Vince watched them carry Janis up the stairs, shoulders still taut with a dangerous impatience. He turned at last to the tall figure beside him, voice sharp. “I didn’t touch her thanks to you—now what are you standing there for?” The huge man exhaled slowly, not looking away from the stairs. “It isn’t Janis you have a thing against,” he said, voice even. “And per the deal—you return her to James in one piece.” Vince snorted, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, right. James.” The name tasted like sarcasm and old grudges. “I’ll make sure she’s safe,” the big man said, then turned and walked off without looking back. Some time later, after things had settled, the huge man pushed Janis’s door open. The room was small and dim; Janis lay curled on the side of the bed, the offered clothes discarded on the floor as if she’d flung them away in disgust. A tray of untouched food sat by the bedside. He stepped in and sighed quietly. His voice was low and careful when he spoke. “You should eat
The mansion gates burst open as the guards drove in, tires screeching against the stone. Derrick was already outside before the engine stopped. “Boss!” he shouted, rushing to the back seat. Corey was half-conscious, blood dripping down the side of his face, shirt torn from the crash. Without hesitation, Derrick crouched and lifted him onto his back despite the weight, his muscles straining but his grip firm. “Call the family doctor—now!” Derrick’s voice thundered across the yard as he carried Corey inside, each stride echoing panic through the halls. In his room, Derrick laid him on the bed, already barking orders. “Get the first aid box—now! We need to stop the bleeding before Doc gets here!” A guard sprinted away while another ran to bring clean clothes. Derrick tore away Corey’s bloodied shirt and began cleaning the wounds with disinfectant. His hands trembled; his eyes were red and wide with fear. He muttered under his breath, “Dammit… I should’ve gone with him…” Moments l
Corey’s car screeched to a halt in the wide driveway, the engine still running. The headlights cut through the night air, illuminating a line of his guards standing stiffly in front of the mansion gates. None dared to move. Their postures were tense—too tense.He didn’t even bother closing the car door. Another guard rushed to park it properly as Corey strode forward, his eyes narrowing dangerously.“What is this?” he demanded, his voice sharp as steel.His assistant—a tall, lean man who rarely lost his composure—took a trembling step forward before dropping to his knees. The rest of the guards followed suit, heads bowed low.“Speak,” Corey said, the word low and heavy, vibrating with barely contained rage.“Boss…” the assistant’s voice cracked. “Please—punish me, kill me if you must—but let me find the madam first.”For a heartbeat, Corey’s expression was blank. Then realization struck like lightning.No.His stomach dropped. His eyes widened.No. No. No.He bolted past them, his mov
The heavy clock on the far wall ticked louder than usual, slicing through the silence between the two men. The fire in the hearth crackled lazily, throwing uneven shadows across the room—stretching, shrinking, then swallowing whole the expression on Greyhem’s face. For the first time in years, the Alpha of the Darkmoon Pack did not wear his usual devilish smirk. No arrogance, no mischief—only a deep, troubled frown that sat like a scar across his features. His elbows rested on his knees, hands pressed together under his chin, and his eyes fixed blankly on the half-open file before him. He breathed out slowly, the exhale sounding more like surrender than fatigue. “You humans…” he began, voice rough but steady, “You think you understand history, but you only read what’s left after the blood dries.” Corey tilted his head, his wine glass paused halfway to his lips. “When you say you humans, what do you mean exactly?” His tone w
The rain outside came in slow, rhythmic drops, tapping against the wide glass windows of Greyhem’s study. A candle flickered low beside him, the only light in the vast room. Its flame danced over a single object lying on his desk — an old, weathered file marked boldly with red ink: L001C. Greyhem brushed his fingers across the faded cover, smearing away a thin layer of dust. A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Let’s see what you’ve been hiding, almighty Alpha Crane,” he murmured, his tone both mocking and eager. He undid the string and flipped open the first page. His grin slowly faded as his eyes darted across the yellowed paper — from lines of cryptic text to fragments of ancient scripts he didn’t fully understand. He frowned, leaning closer as a particular passage caught his eye, its ink darker than the rest. > “She who sleeps by the hand of her lover Shall awaken by that same heart in another world. In her awakening, the heavens will tremble, And the veil between
Crane stepped out into the dim corridor, answering the call before the third ring. “Mother Seraphine?” he greeted, cautious yet firm. Her voice slithered through the line, low and dangerous. “John Crane, Alpha of the strongest pack in the realms—what have you done?” Crane froze, frowning. “Mother Seraphine… what ha—” “You dare to defile nature and mate a human?” she thundered. “What in the Goddess’s name were you thinking? Risking your honour, your decades of work—everything you built—for a fragile human?!” He clenched his jaw, but she didn’t stop. “No wonder your enemies circle like vultures! They no longer chase you, Alpha—they chase your weak surrogate.” The word slammed into him like a blade. Surrogate. He stormed into his study, slamming the door with such force the windows trembled. “Mother