LOGIN
Mikhail
I stand at the edge of the forest, the scent of pine and earth filling my senses. My blindness sharpens my other senses, making the world around me more vivid in ways most can't comprehend.
Being blind hasn't made me weak. In fact, it's made me stronger, more ruthless. A cruel smirk appears on my face when I recall what happened to those who considered me weak and challenged me. I can still feel the warmth of their blood on my skin as I tore them limb from limb with my bare hands. Those bastards weren't even worthy of fighting against my wolf; even in my human form, they were no match for my strength.
I haven't earned the title of Cruel Blind Alpha for nothing. Killing is my second nature. As the Alpha of the strongest pack in the northern territory, my pack and I are known for being ruthless and fierce.
My father might not have been a loving father, but he was a great mentor. He taught me never to let anyone consider my sightlessness as a weakness.
His methods were harsh, almost cruel, but they prepared me to face this world. He drilled into me the importance of strength and the necessity of being feared and respected.
My mother never liked the way he trained me, but she never said anything because she knew he was doing it for my benefit. She was the only softness in my life, the one who offered comfort after my father's brutal lessons. Her love was a quiet, constant presence, a warmth I rarely allowed myself to acknowledge. But she knew, as I did, that without my father's harsh training, no one would consider me worthy of being Alpha. Without it, I would always be seen as a weak and pathetic excuse for a leader.
My parents died in a rogue attack when I was barely an adult. But I didn't let their deaths go unavenged. I hunted down every last rogue involved and made sure none of them lived to tell the tale.
Clenching my jaws, I shake my head as my wolf howls inside me, being as restless as ever.
Raising my face towards the sky, my useless eyes notice slight brightness, indicating that the moon is shining brightly, and what I am feeling is the effect of the full moon.
I know my pack and my territory with the back of my hand. I don't need eyes to navigate through it.
Returning to the pack house, I directly made my way towards the Alpha quarter.
My eyes make out the blurred outline of the person standing at the door waiting for me as I have ordered.
"Layla." My voice comes out stoic as I acknowledge her.
"Alpha." She purrs in response as she comes and stands directly in front of me.
Extending my hand, I hold her neck and then drag it down towards the middle of her chest and then move my hand lower.
I nod my head in approval as she stands naked, ready to take care of my and my wolf's needs.
"My room, now!" I order and don't wait for her to follow as I make my way towards my room.
As soon as I hear her entering the door and closing the door behind, I push her front against the wall.
"Hands on the wall." I order while removing my clothes, "Don't move." Grabbing her hips harshly, I force her to stand still.
"Take whatever you want from me..." Turning her head slightly, she smiles at me. "Don't hold back. You know I can take it."
A growl ripples through me when I partially shift into my wolf while the room echoes with her painful screams.
Third Person POVNeither of them speaks on the way back.There is nothing to say. Jake has June and Lucas has Caleb, and the forest moves around them in the dark while both brothers run with everything they have, and the silence between them is not comfortable or familiar the way their silences usually are. It is the kind that comes when words would make something more real than either person is ready for it to be. They had felt him forty minutes ago. There is no better word for what happens when Caleb's wolf reaches through the bond between the three of them. It is not a howl. It is not a call. It is more like a hand thrown out in the dark, desperate and without direction, just reaching, just broadcasting existence the way an animal does when it is too far gone for strategy. Jake is mid-sentence when it hits him, standing in the packhouse with a map spread across the table, studying the surrounding territories for any clue about where his brother might be. He does not finish the
CalebI have never believed I could lose.That is not arrogance exactly, or maybe it is, but it has never felt like arrogance from the inside. It has always felt like fact. I have been the strongest person in every room I have walked into since I was seventeen years old. I have fought things that should have broken me and walked away from every single one of them, and somewhere along the way that stopped feeling like luck and started feeling like the natural order of things. Like the world had simply agreed that Caleb does not go down.I believed that completely.I still believe it.But something shifted when I found her.My vision blurs at the edges and I blink it back, pressing my palm harder against the wound in her chest, and I keep talking because talking means I am still here and she is still here and this is not over."I used to think it was just me," I say quietly into her hair. "That the reason I never quit, never stayed down, never let anything finish me off, was because of
CalebShe is still smiling.That is the thing that breaks me open completely. June is sitting in my arms with a silver dagger buried in her chest and her eyes half-closed and her heartbeat stuttering under my hands, and she is smiling. That small, real, private smile that I have spent months learning the difference between. The one that means something to her. The one she does not give out easily.It is the most wrong thing I have ever seen in my life.I pull her closer and my eyes tear through the cell looking for anything, anything at all, some solution sitting in the corners of this rotting place that my mind has missed. There is nothing. Stone walls. A dying lantern. Blood on the floor that belongs to too many people now. My gaze keeps moving anyway because stopping means accepting what I am feeling through the bond and I cannot do that. I cannot.Her heartbeat slows by another degree.I feel it the way I feel everything from her now, directly, like it is happening inside my own c
JuneI take a step toward her.And then another.Tanya watches me close the distance between us and something shifts in her expression, the satisfaction flickering, recalibrating, trying to decide what my movement means. She holds her ground. Her chin stays up. She is still operating inside the version of this where she has already won.My fist connects with her jaw before she finishes that thought.The crack of it fills the cell and Tanya's head snaps sideways and she stumbles hard into the stone wall, one hand flying up to her face. She makes a sound that is more surprise than pain, like she genuinely did not expect this, like she thought I would stand there and argue with her about what she deserves and what she does not.I do not argue.I reach for her and she swings back, wild and off-balance, her fist catching my cheekbone hard enough to make my vision blur for half a second. She is not trained. I feel that immediately in the way she moves, all desperation and no form, throwing
JuneSomething moves through me from the top of my skull down to the soles of my feet like cold water finding every crack, filling every space, settling into me until I am absolutely, completely, terrifyingly calm.The mark on his neck is wrong in a way that I feel before I fully understand it. The skin around it is bruised dark, purpling outward from a center that looks infected and angry and rotting at its edges. It does not look like something that was given. It looks like something that was taken. Forced into skin that never consented to it, that has been fighting it ever since, and losing the fight slowly in the most awful and visible way.Someone put their mark on him.On my mate.I stare at it for a moment that stretches longer than it should.Somewhere underneath the cold that has settled into me, something is burning. I can feel it distantly, the way you feel a fire in another room, present and real but separate from where you are standing right now. Rage, probably. The kind
Caleb Tanya steps closer again. Slowly. Like she already belongs in my space. The lantern light flickers across her face while she crouches in front of me, her eyes fixed on mine with that same obsessive softness that makes rage crawl beneath my skin. “You still look at me like you hate me,” she murmurs quietly. I pull harder against the silver chains around my wrists. Pain slices through my skin instantly. “I do hate you.” Instead of anger, she smiles. Like hearing that means something to her. Like even my hatred is enough attention to make her happy. “You’ll stop eventually,” she whispers. “Once you understand that I love you more than she ever could.” The bond inside my chest burns harder at her words. Like she is somewhere close. My June is close. I know she is near. My wolf stirs violently beneath the silver poisoning our system, reacting to her presence instinctively. Tanya doesn't notice the change in me... that my wolf is fighting against the effects of silver
LucasCaleb rubs the back of his neck like he is smoothing out a bad idea, which is funny because he never regrets his bad ideas. His mouth is already tilted into that familiar smirk, the one that says he enjoyed every second of it. There is sweat drying at his temples, leaving faint salt lines tha
LucasWe sit around a small dining table in the kitchen, close enough that our knees almost touch when someone shifts. The room smells like herbs and heat and something familiar I cannot name, the kind of smell that settles into clothes and memory without asking permission. A large bowl of soup sit
LucasMy eyes keep moving, catching fragments. A shadow shifts where it should not. A space feels wrong before I fully see it.The cell door is open.Anastasia is gone.Ryan turns just as she reaches him. She moves through the narrow light with sharp speed, her boot slamming straight into his chest
LucasI straighten my bowtie and tilt my head a fraction to the left, then back to center. The angle matters. Three degrees off and it looks careless. Two degrees too tight and it pinches the collar in a way that shows up in photos. I fix it once more and stop. Any more and it turns into a tell.Th







