LOGINAuroraI have been at this for hours.I know because the light has changed. It starts soft, gentle, brushing my skin like it is only passing through. Now it presses down, heavy and bright, sitting on my shoulders like it plans to stay. The morning slips into afternoon without asking me, and the sun turns sharp, almost rude.Sweat slides down my spine, collecting between my shoulder blades before trailing lower. My shirt clings in places I hate. My hair sticks to the back of my neck, and every time I move, I feel overheated and clumsy. I swipe my forearm across my forehead and immediately regret it because now my arm is damp too.I glance at Lucas and Caleb without meaning to.They look unfair.Both of them are sweaty, shirts darkened at the collar and chest, hair slightly messy. And somehow it works. Lucas stands with his sleeves pushed up, forearms flexed as he talks to Caleb in a low voice. Caleb is leaning against a tree, one knee bent, posture loose like this is just another after
AuroraLucas is sitting close enough that our knees touch when he shifts. Caleb is across from us, relaxed, joking, eating like this is just another morning. If I only look at the surface, it feels normal. Easy.But I know better than to only look at the surface.Lucas lifts his cup, takes a sip, then sets it down slightly closer to the edge of the blanket than before. Caleb’s eyes flick to it for a second. He does not comment. He adjusts the way he is sitting, one leg stretching out, the other bending. Lucas’s jaw tightens, just a little, then smooths out again.No words. Still, something passes.I keep chewing, slower now, letting my gaze move casually between them. Lucas nods once, barely there. Caleb’s mouth curves into a lazy grin that does not quite reach his eyes. I have seen that look before. It is the one he wears when he is thinking harder than he lets on.Mindlink.They call it that.I cannot hear it, but I can feel when it happens. It is like watching two people finish eac
AuroraThe sight becomes familiar the moment the car slows.I recognize the open stretch before my mind fully catches up. The last time I was here, everything shifted. I learned that my father loves me in the quiet, clumsy way men like him do. I learned the truth about my mother, not the polished version but the real one, the one with edges and ache and choices that mattered. I learned how she lived, and how she died, and how both of those things still echo through him.And now I am here again.Or more accurately, Lucas brings me here.The car rolls to a stop in the middle of the field, and even before the engine goes silent, I feel the difference. This place does not press in on you. It does not watch. It does not demand posture or silence or obedience. It exists without expectation. It is still part of the estate, still wrapped in history and ownership, but it breathes in a way the mansion never does.Lucas cuts the engine and turns toward me.“I just wanted to take you away from th
AuroraLucas is different since the intruder incident. Not in a loud way. Not in a way anyone else would catch. But I catch it because I know him now. Because I have learned his silences as carefully as his words.He is more alert. More watchful.When we are together, he never lets it spill onto me. He smiles the same. Talks the same. Touches me the same. But his eyes move constantly, tracking reflections, shadows, people who linger a second too long. His body always positions itself just slightly between me and whatever space we enter. He thinks I do not notice.I notice everything.Honestly, the intruder did not shake me the way it probably should have. That surprises people when I admit it, so I usually do not. But danger has been part of my life for as long as I can remember. Being Arthur Blake’s daughter means growing up with locked doors, quiet conversations, plans that change without explanation. There were failed attempts. Threats that never made the news. A few deaths no one
LucasNight settles over the estate the way it always does here, quiet but never relaxed. The kind of quiet that listens back. Aurora is asleep by the time I move, her breathing slow and even, her body curled toward the space I occupy like she expects me to stay there forever. I pause beside the bed longer than necessary, watching the small rise of her shoulder, the faint crease between her brows finally gone. She looks younger when she sleeps. Softer. Less guarded.I tuck the blanket around her again even though she does not need it. My wolf insists. I listen.Then I slip out.The house barely reacts to my movement. No creak. No echo. Whoever designed this place knew how to keep secrets. The hallway lights stay dim, sensing motion but not announcing it. I take the route I already mapped in my head hours ago, avoiding the cameras I noted by reflection and hum alone. People think technology is silent. It never is.The door opens without complaint. Cool air meets my face and carries wit
Lucas“I can’t believe I am sharing my daily life with you.”Aurora’s eyes shine when she says it. Not the polite shine people put on when they want approval. This is the kind that spills out before she can stop it. She is sitting close enough that I can feel the warmth of her arm through fabric, close enough that her excitement hums against my ribs.“It’s boring and mundane,” she adds quickly, like she is apologizing for herself.She talks with her hands when she gets like this. Fingers moving, pausing, curling back toward her palms. I notice how she watches my face while she speaks, checking for disappointment that never comes.“There’s so much you do back at your place,” she continues. “Everyone has something going on. Everyone matters in some way. And here my life is just…” She gestures vaguely behind her, toward the estate. “Contained. I do nothing. I wake up, I exist, I go to sleep.”A small frown appears, barely there, like she does not want to admit it out loud. She presses he







