ログインOakleyI need to see a healer, I think. A priestess actually. Yeah, that would be more helpful in my situation. I’m either cursed or losing my mind, along with chunks of memory, because I do not remember hurting myself last night. I meet my bloodshot reflection in the mirror in the bathroom while rubbing my swollen wrist with a potent healing salve I pilfered from my Aunt Shuna. It’s from Teshka, of course, like she is. It feels gritty on my skin, like the rough sand beaches in that territory, but it does quell the incessant tingling. A sharp knock on the door tears my attention from my reflection. My mom’s voice rings out, “They’re here! Prince Ian is downstairs waiting for you.”“I’m coming,” I murmur, shaking my head several times like I can somehow knock loose the wool rolling through my mind like a ball of yarn, snatching memories and rational thought with it. When I step out of the bathroom, every female hand in the house begins to fuss over me like it’s my wedding day. By t
Ian“Ian?”I haven’t even closed the front door to my childhood home before Mom’s voice rings out through the foyer. For a house in New Glade, it’s rather nice. The foyer connects to two front rooms and a wide staircase leading to the upper floor, where three bedrooms and a bathroom soak in late afternoon light. Downstairs, a small, seldom-used kitchen is tucked in the back, as well as another, larger room where my parents spend most of their free time. I find her there, at a worktable, priming arrows. Shelves line the walls, full of weapon-making supplies and little trinkets of past adventures. Family pictures hang on the wooden walls, alongside blades dangling from hooks. My toy box is still in the corner of the room collecting dust, but I used to sit here, at this very table, playing with little carved effigies of warriors and wolves while my parents talked in quiet tones about hunts and the occasional skirmish between packs and tribes. I can still feel that silver chain around
OakleyIt takes three days for my arm to heal. Even so, the wound itches like mad and will definitely scar when the scabs heal over. But, there’s work to be done. Chores, as well as avoiding my mom and aunts, are all I plan to do today because, if I’m out of bed, I’m able to return to the forest tonight under the glare of the moon. I’d like to stop that from happening. Allison moves a few feet ahead of me in the garden behind the fiber shop. It’s an expansive space with fruit trees and flowers galore, as well as herbs and very specific flora we grow for even more specific reasons. Grandma Freya planted all of this decades ago, when she first came to Silverhide and the village was nothing but a few buildings, a packhouse, and the forge grumbling behind me. My Grandpa Andrew gave her anything she wanted and needed, carving out a sanctuary for his mate in the village that grew around them. My fingers are already stained a bright greenish-blue as I set down my container of true indigo
OakleyThere’s an epidemic in Silverhide. It’s a slow creeping kind of affliction that takes hold of almost every young woman starting around the age of thirteen. It turns some into raging, spiteful monsters. Jealous gremlins with sharp teeth and even sharper tongues, to be honest. Lifelong friendships suffer endlessly during those long, overwhelming years of late girlhood, and there’s only one thing to blame. Men. Handsome, slightly sweaty, gleaming men. I have never been, to be fair, one to go all goo-goo eyed over the boys who work the fields while I run my errands and do my chores. I’ve never seen the need to let the straps of my tank tops, which I’m not even allowed to wear, fall off my shoulders while hanging laundry on the line. I listen to my friends purr and giggle over their crushes and let those same friends shed tears on my shoulders when those crushes went awry. But I’ve never caught the bug. The love bug. I am just… too busy. I’m sure that’s the reason.Granted, I’ve
IanI wake in a cold sweat at first light to shouts beyond the rain-smothered glass of my bedroom windows. My dreams swim, turning into a muddled cacophony of fractured, made-up memories that vanish before I have a chance to rub sleep from my eyes. My cabin is cast in calm, silver shadows like I left it the night before, but unlike the night before, I’m completely, utterly naked. Another trio of shouts rings through the still morning air. I can taste the fog. It’s too early for the first streams of morning sunlight to illuminate the forest floor when I slowly swing my legs out of bed and fist the damp sheets. I sweated through them. The trail of clothing on the side of my bed gives me a single shred of an idea of what happened over the course of the past few hours. The cold, aching prickles erupting all over my skin are just the remnants of a dream. A bloody nightmare. Several howls break through the stillness and fully rouse me. I pull on some clothes, stumbling on my way to my dr
Oakley“I’m not going that far,” I assure my mom, Ruth, who ignores me and continues checking every button on my wool coat. I wrap a woven mustard-yellow scarf around my neck, then my head, tucking locks of unruly hair behind the fabric to keep it from spiraling out of control in the gusty weather pouring off the mountains. “You should go far,” Mom protests, patting my cheeks in a lovely, but annoying, manner. “This is what is done, my dear. You must find your wolf.”Her accent is still deeply flavored with Endovan, the tribe she hails from. I’ve heard stories of how thrilled Grandma Freya was to learn my dad had found his mate at the Harvest Festival all those years ago, decades now, who came from the same tribe that she did. It’s not uncommon these days. The tribes still thrive, but the packs in the valleys–those tied inexplicably to King Ryan and his family–are a melting pot of cultures. I’m not the only one with a mom who rattles off curse words in a different language when she’s
RyattMaddox rises from his chair, casually sipping coffee from a mug. He sets it down, checks his watch, then fixes me with an annoyed look. “Is there a reason you’re in here?”I glance around the room. It’s a wood paneled and slightly dated office with incredible views of the water. My gaze settles
*Ryatt*We stood in silence against the beating of drums and the thrumming sounds of voices lifted in song. I’d watched the eclipse cast the entire world in shadow, the event making my own shadow powers sing. But my eyes were on the lake–still as glass–and my mate, who’d gone beneath the surface. I w
*Ella*Three days passed. Three days we spent hiding in the cave waiting for Granger then running like hell to Granite Rise at his behest. The rest of the time we spent sitting around with no news about what happened in the clearing after Ryatt forced us to leave. For three days, I’ve gone over ever
*Maddy*When I was a child, my father came home from one of his mysterious merchant trips with a large, fabric bound book. It was large enough to cover my entire lap, and so heavy I couldn’t lift it on my own. The cover was embroidered with whirls and swirls of silver and gold thread, the outer edges







