LOGINRyan
James scribbles on a piece of paper as people file into the pack house out of the rain. The two-story community building I had built three years ago, when I established Silverhide, is built in a traditional style I forced Sydney to help me plan out. The walls are made of thick logs burnt a deep black. The first story is just a giant room with several long tables and enough chairs for everyone–all hundred or so members, including a few babies born this summer&nd
FallonI wake from a state that’s similar to what I assume a coma would feel like at exactly 9:47 P.M. I have no idea what day it is, or, quite frankly, where I am. I have very few memories of much beyond that amazing dinner and a salt breeze before my brain split in half. I sit up, blinking into a totally dark, but regal, room that curves in nearly a circle. A few doors catch strips of moonlight beaming through six arched windows, all of which are open to the sound of waves rolling against a nearby shore. For a moment, I feel transported to Maatua, but this place has none of the modern charm of the beach houses my family shares. Marble columns stretch toward the ceiling, and even in the moonlight, I can tell the room is decorated in shades of sand, with pale blues and greens–very beachy and serene, indeed. I am, thank the Goddess, without a doubt, no longer in Meccana. I slide out of bed and immediately spot a new shift and matching robe draped over a nearby armchair, which mean
ZaynA calm, tropical breeze ruffles the fabric of my black cotton shirt. It’s loose, airy, and a far cry from the armor I’ve been wearing for three years. I’m not used to the fit, nor the feeling of the air on my skin. Nor the salt-scented breeze that ripples through fine mesh curtains lifting from the open-air archways that line the entire south-facing side of the room. A room that belongs to the Alpha King of the Packs of Meridem. I have vivid memories of standing in this room holding my mother’s hand while she conversed with her father, my maternal grandfather, Papa–the Alpha King who effectively cut ties with the Grand Wizard and whose reign ushered in a new era of pirating that allowed the packs to spread out along the archipelagos and island clusters far south of Meccana. Papa had one thing that worked in his favor–the Alexandrite mines. Meridem, as an island system, is the richest source of Alexandrite, which the wizards have long used to strengthen their magic. It’s hard to
FallonLuna. I shake my head at my reflection in the stainless steel-framed mirror in my stateroom aboard The Alyssa, which is, in fact, an impressive cargo ship with several floors dedicated to guests. It’s nothing like the yachts in my family’s arsenal, but it’s comfortable, nonetheless, if not a little stale and gray. We’ve been bobbing off the coast of Toppifaire for the past three hours, and I’m getting bored. I tuck my hair behind my ears, considering going to figure out what’s going on, when a horn blasts somewhere high above me, sending a rattle through the ship from top to bottom. I jolt, accidentally scratching my cheek with my nail, and murmur a rather colorful curse while blotting the bloody mark with a handful of tissue. This is not what I signed up for when KiloKilo first sent the inquiry about a marriage between me and the man they referred to as “one of their princes.” Oh, if I could go back and look myself in the eyes–maybe shake myself back to rationality–I would.
FallonThere’s little to report about my wedding night. I didn’t dance until the wee hours of the morning. I didn’t arrive at a romantically decorated room where a bottle of sparkling wine and chocolate-covered strawberries were waiting for me and my dear, sweet husband. I didn’t fall into silk sheets with the love of my life. In fact, the man in question simply shoved me into a room at an inn after a two-hour long car ride–color me shocked that there are cars in KiloKilo. I’ve always considered this place to be rudimentary, but alas, I am again proved wrong–and then he left. Where is Zayn, one might ask? Hell if I know! It’s now 6:00 in the morning, and I haven’t seen him since last night, when he left me here in a room. At least it’s leagues better than the stuffy, poorly tended manor in Meccana… or whatever the hell that terrible city is called. This room is warm and inviting with striped yellow wallpaper and freshly waxed floorboards. The inn has a full kitchen, too. I know beca
ZaynI have very few memories in this palace. Father only ever brought me here if it was totally necessary, with a summons from the Grand Wizard, but even then, those instances were few and far between. Invitations to ascension ceremonies of higher ranking family members often went unanswered. I attended maybe one wedding. Births were never celebrated. This palace was simply a massive gravestone in my memory–a reminder of stone walls where men walked in and never walked out. Now, I’m watching my wife nod her head and fix her face into something dutiful and amenable while distant female cousins and the wives of cousins I don’t know approach to congratulate her on our nuptials. At least people bow in her presence and keep their eyes on their toes, as they should in the presence of a royal. Soft, stilted music plays over the hushed, nervous murmurs of the crowd. A banquet spread fills up nearly the length of the ballroom, where towers of food go untouched. Only the ballsiest men fill
Fallon“Who are you to Zayn?” I ask. It’s the first thing that comes to mind, and I suppose it’s a good place to start. “I’m his cousin. Our mothers are sisters. Alyssa is my aunt–or was. Zayn mentioned she hasn’t been herself for years.” She weaves her fingers together on her lap and tilts her chin, dark gray eyes holding mine. “I’m older than him by a few years. We were both raised in Meridem.”“Where is Meridem? What is it? I’ve heard it mentioned several times.”“It’s an island a few hours south of here, and it’s considered the only place where shifters and witches can live freely. It’s a sacred place, at least to me.” She huffs a breath and rises, pacing to the far side of the room and back. “I assume you met Magnus?”“I saw him.”“And you know, or at least assumed, who he is to your betrothed?"I knot my hands into fists behind my back. “Magnus is Zayn’s father.”“You are correct. He’s also the youngest son of the Grand Wizard. The youngest of maybe… forty sons over the course
MaeveI can’t breathe through the pain anymore. It grips me, tearing through my back, splitting my spine. I grip Misty’s arms as I howl, tears streaming down my face. Misty’s trembling, holding me upright, her healing powers hard at work mending the bruises and scratches I’ve left on her skin. It
MaeveIt’s the middle of the night when I finally slide into my private apartment. Boxes of my things are stacked precariously around the foyer, all labeled to be delivered to specific rooms in the massive royal suite that takes up an entire floor two stories above me. My head pounds from wearing t
SorenI’ve never told anyone the whole Goddess-damned truth before. Not even Patton. He doesn’t know everything I’ve done, everything I’ve been forced to do or did willingly… but as we spend the rest of the night in that shitty little hovel in the middle of nowhere, I tell Maeve everything. I tuck
MaeveWhen I was young, Aviva told me a story about her early days in the Silverhide pack and the first time she ever saw Ryan in his beast form. I didn’t understand why back then, but she explained that newly mated couples occasionally go through a bit of a rough patch in the first days of their r







