OLIVIA’S POV I woke up to the soft hum of the mansion, the kind of quiet that pressed against my chest like a weight I couldn’t shake. The day I’d been dreading for months. A year had passed since the chaos that left Lucien in a coma, and now the Elders and Council of the Nine Packs expected me to stand before them and choose. Damien or Lucien. A mate for life. My stomach twisted as I rolled out of bed, the hardwood cold against my bare feet. I didn’t want to think about it, but it was all I could think about.I pulled on a simple black sweater and jeans, my hands trembling as I brushed my hair into a messy bun. No point in dressing up for this. It wasn’t a celebration. It was a sentencing. I grabbed my jacket and headed down the hall, my sneakers scuffing the polished floor. Lucien’s room was at the end, where it’d been since they moved him here two months ago. His own mansion, his own prison. I’d made this walk every day, a ritual I couldn’t break.The door creaked as I pushed it o
DAMIEN’S POVI woke up with a knot in my gut that wouldn’t loosen. It’s been three weeks since the Council forced Olivia to be mine, and these past days of watching her fade into someone I didn’t recognize. The house was quiet as I rolled out of bed, the hardwood creaking under my boots as I pulled them on. It was her birthday today. A day that should’ve meant something, but all I could feel was the weight of her misery pressing down on me.I grabbed the small box from my dresser—a pure silver dagger, polished to a gleam. I’d spent hours picking it out, thinking it might spark something in her. A weapon for a fighter. That’s who she used to be. Not this ghost drifting through my halls. I shoved the box into my pocket and headed downstairs, the air thick with the scent of coffee I’d brewed but wouldn’t drink. She wouldn’t join me anyway. We didn’t eat together, we didn’t talk to each other. We don’t even look at each other unless she needs something—like permission to see Lucien.The k
OLIVIA’S POVI stormed up the stairs, my boots slamming against the wood, the sound echoing in my skull. It’s just the morning of my birthday, and my day was already a disaster. Damien’s voice still rang in my ears, his excuses about Alaric twisting like a knife in my gut. I shoved my bedroom door open, the ancient book from Archimedes clutched tight against my chest. The silver dagger he’d given me sat abandoned downstairs, untouched. I didn’t want it. Didn’t want anything from him.The room smelled like stale air and lavender, the curtains drawn tight against the morning light. I flung the book onto my bed, its leather cover thudding against the mattress, and paced the floor, my hands shaking. How could he? Alaric—his brother, the bastard who’d nearly killed me, who’d stabbed Lucien into a coma—and Damien was still talking to him? Hiding him? After everything? My chest burned, anger and betrayal choking me until I couldn’t breathe.I stopped by the dresser, gripping the edge until m
ARCHIMEDES’ POVI jolted awake, the shrill ring of my phone slicing through the silence of my bedroom. The clock on the nightstand glowed 2:13 a.m., its red numbers glaring at me as I fumbled for the device. It’s been two months since Olivia walked out on Damien, two months since we moved Lucien to the hospital. My heart thudded as I swiped the screen, the name “Elder Jorin” flashing up. An Elder didn’t call at this hour for small talk.“Jorin,” I said, my voice rough with sleep, sitting up against the headboard. The sheets pooled around my waist, cold air prickling my skin.“Archimedes,” he replied, his tone clipped, urgent. “It’s bad news. The Alpha of the Silvertongue Pack, Alpha Rourk, is missing. He’s been missing since last night, his son declared him missing when he didn’t show up for the festival last night.”I blinked, my mind sluggish but racing to catch up. “Missing? How the hell does an alpha go missing?” I swung my legs over the bed’s edge, the hardwood biting into my bar
MAYOR LARRY’S POVI sat in the dim glow of my office, the blinds drawn tight against the world outside. The desk lamp flickered, casting jagged shadows across the cluttered surface—maps, notes, a half-empty bottle of whiskey I hadn’t touched in days. My hands trembled as I gripped the edge of the chair, the wood creaking under my fingers. The rage simmered beneath my skin, hot and wild, a beast I couldn’t tame. It had been weeks since that alpha bit me, weeks since I turned into this… thing. A lycan. A monster I’d spent my life hunting.The phone buzzed on the desk, but I ignored it. Another call from my wife, probably, wondering why I hadn’t come home. I couldn’t face her—not like this. Not with the snarls that woke me at night, the claws I couldn’t fully retract, the hunger gnawing at my gut. I’d locked myself away, told her I was working late, chasing leads on Natalie. My sister, Olivia’s mother, who’s been for years, and every dead-end call I’d gotten lately were all negative feed
OLIVIA’S POVI stood at the bottom of the stairs, my arms crossed tight over my chest, staring at the unopened silver dagger on the counter. Damien’s gift from my birthday still sat there, a silent reminder of the wall between us. The house was quiet, the kind of quiet that gnawed at me, and I shifted my weight, my sneakers scuffing the hardwood. I hadn’t slept much—hadn’t been able to since I came back here, trapped under this roof with him again. My mind kept drifting to Lucien, to the hospital, to the life I’d lost. The sharp ring of Damien’s phone cut through the stillness, jolting me. I glanced up as he stepped into the living room, his brow furrowing as he pulled it from his pocket. “Nana,” he muttered, swiping the screen before pressing it to his ear. “Yeah, it’s Damien.”His voice faded into a low hum as I turned back to the counter, my fingers tracing the edge of the dagger’s box. Nana calling him instead of me stung—she’d been checking on Lucien for me, keeping me tied to h
DAMIEN’S POV I leaned against the hood of my truck, the metal cold under my palms, the air thick with the scent of pine and damp earth. The old warehouse loomed ahead, its rusted walls sagging under years of neglect. Alaric had picked this spot—neutral ground, far enough from New Orleans to keep prying eyes away. I checked my phone again, the screen glowing in the dusk. He was late. Typical.Headlights cut through the trees, and I straightened as his beat-up Jeep rolled into the clearing. The engine sputtered to a stop, and he climbed out, his boots crunching gravel. His hair was longer now, tangled and dark, his jaw shadowed with stubble. He looked like hell, but then again, so did I.“About time,” I said, crossing my arms. “I thought you’d bailed.”“Had to shake a tail,” he replied, his voice low, scanning the tree line. “You alone?”“Yeah,” I said, nodding toward the warehouse. “Let’s get this over with.”We stepped inside, the air stale and heavy with dust. Broken crates littered
MAYOR LARRY’S POVI stood in the basement of the Fallenstars mill, the air thick with damp rot and the coppery stench of blood. The full moon’s light filtered through cracked windows, casting pale streaks across the stone floor. My hands trembled as I adjusted the silver basin, its edges glinting under the glow. Rourke hung from chains against the wall, his head slumped, blood dripping from a gash on his wrist into the basin below. Silas dangled beside him, his gray hair matted with sweat, his breathing shallow. Lucien lay on a cot in the center, still as death, his chest barely moving. The book—Olivia’s book—sat open on a crate, its pages yellowed and curling, the Latin words staring back at me like a lifeline.I wiped my brow, sweat stinging my eyes, and grabbed the knife from my belt. The silver blade felt heavy, its weight a promise. Three lycans—one alpha, one on the path, one no longer an alpha. Their blood would purge this curse from me, strip the venom that clawed at my bones.
OLIVIA’S POVThe hospital room smelled of antiseptic and fresh cotton, the faint beep of the monitor steady as I sat up in the bed, my hands resting on the thin blanket, my body aching but alive. Five months had stretched since that night in the cavern, my belly now a gentle curve beneath the gown, the baby kicking soft against my ribs. Lucien stood by my side, his hand warm around mine, his dark eyes glistening with unshed tears, his thumb brushing my knuckles. Damien lingered near the door, his arms crossed, his jaw tight, the weight of the past days etched into his face. Alaric slouched in a chair, his boots propped on the frame, while Mara hovered near the window, her gaze soft but watchful.My chest tightened, my breath shallow as I looked between them, the words I’d held back for too long clawing their way up. I squeezed Lucien’s hand, my voice trembling but firm. “Damien, I need to say something.”He straightened, his hands dropping to his sides, his eyes meeting mine, steady
DAMIEN’S POVThe hospital’s waiting room buzzed with a low hum, the fluorescent lights casting a sterile glow over the tiled floor where I stood, my boots scuffing the edge of a chair. Olivia lay beyond the glass doors, her breathing steady now, the doctors’ voices a faint murmur as they worked. Lucien sat beside her bed, his hand wrapped around hers, his shoulders hunched, tears glistening on his cheeks as he stared at her pale face. My chest tightened, a sharp pang twisting through me, jealousy flaring hot as I watched him—his fear, his love, raw and unguarded. Alaric sprawled in a chair nearby, his knife tucked away, his head tilted back, eyes shut, while Mara perched close, her gaze flicking between Olivia and the door.I leaned against the wall, my arms crossed, my jacket creaking as I shifted, the weight of it all pressing down. Lucien’s return had shifted everything—cracked open a truth I’d dodged for months. Olivia’s heart belonged to him, always had, and I’d known it deep dow
LUCIEN’S POVThe cavern reeked of blood and ash, the air thick with the metallic tang of death as I knelt beside Olivia, my hands slick with her blood, her body limp against the cold stone. The Lunar Eclipse’s red glow faded overhead, the torchlight flickering weak across the carnage—bodies strewn everywhere, cultists torn apart, the original Alphas reduced to lifeless husks, Selene’s shattered form a pile of dust in the center. Natalie lay steps away, her chest still, her blood pooling dark under her, Olivia’s claws having ripped through her in that final, wild surge. My breath hitched, my fingers pressing against Olivia’s neck, her pulse faint but there, her mouth stained red, her eyes shut as she’d collapsed after screaming for her mother.Damien dropped beside me, his pistol clattering to the ground, his hands shaking as he gripped her shoulders, his voice raw. “Olivia, come on, wake up.” I pushed her hair back, my own hands trembling, her skin clammy under my touch, but she did
NATALIE’S POVThe cavern pulsed with a low hum, the air thick with the scent of iron and damp stone as I sat chained to the jagged wall, my wrists raw from the iron biting into my skin. The Lunar Eclipse bathed the chamber in a sickly red glow, the light seeping through cracks in the ceiling, casting twisted shadows across the cultists’ hooded figures. Olivia slumped beside me, her pregnant belly straining against her shirt, her face pale and slick with sweat as the ritual began. The cult’s leader, Vladimir, a gaunt man with sunken eyes and a silver blade—stood over her, his voice rising in a guttural chant, the words foreign and sharp, slicing through the stillness.My heart pounded, my chains rattling as I strained forward, watching them carve symbols into the stone floor around her, their knives glinting in the crimson light. A bowl sat between us, its edges crusted with old blood, and they dragged a claw across Olivia’s arm, her gasp echoing as red welled and dripped into it. Pain
DAMIEN’S POVThe pickup’s engine growled as I pulled into the cabin’s drive, the headlights sweeping across the gravel, cutting through the dusk’s heavy gray. Alaric slouched in the passenger seat, his boots propped on the dash, a half-empty beer can dangling from his fingers. We’d spent the day scouting the hills, chasing rumors of rogue wolves stirring trouble, but my mind kept drifting to Olivia—her pacing, her tears, the way she’d dodged my questions since Lucien showed up. The truck jolted to a stop, and I frowned, my gut twisting as her car came into view, parked crooked, the driver’s door hanging open.I climbed out, my boots crunching the gravel, the air cool and sharp against my skin. Groceries littered the ground—apples bruised and scattered, a milk jug leaking white into the dirt, a loaf of bread torn open by some critter. My pulse kicked up, my hands clenching as I scanned the yard, the cabin’s windows dark, the porch silent.“Olivia?” I called, my voice rough, bouncing of
OLIVIA’S POVThe cabin’s wooden floor groaned under my restless steps, my socks sliding as I paced the living room, the late afternoon sun slicing through the blinds in thin, golden bars. Lucien’s visit three days ago clung to me—his eyes shattering at the sight of my four-month belly, his voice low with apology, the way he’d turned and left with Mara shadowing him. My chest throbbed, a steady ache I couldn’t shake, and I paused by the window, my fingers brushing the frayed curtain, my breath fogging the glass in short, uneven bursts. Damien’s boots scuffed the kitchen floor behind me, his shadow stretching long, and I spun, pasting on a smile as he leaned against the counter, his brow creasing with that quiet worry he’d worn lately.“You okay?” he asked, his voice soft, hands buried in his jean pockets, his dark hair falling into his eyes. “Been pacing like a caged wolf all day.”I nodded fast, my hand drifting to my stomach, the baby’s faint kick pressing against my palm. “Fine. Jus
LUCIEN’S POVSleep wrapped me tight, the familiar hum of the house in Pine Hollow lulling me deep, my body sunk into the mattress. Three months had passed since I’d come back—three months of road trips with Little Lucien, Dad’s gruff jokes, Mom’s warm meals, and I’d found a rhythm, a peace I hadn’t known in years. Nana’s stern face flickered in my dreams, Mara’s laugh too, and Olivia—always Olivia—her shadow lingering no matter how hard I tried to let it fade. Mom’s voice echoed too, soft but persistent, urging me to forgive her, to hear her out. I’d nodded, let the words settle, decided in my heart to let it go, but my boots hadn’t crossed back to New Orleans.A howl pierced the night—sharp, wild, yanking me awake. I bolted upright, my heart pounding, the sheets slipping to my waist. The sound cut through the stillness, a wolf’s cry I hadn’t heard since I’d left the pack behind. I swung my legs over the bed, the floor cold under my feet, and stumbled to the window, shoving the curtai
OLIVIA’S POVDust swirled around the truck’s tires as Dad pulled into the clearing, the engine rumbling to a stop. I squinted through the windshield, my stomach twisting as the familiar jagged pines of Blood Wagon Park loomed ahead, their shadows stretching long in the late morning light. My hands gripped the seat, the leather creaking under my fingers, a chill creeping up my spine. I knew this place—too well—and Aslaug lived here, her presence a thorn I’d dodged for months. The last time we’d spoken, her voice had dripped with venom, accusing me of chasing Ben, her Ben, despite me swearing I’d never tried. That call with him two months back—his sharp words, our friendship cracking—had been the end. I’d stopped reaching out, letting the silence grow, but stepping into her territory now felt like walking into a trap.I turned to Dad, my voice tight, my foot tapping the floorboard. “I don’t want to be here. Let’s get out of here, please. I’m not comfortable.”He killed the engine, his
DAMIEN’S POVThe bed jolted beneath me, Olivia’s scream slicing through the quiet night, her voice raw and jagged. I bolted upright, my heart slamming against my ribs, the sheets tangled around my legs as I reached for her. She thrashed, her eyes squeezed shut, sweat beading on her forehead, words spilling from her lips—guttural, strange, a jumble of sounds I couldn’t grasp. Her hands clawed at the air, nails digging into nothing, and I grabbed her shoulders, shaking her gently, my voice hoarse. “Olivia. Olivia, wake up.”Her eyes snapped open, wide and unseeing, black voids staring past me, her breath ragged. She shoved me off, scrambling for the nightstand, her fingers snatching a pen and a scrap of paper from the drawer. I froze, my hands hovering, as she hunched over, scribbling fast—sharp, jagged symbols, loops and slashes that meant nothing to me. “Olivia,” I said, louder now, leaning closer. “You okay? Talk to me.”She didn’t flinch, didn’t look up, her pen scratching louder, f