Serena. “Well, that was fun, wasn't it slave”, Tristan whispers in my ears leaving me wondering how one minute he is standing far away and the next he is right beside me.As soon as the Queen takes her leave, General Vasquez follows suit. Now it's just the two brothers, Sylvaine and I standing in the grand hall.I ignore Tristan completely looking everywhere but him, and sigh in relief when Sylvaine rushes over to me, looping her arms with mine.“Come on Serena, you're staying in my chamber tonight, we have a lot to catch up on ”, she says loud enough for her brothers to hear, pulling me out of there.I barely make it two steps out of the grand hall before I feel him. "Serena, wait" Thorne yells running towards us.My body tenses, but I do not stop. I do not even look at him. He left without a word or an explanation after promising to be there for me, and now he thinks he can just walk back into my life? "Alpha Prince Thorne," a voice calls out.I stiffen. General Vasquez. Cur
Serena.“Mine. Mate”, Tristan growls and before I can react, he pounces. It happens so fast like a blur. One moment, Thorne is covering my body, and the next, he’s gone. Tristan slams into him with bone-crushing force, sending him flying across the room. Thorne crashes into the wall with a sickening crack, furniture splintering beneath the impact. My scream gets stuck in my throat as I scramble back against the bed, my pulse a wild, erratic mess. Tristan doesn’t even glance at me, his full focus is on Thorne. Thorne groans, shaking his head as he struggles to rise, blood dripping from a gash at his temple. But before he can regain his footing, Tristan is on him again, his massive jaws snapping dangerously close to his throat. "You dare touch what is mine?" Tristan’s voice is thick with fury, his words barely human. His wolf snarls, lunging again, this time, intent on tearing Thorne apart. "Tristan, stop!" I shout, my voice hoarse with panic, but he doesn’t hear me or h
Serena.The moment Tristan’s lips crash onto mine, the world tilts. Heat surges through me, raw and undeniable. Every fiber of my being trembles, caught between shock and something far more dangerous. For a fleeting second, I don’t think. I don’t think about the pack watching. I don’t think about Thorne. I don’t think about the war that still looms over us. There is only Tristan. Then his body stiffens. A sharp breath escapes him, and suddenly, his grip on me loosens. Before I can react, his legs give out, and he collapses against me. Gasps ripple through the pack, but I barely hear them. My arms instinctively wrap around Tristan’s broad frame, struggling to support his weight. His body is feverishly hot, his breath shallow against my skin. "Tristan?" I whisper, panic creeping into my voice. He doesn’t respond. “Get him to his chambers!” Sylvaine commands, snapping the pack out of their stunned silence. Two warriors rush forward, prying Tristan from my grasp. They lif
Serena. The night is ablaze with fire and chaos. Screams and snarls tear through the air as warriors clash, the metallic scent of blood thick in the wind. I freeze in shock, the memory of my pack being slaughtered fills my mind, suffocating me. This was the exact same thing that happened, only this time, I can actually fight for the ones I love, Thorne, Sylvaine, Isabel and even Tristan.The rival pack is relentless, their attacks precise and calculated. I move on instinct, dodging an incoming strike and raking my claws across my opponent’s chest. He crumples, but I don’t have time to celebrate the victory.Because something is wrong. This does not in any way seem like just a fight for territory. They aren’t here to kill us. They’re here for something else.And then I see them, a group of wolves, silent, moving like shadows, slipping past the battlefield, heading toward the palace.My heart slams against my ribs. This was never about the pack. This was about something far greater, s
Serena.The first thing I register is the cold. It seeps into my skin, wrapping around my bones. My wrists burn from the silver chains binding me, the metal biting into flesh. I don’t struggle. There’s no point. I keep my head down, breathing slowly, listening.The scent of wolves surrounds me. Not hostile, but not familiar either. Low murmurs drift through the air, voices discussing what might be done with me.“Release her.” a new voice barks in command.I look up as a man steps forward, no older than me, tall and battle-worn, with scars lining his arms. His eyes widen slightly as they meet mine, recognition flickering before he masks it with cold indifference.“Serena.”My breath seizes in shock. “Luther?” The best friend I once thought I would never see again.His expression hardens. “You’ve grown.” He nods to the guards. “Take off the chains.”They hesitate. “She’s dangerous,” one growls. “She injured our scouts”, another murmurs.“I said, release her.”Luther barks.The chains f
Serena.I step into Luther’s quarters to find him sitting at a rough wooden table, his hands clasped together, deep in thought. He looks up as I enter, his expression suspicious. “Well?” he asks. I hesitate for only a moment before stepping forward. “Sylvaine knows nothing about the war,” I say firmly. “She was just as surprised as I was when I mentioned it. She's innocent in all of this.” Luther’s jaw tightens. “You really believe that?” “Yes,” I insist. “You have to let her go, Luther. She doesn’t deserve to be here.” A muscle in his jaw twitches. “And what if she’s lying? What if she’s just pretending not to know anything?” “She’s not,” I say, shaking my head. “I saw the look in her eyes. She’s been sheltered her whole life, protected from the truth. She doesn’t even know what her family has done.” Luther pulls back his chair and stands, his expression darkening. “You’re defending her,” he says, his voice dangerously quiet. I exhale sharply. “I’m not defending the N
Serena. The sun dips low, casting a golden hue over the camp, but my world feels anything but warm. I stand in the training ring, a wooden sword clutched in my grip, facing Luther. The ground beneath me is firm, yet I feel like I’m standing on jelly. “Focus,” Luther commands. “You’re slower than I remember, you good?.” I scowl. “I’m fine.” He lunges. I dodge, barely, my counterstrike lacks force. He sidesteps, easily knocking my sword aside, then grabs my wrist, twisting my arm behind my back in a move too quick to counter. He leans in, his breath warm against my ear. “If I was the enemy, you’d be dead.” I wrench free, glaring at him. “You’re distracted,” he says, eyes narrowing. “Should I know why?.” My heart pounds. Does he know? I keep my expression nonchalant. “I told you, I’m fine.” Luther studies me for a long moment, then sighs and steps back. “You don’t have to tell me. But if you’re not at your best when the real fight comes, it won’t just be you who suff
Serena.I find him near the supply tent, his arms crossed, and his face as if it is carved from stone. I open my mouth, carefully.“Luther.”His gaze slices through me, emotionless. Then he turns his back.That’s it.My fingers curl into fists. That’s all the answer I need.I feel the sting behind my eyes, but I say nothing. I turn away and walk back to the small storage tent where Sylvaine waits, twiddling with a piece of bread she has no intention of eating.“We leave tonight,” I whisper.She arches her brow. “About time.”That night, I decide to announce our leave, so I head to the war tent. The tent is crowded when I enter with commanders, scouts, Gareth... and Luther, standing in the center like a storm waiting to break. I brace myself for a cold goodbye.But I never get the chance.“Seize her,” he commands.Hands grab me from behind before I can move. Ropes bind my wrists. I don’t fight. I’m too stunned.“What the hell Luther”, I yell, yanking against the men holding me tightly
Serena.Darkness. But not the kind that scares children. This was weightless, endless silence. A void where even pain didn’t reach.Until it did. My ribs ache first, then my temples. Then a thousand invisible strings tug at the corners of my soul, like they are trying to sew me back together after something had torn me in half.My eyes blink open to soft, flickering candlelight and a face I don’t expect.Alessia.She’s sitting near the edge of the room, her hands folded in her lap. She doesn't speak. Neither do I.Because the question hanging in the air is louder than anything she could say: Who did you choose?I wish I knew.I sit up slowly, realising I'm now alone and seeing Alessia was a figment of my imagination, no Priestess, no Tristan and no Thorne. I touch my chest, but I don't feel any threads, there's no warmth. Just my skin and heartbeat. Was the bond broken completely? Did I choose no one?Or worse… was I never truly meant for either of them?I hear footsteps. “Serena?
Thorne.The thread split. I saw it happen, not imagined, not some fever-dream hope, like the one I've been holding onto too tightly lately. It stretched from Serena’s chest, flickering like a frightened star. One line pulled toward Tristan, desperate, familiar. The other... faltered, wavered, and then turned, toward me.It hit me like a punch to the ribs. I felt it. The bond. Not theory. Not fantasy. A real bond, and mine. But not only mine.Because fate, it seems, is a cruel thing, and Serena Nikolai and I are its favorite fates to ruin.She didn’t look at me right away. Her gaze was fixed on the flickering strands, on the confusion. On him. Always him.Across the circle, Tristan looked like a man standing in the wreckage of his own lies, he still had his stupid confident facade, yes, but cracking. His shoulders tight. His mouth a grim line. The medallion at his feet like a dropped crown, proof of betrayal no one could ignore anymore.But still, even in this chaos, the gods saw fit
Serena.For one perfect, trembling second, the world holds its breath. Gasps, whispers and cries of disbelief rise from every corner as the circle shatters into noise.My breath stops. My chest tightens. I don’t know if it’s fear or fury clawing up my throat.“I carry the Alpha Prince’s heir,” the girl says again, bolder now, chin lifted like a dagger. Her voice rings out, steady, so confident that it is hard not to focus on her .I don’t recognize her, but she’s as young as I am, perhaps the same age, maybe even younger as moonlight catching the defiance in her eyes.As she repeats this, every eye turns to him. Tristan.He doesn’t move or even blink. He just stands there, shrouded in ceremonial black, silver trim glinting like a crown of thorns. His jaw ticks once. That’s it. No outburst. No denial.Nothing.The silence is worse than a yes.“Is this true?” the High Priestess finally asks, her voice heavy with ancient authority.Still, he says nothing. Just a slow exhale through his
Serena.His mouth is hot against mine, demanding and unapologetic. There’s no hesitation in Tristan, no gentle testing like Thorne. This is wild, possessive hunger.My back hits the mattress and he’s there, his weight, his heat, the unmistakable presence of the mate bond flaring so bright I feel scorched.His hands slide under my shirt, callused fingertips ghosting over my skin. I arch into the touch, my breath seizing, my thoughts scattering. With Thorne, it was soft and sweet and patient. This is something else entirely.My shirt is gone before I realize it, his mouth trailing heat down my collarbone, nipping, tasting, branding. I gasp his name.“Say it again,” he growls, voice rough against my skin.“Tristan…”He shudders. “You have no idea what you do to me.”And I want to say I think I do, but his hands are everywhere and my body is moving before my mind can keep up. His kisses leave trails of fire, and when our hips meet, clothes forgotten somewhere on the floor, I swear I see
Serena.I ignore Tristan’s childish wave and move closer to Thorne, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. Thorne's hand settles lightly on the small of my back, steadying me. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Tristan’s jaw ticks. So quick did it disappear that I doubt if it truly happened.Athea bows slightly. “My Lords,” she says smoothly to Thorne and Vasquez, then spares me a smirk before turning on her heel.I offer a polite nod to the men, then quickly follow after her. My boots echo in the corridor as I catch up.“What the hell was that?” I hiss, grabbing her arm.She turns, lips still curved. “What?”“You kissed Tristan again? Seriously?”She rolls her eyes. “Relax. I’m just having fun. Besides he isn't complaining is he?”I freeze. “Excuse me?”She leans in, her voice low and irritatingly playful. “Come on, Serena. You and Thorne, me and Tristan? I want to smack her. My hand itches to. But I breathe instead. “You’re wrong.”She laughs, “Sure, if that helps
Serena.The torchlight flickers against the stone as I slowly step out from behind the shelf, my heart pounding in my throat. The scroll in my hand feels like it’s burning me. Thorne and Vasquez turn to me, shock carved into their faces.I walk up to them with steady steps, holding out the letter like it’s a weapon. “What’s the meaning of this?”Thorne’s eyes drop to the parchment, and his jaw tightens. He takes it carefully, almost reverently, as if touching it is like waking old ghosts. His silence is long enough to make me want to scream, until finally,“I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “You weren’t supposed to find out like this.”“Find out what exactly?” My voice comes out a little too loudly.Thorne looks at Vasquez, who crosses his arms, but stays quiet.“Our fathers,” Thorne begins, his voice distant now, haunted, “they were friends. Blood brothers in all but name. Before you were born, they fought side by side in the Great Siege against a rogue Alpha from across the seas, a wolf
Serena.I don’t, can't sleep. Not even a little. Midnight feels like a lifetime away, but still not enough time to process what just happened.Lyra. Could she be related to me? No, there has to be some mistake. A spy, a resistance agent, sure. But my blood?I pace the room in restless circles, clutching the pendant that’s been with me since childhood like it might bite back. I’d always thought it was a relic, a trinket my mother left behind. Something precious, yes, but meaningless.Now? It means everything.The moon climbs higher, fat and full, casting a cold glow through my window like it’s watching me, judging me.By the time I slip out of the manor, I’m a storm waiting for the right time to wreak havoc.The chapel is silent and in ruins. Its stained-glass windows shattered, pews half-buried in dust. Moonlight filters through the broken roof, lighting the altar like something sacred still lingers here.Lyra is already waiting by the time I get there. Her cloak is pulled low and she
Serena.I don’t remember backing away from the door. I don’t remember the stone walls pressing cold against my spine, or the way my knees buckled slightly. I only remember the sound of his laugh.Tristan’s laugh. A soft, real belly laugh. He is actually laughing. Not the sharp, hollow thing I’d grown used to. Not the version of him the world sees, untouchable, distant. This laugh had warmth. And it wasn’t meant for me.I shouldn’t care. But gods, I do.And her, Athea. The girl who is justa slave like me. The one who talked my ear off as we trudged along to the stronghold, who disappeared without a trace.What is she doing here? And why is Tristan touching her like she belongs to him?I don’t confront them. I can’t. Not yet. I slip away like a shadow in the hallway, my chest burning with more than just confusion.By morning, my headache feels like it’s carved itself into my skull. I shove my emotions down as best I can and move through my duties like a ghost, but I can feel Sylvaine
Serena.The whole meeting hall is as silent as a graveyard. Everyone is holding their breath as if a single exhale would cause the beast that is Thorne to tear them apart.His wolf is unlike anything I’ve ever seen, twice the size it should be, fur the color of the darkest night, eyes burning like lightning. This isn't just a shift, is this his power? growing to an unimaginable size? I don't know what terrifies me more: that no one dares to move, or that deep in my bones, I can feel that something is wrong.Suddenly, Tristan moves. He steps in front of me and shifts. It happens in a blink. His wolf is sleek, silver with streaks of black, not as large as Thorne’s, but pulsing with a power that makes the walls vibrate.And he stands in front of me. Protects me. Tristan has never protected me. He barely tolerates me. But now, his body is a shield between mine and his brother’s fury.Something has changed. Thorne’s growl vibrates through the chamber like an earthquake. He doesn't lunge,