into my hands. I check over the foyer one last time, making sure everything is in order before exiting the new home. I’d had it built a few months ago, not knowing how this would play out but knowing I had to make it work. Because if it didn’t… There’s no use thinking about that. Failing is out of the question. Slipping down the front steps, I ignore the car waiting in the driveway. There’s no need for it. I yank my shirt over my head, tossing it to the side. My pants follow, left behind in the soft grass. Changing is painful. My bones crack, skin stretching over the new form, itching to the point of driving anyone mad. I’m used to it now. My paws hit the dirt and I take off through the trees. The forest is beautiful in the afternoo
I remain silent for the rest of the trip. Usually, Tristan would be chatting away, refusing to shut up for any amount of time, but I think the heavy weight of what we’d be facing is too heavy even for him. Dominic isn’t much of a talker. He sits like he has a rod shoved up his ass in one of the chairs of the private jet, not even bothering to check if I have everything I need. But, to be fair, with a jet this nice and a private hostess, I guess he assumes I’ll be well taken care of. The plane isn’t large, but expensive enough to leave us some room. Two couches line the sides near the front, with tables and reclining chairs locked down near the back. A curtain separates the hostess’ area from the passenger part, a place that clearly has endless amounts of wine and beer, both of which we all order. Except Dominic, of course. I finish off the beer, tossing it back without a care in the world. I suppose I shouldn’t show up tipsy, but then again, I can’t bring myself to really give a shi
Stepping into the house feels surreal. The inside is cozy, with ash floors and accents. Forest green rugs have been carefully placed in the hall and open living room to the left. Everything is so bright and open, with floor-to-ceiling windows along the walls. Chandeliers of glass hang above our heads, unlit. I stare, speechless. This is nothing like what I expected. It’s not as large as my home, nor nearly as grand, but it has a certain charm to it. It’s almost like how I would have decorated my own home if I’d had one. Light and open, with hints of nature yet clean and cozy. The hard thud of a bag hitting the floor shakes me from whatever spell the house had put me under. Dominic stands waiting, one brow raised. “He’s waiting for you in the dining room. Whenever you’re ready.” Despite his words, Dominic doesn’t wait. Taking the lead, he heads down the long hall toward the back of the house. Tristan and I exchange sharp looks. Leaning in closer, he drops his voice so low that e
If I had stayed in that house a moment longer, I would have done something I’d soon regret. Seeing him walk in behind her, like a pet on a leash, had almost been enough for me to lose control. Almost. I’d sensed the bond as soon as they’d walked through the door. It had been unmistakable. The sense of…belonging. The pull. The magnetic feeling that you had found that one person to call home. The only saving grace for Octavia and the little fox she calls a friend was that I hadn’t felt the Mate Bond emanating from her. And, either she was a spectacular actress, or she really hadn’t known her childhood best friend had been in love with her forever. I chalk it up to the latter. Octavia doesn’t seem like the type to be able to control her emotions that well. She is nothing like Elora. Which is both a very good, and very bad, thing. I need to get away. Not even twenty minutes and already she’s forced me out. Her presence is alarmingly heavy, a magnet I can’t resist. And that’s
Restless, I sleep for about three hours before deciding it’s too strange. This is my room but…not. When I look out the window, it’s not the Georgia trees and gravel drive of my home I see. As kind as it is to at least make an effort to make me feel more comfortable, it only ended up pissing me off in the end. How dare he try to pretend that this is anything more than it is? It doesn’t matter if the Prince turns this entire house into my family home or plants southern trees in a northern forest—it can’t conceal the truth. The more I think about it, the angrier I become. If he thinks I’m just some pampered princess who would accept any act of kindness…well, then he wasn’t the brilliant strategist everyone claims he is. War is one thing. A woman is an entirely different problem. When the knock comes in the morning, I’m already up and dressed. Forgoing my usual comfort clothes, I know I have to make a statement this morning. Red usually is my best color, but today, it makes me look e
I wake up with an uneasy feeling, trapped inside my small, dimly lit room. The walls seem to close in on me, and I can't shake the restlessness that gnaws at my insides. Octavia—the Princess I've been assigned to protect—constantly occupies my thoughts. She's the reason I'm stuck in this suffocating house, my every move tethered to her. I swing my legs out of bed and stand up, the weight of my duty pressing down on me. I haven't slept well, my mind too preoccupied with Octavia. I've been tasked with being her constant companion during her stay in this territory, to ensure her safety and cater to her every need. But there's more to it—a burning desire that stirs my heart, a maddening mix of longing and frustration. Every moment spent away from Octavia feels like an eternity, and the mere thought of her smile or the musical lilt of her laughter fills me with an ache that refuses to subside. It's a yearning that I dare not speak aloud, for my place in her life is defined by duty, not
The next morning, I set my own alarm. I’m not sure if the previous morning’s late wake-up call had been on purpose or not, but I know I don’t want to be late again. Ezra isn’t concerned about my welfare as long as I’m still breathing, but my stomach would beg to differ. Even now, as I quickly shut my phone’s blaring alarm off and hurry to get dressed, it grumbles at me to move faster. By the time I’ve braided my hair and tugged on some leggings and a sweatshirt, I’m practically starving. I can hear Ezra already in the dining hall, his trusty sidekick breathing evenly beside him. Whether they hear me coming down the steps or not, they make no move to greet me. I find them exactly where I knew they’d be; Ezra seated at the head of the table, another manila folder in front of him, with Dominic standing near the door. He gives me a slight nod as I pass him, heading to the chair furthest from the Alpha as possible. “Seems you’ve finally realized your phone has an alarm on it,” Ezra comm
As I lay in the dimly lit room, my thoughts drifted back to the night of the Marking ritual with Octavia. The memory flooded my mind, vivid and intense, like a scene from a dream I couldn't quite shake. She had been radiant, bathed in the soft glow of moonlight filtering through the trees, her eyes alight with an inner fire that seemed to consume everything in its path. In that moment, she had been the epitome of beauty, a vision that stole the breath from my lungs and left me reeling in her wake. And yet, it wasn't just her physical appearance that had captivated me—it was something deeper, something primal and instinctual that defied explanation. From the moment I laid eyes on her, there had been an undeniable pull, a magnetic force that drew me to her like a moth to a flame. I had tried to resist it, to deny the feelings that surged within me, but in the end, it was futile. The bond between us was stronger than any force in the universe, an unbreakable tether that bound our souls
He bit me. The words echo in my head, over and over again. I stumble from the bed, the sheets twisting around my bare legs. The Mark burns against my skin, flaring with each fluttering beat of my heart. I hadn’t noticed the pain before. I was too distracted. Too focused on Ezra than anything else. But now? Now I feel it all. He bit me. He bit me. He bit me. Gasping, I stumble toward the door, needing to get out of there. To get to the forest and make sure I still had…me. How did this even work? Did the poison spread slowly? Did it kill my wolf right away? Would I be just as cursed as the Wyres…forever? Had that been his plan all along? It can’t be. He needs me alive and not all Shifters make it through the transformation. It’s excruciatingly painful, and only the strong survive. Only the strongest make it. I know what happens when a Shifter is bitten—my parents made sure I knew that much about our enemies. They used to tell me about it whenever I misbehaved, warning me that I
With wolf’s bane coursing through my veins, I stumble from my room and into the hallway, my vision swimming and my muscles aching with every step. The poison burns like fire, consuming me from the inside out, and yet I press on, driven by a singular purpose. I needed to get away from her. Something was happening—something I knew had nothing to do with the Mark. My vision blackens at the edges, my legs weakening as I lean heavily against the door. Dominic is there, his presence a steady anchor in the storm of my agony. As if he had been waiting for me, his hand reaches out to catch me before I can fall, his touch a lifeline in the darkness that threatens to engulf me. Without a word, he guides me down to the basement, the cool stone walls closing in around us like a protective cocoon. With every step I take, the pain of the wolf’s bane coursing through my veins intensifies, a relentless torment that threatens to overwhelm me. Each breath is a struggle, each heartbeat a reminder of
“The Mark symbolizes the permanent reminder of this commitment and their union with the Moon Goddess’s blessing.” The elder turns to Ezra, giving him a slight nod. “You may now Mark your mate.” I bite back a scream as Ezra’s fingers dig into my waist. He yanks me toward him, going for my shoulder. Pain sears through me when his canines pierce my skin, warmth blooming from the wound. I can feel my blood trickle down my arm, staining the fabric of my dress. His lips burn into my shoulder, so violent, so different from the kiss that it causes me to choke on my fear. When he pulls away, his mouth is smeared with my blood, streaking down his chin and turning the white of his shirt as bloody as my gown. Something like surprise crosses his eyes as he wipes his mouth. The Wyres go deadly silent. Behind him, Dominic’s eyes go wide, something like pain flickering beneath the gold of his irises. No one says a word. Ezra whips toward the Wyres, a growl in his throat. It’s a warning, but I
I’m half tempted to rip this dress off and take my chances with the wild forest that surrounds this god-forsaken town. But the Alpha’s warning still rings in my ears, slicing up and down my spine until my stomach lurches in protest. I might actually be sick in this dress. Which might not be a bad idea. Knowing Ezra, however, a ruined dress wouldn’t stop him from forcing me down that aisle. “Stop moving,” Madalynn growls, pins tucked between her teeth. It’s the morning of the wedding and she’s finishing up the last touches of the dress. When she’d told me she’d actually sewn it herself, I was both impressed and wary. It’s no Vivienne Westwood, but it isn’t terrible, either. White leaves and vines creep up from my waist, swirling over my breasts to the edges of my shoulders. My chest is bare, the dress only just hanging on by the swooping, floor-length bell sleeves and low-cut back. The flowers sprout from the top of my thigh into airy gauze, revealing just a hint of my skin beneath.
The night drags on, the darkness of my chambers enveloping me like a suffocating embrace. Above, Octavia's restless movements echo through the floorboards, each sound a reminder of the forbidden desire that rages within me. I lie there, my senses attuned to every rustle of sheets, every soft sigh that escapes her lips. Each sound ignites a fire within me, a hunger that burns with an intensity I can no longer deny. I know I shouldn't want her. Octavia belongs to another, my prince, my best friend. To even entertain such thoughts is a betrayal of the highest order. But the heart knows no allegiance, and mine is torn between loyalty and longing. It has been a constant struggle, keeping Octavia at arm's length, denying the yearning that simmers beneath the surface. But tonight, as she sleeps just a floor above me, the temptation is too great to resist.I close my eyes, trying to block out the images that threaten to consume me. But try as I might, I cannot silence the voice that whisper
Two weeks fly by when you dread its arrival. It probably would have gone a hell of a lot faster if I’d actually been the one planning my own wedding. Fortunately, I’m not, though I’m still bitter about it. I guess I should be thankful to the Alpha for letting Madalynn and Dominic plan the wedding themselves rather than forcing it on me. It at least made the time go by somewhat slower. But not slow enough. Tomorrow, my family will be arriving. Tomorrow night, I’ll be married. And I look forward to none of those events. The night before one’s wedding is supposed to be filled with anxiety, yes, but good anxiety. Instead, my stomach writhes with fear and worry, twisting and knotting together until I feel sick. Dominic had my room fixed up last week as an unwelcome surprise, so now I sit in front of my vanity mirror, trying not to throw up in the gold trash bin beside the desk. I’m wearing my comfort pajamas; sweats and a heavy wool sweatshirt that makes me feel like I’m wrapped in clou
As the night cloaked the world outside my prison, I sat alone with my thoughts, seeking solace in the silence. The events of the day replayed in my mind like a haunting melody, each note a reminder of the dangers that lurked in the shadows of the Wyre's territory. But the tranquility shattered when the door creaked open, and Octavia slipped inside like a wraith, her presence both unexpected and unwelcome. I couldn't help but tense at her arrival, my worries for her safety clawing at the edges of my mind. She crept across the floor, hesitating just an arm’s length away. Her face bore the remnants of fear and exhaustion, her features drawn tight with tension. The memory of her recent attack hung heavy in the air, a bitter reminder of the dangers that lurked beyond the safety of our walls. "Tristan," she breathed, her voice a mere whisper in the darkness. I rose to meet her, my concern etched into every line of my face. "Octavia, are you alright? You shouldn’t be up. You should be re
Breakfast the next morning is tense to say the least. I make it down in time, though Ezra is already in his usual spot, a cup of coffee steaming beside various manila folders and papers. He doesn’t look up when I enter, instead reading over a list of some sort. From the quick glance I get over his shoulder, I see it’s some type of report. “Good morning, Octavia,” Ezra says coldly, setting the paper back into a folder before snapping it shut. He seems to be in a darker mood than normal. I get my own cup of coffee, taking my time. He’s still there when I finally take a seat at the table. Dark, golden eyes study me from across the room, his lips pressed into a thin line. Fingers tap heavily atop the table, a thudding rhythm that slowly grates on my nerves. “Is something wrong?” I finally ask. Dominic sweeps into the room then, actively avoiding my gaze. He bends low over Ezra’s shoulders, whispering in his ear. I only catch a few words, though they don’t make sense. My coffee sits f