ARCHIMEDES’ POVThe dining room felt like a cold, hollow shell despite the flickering warmth of the chandelier above. Nana sat across from me, her trembling fingers clasping a handkerchief damp with tears. The quiet sobs that escaped her seemed to echo off the walls, amplifying the heaviness in the room.I couldn’t meet her gaze. Not when I was the reason behind her anguish. Not when I was the reason behind Lucien’s torment.The weight of my failure was suffocating, coiled tightly around my chest like a serpent. My fingers traced the edge of the wooden table absently as I stared at the untouched cup of coffee before Nana. It had long since gone cold, just like everything else I’d tried to nurture in my life.Nana sniffled loudly, breaking the suffocating silence. “He doesn’t deserve this,” she whispered, her voice raw and filled with anguish. “He never did, Archimedes.”Her words hit like daggers, each one lodging itself deeper into the fragile wall of denial I had built over the year
OLIVIA’S POVThe kitchen was silent except for the sound of my shallow breaths. My body remained sprawled on the cold granite countertop, damp with sweat and stained by what had just transpired. The stillness pressed against my chest, but I didn’t move. Not yet.Damon’s voice came from somewhere in the haze. “Damn it, Olivia…” he muttered under his breath, low and gravelly. His tone was laced with regret, his words spiraling into curses as he stepped away from me. “I… I didn’t mean to—”He was pacing now, his hands raking through his hair as though he could pull the guilt straight out of his skull. “I shouldn’t have done that… shouldn’t have let myself…” His voice trailed off into something barely audible. I stayed still, staring up at the ceiling. The chandelier above swayed faintly, the soft glow of its light casting intricate patterns that felt too delicate for the mess we had just created. Damon’s rambling felt like a distant echo, like waves breaking against a shore too far away
LUCIEN’S POVThe house was quiet now, a stark contrast to the storm that had raged moments ago. I leaned back in the chair by the window, my fingers gripping the armrests as I tried to steady my breathing. The fight with my father still echoed in my ears, his voice sharp and unyielding, mine breaking under the weight of years of anger and resentment. I clenched my fists, nails biting into my palms as the trembling in my lips refused to stop. The rage was there, bubbling just beneath the surface, but it was the despair that weighed me down.“Lucien.”Nana’s voice was soft, her presence grounding. She moved toward me, her frail frame exuding a strength I couldn’t quite understand. Her arms wrapped around me as she pressed her check to the top of my head.“You need to calm down, my child,” she whispered, her tone soothing. “Archimedes has left. He won’t trouble you for now.”I felt the tension in my shoulders ease under her embrace. Her hands ran gently along my back, and for a moment,
BEN’S POVI set my phone facedown on the nightstand, Olivia’s name still flickering in my thoughts. The call had been quick, my response hurried and dismissive, but her voice had lingered. There was something in the way she said my name—something unsteady, like she was holding herself together by the thinnest thread.But she was with Damon. Damon could handle it, right? He always has a way of solving problems right, I mean he could be a bit responsible like Lucien and help pull her out of her head when it gets too noisy. Still, I couldn’t help but wonder if she was really okay.“Ben,” Aslaug’s voice was a soft growl, pulling me back into the moment. Her arms slipped around my waist, her fingers splaying across my bare chest as she pressed herself against my back. “Where did you just go?” “I’m here,” I said, though my tone lacked conviction. She moved around me, her long, crimson hair cascading over one shoulder as she tilted her head to study me. Her eyes—those piercing green eyes t
DAMON’S POV The scent of her still lingered on my skin—wild lavender with a hint of something sweeter, something uniquely Olivia. It clung to me as I stood in the bathroom, watching the steam from the shower fog the mirror. I could still hear her soft, breathless moans echoing in my mind, the way her body had melted into mine without hesitation, the rawness of it all. What had gotten into her tonight? Olivia was always so restrained, so guarded. But tonight, she’d let everything go, given herself to me so completely it almost felt like she was someone else. I let the water run cold before stepping under the spray, hoping it would clear my head. My thoughts turned darker as I replayed every detail of our time together. I hated myself for it, but the mate bond had always been my greatest weapon with her. I knew how to use it to reel her in, to make her need me even when I wasn’t sure if she wanted me.And yet, tonight felt different. It wasn’t just about the bond. Her moans—sharp, ga
OLIVIA’S POVI woke up to the soft light of the morning creeping into the room. For a second, I thought I had dreamed everything. The heated exchange of passion with Damon, the confusion, the silent tension that followed—it all felt like fragments of an overactive imagination. But as I stirred, the soreness in my limbs and the lingering scent of him on my clothes from last night made it clear that it had all been real.Last night had been intense. One moment, I was a tangled mess of desire in his arms, the next, I was left alone in a bed too big and too cold. He’d retreated, and I’d been too proud to chase after him. Rolling out of bed, I padded over to the window and looked outside. The sun was high, its warmth doing little to thaw the unease in my chest. Something felt off about the morning. There was no noise coming from downstairs—no clatter of plates, no faint hum of the housekeeper tidying up. I slipped into a loose sweater and headed downstairs, half-expecting to find the ho
LUCIEN’S POVThe dream started like a storm, pulling me into chaos before I could orient myself. The sky above was blood red, swirling with angry clouds that crackled with lightning. I stood in a dense forest, the air thick with the stench of blood and fur.Growls and snarls echoed all around me. Shadows moved in the trees—werewolves, dozens of them, their glowing yellow eyes locked on me. My body tensed, instincts flaring as I realized I wasn’t alone in this fight. Damon stood a few feet away, his posture rigid, his eyes burning with the same determination that fueled mine. He didn’t look at me, but the subtle nod he gave said enough—we had a common enemy. Then I saw her. Olivia. She was lying unconscious in the arms of a hooded figure, her body limp, her head lolling to the side as they carried her away into the depths of the forest.“Olivia!” I screamed, my voice ripping through the air.Her captor didn’t stop, didn’t even flinch, as if my voice meant nothing.The pack of wolve
BEN’S POVThe voicemail had shaken me to my core.Olivia’s voice—usually so steady, so confident—had cracked with fear, each word trembling with desperation. Even now, standing in Lucien’s living room with Aslaug by my side, the memory of her voice haunted me.“Ben, it’s me,” she had said, the urgency in her time chilling. “Damon is taking me somewhere. He says I’m not safe here, but he won’t tell me why. I’m scared, and I don’t know what to do. Please, come find me.” My best friend was in danger. And I wasn’t there for her. I had failed her once last night when I cut our call short. My mate’s soft laugh in the background had reminded me how late it was, how Olivia was safe with Damon. I hadn’t even let her state her reason for calling before I told her I’d call her back later. Now, my heart twisted with guilt at the thought of how alone she must have felt. Lucien stood by the window, his phone pressed to his ear, his expression thunderous. I could feel the weight of his emotions i
OLIVIA’S POV I leaned against the bedroom doorframe, my arms crossed, watching Dad sip his water, his gray eyes softer than I’d seen in years. The afternoon light spilled through the window, dusting his salt-and-pepper hair with gold, and my chest warmed, a knot unraveling. We’d talked for hours—really talked—about Mom, about Claire, about the mess between us. He’d kicked Claire out, her affairs with Vladimir and half the council finally snapping his patience. More than that, he’d been hunting Mom all this time, years before I’d demanded it, chasing her shadow since the night she vanished from their bed. Relief washed through me, sharp and sweet—he hadn’t forgotten her, hadn’t stopped caring, despite the hate I’d thought he aimed at me. It wasn’t hate, he’d said, his voice cracking—it was her face in mine, her laugh in my laugh, tearing him open every time he looked at me. He’d thought she’d abandoned us, but now he saw it—something bigger, something hidden, had stolen her away. We’
DAMIEN’S POV I slumped onto the rooftop floor beside Lucien, my back against the railing, the cold concrete biting through my suit. The champagne glass dangled in my hand, half-empty, and I stared at it, the bubbles fizzing like the mess in my head. Lucien sprawled next to me, his shirt unbuttoned joggers wrinkles, looking just as wrecked. We’d spilled it all—me begging him to take Olivia, him shoving her back at me—and now we sat, two alphas stumped, no clue how to dodge the heartbreak we’d dump on her if we both bailed.“Refill,” I muttered, tipping my glass toward the bottle between us.Lucien snorted, grabbing it, sloshing more into his own glass first. “You’re a lightweight, Fallenstar. Already slurring?”“Fuck off,” I shot back, smirking as he poured mine, the liquid splashing over the rim. “You’re the one swaying.”He grinned, sloppy and wide, and took a swig, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “What the hell do we do, man? Can’t both ditch her—she’d be a damn joke. L
LUCIEN’S POV I stood at the kitchen counter, the early morning light spilling through the window, glinting off the coffee mug in my hand. The house was quiet, too quiet, the kind of stillness that pressed against my chest. Olivia was upstairs with her father, Alpha Aaron—had been since he showed up yesterday, his face carved with grief I knew too well. I’d caught their voices late last night, soft and strained, threading through walls. It warmed me, seeing her with him, the rift between them softening after years of jagged edges over Natalie’s disappearance. I’d known her ache for her mother since our marriage—three years of whispered hopes she’d let slip in the dark, her greatest wish a ghost I’d chased for her in secret. Every lead I’d followed—old pack trails, human towns, whispered rumors—crumbled to nothing, a void I couldn’t fill. I’d stopped years ago, convinced Natalie was dead, but I’d never told her, couldn’t bear to snuff out that flicker in her eyes.I sipped the coffee,
DAMIEN’S POVI gripped the steering wheel, my knuckles whitening as the engine purred beneath me, the road stretching toward the burial ground. The black suit clung to me, sharp and tailored, the fabric cool against my skin despite the heat rising in my chest. My hair fell forward, one strand brushing my eye, and I left it there, a shield against the world I was about to face. Daiki’s voice rang in my ears from earlier, his broad hand on my shoulder, his tone urgent. “You don’t have to go, Master Damien. Pay your respects quiet—here, at home. They’ll tear you apart out there.”I’d shrugged him off, my jaw tight, and climbed into the car anyway. The Hales deserved more than silence. Thomas had dragged me from the woods at sixteen, blood-soaked and half-dead, my family’s slaughter still wet on my hands. Elena had stitched my wounds, fed me, their home a refuge when the packs turned their backs. I owed them this, even if it meant facing the fire. The clearing came into view, a somber c
AALPHA AARON’S POVI slumped in the worn leather chair of my study, the late afternoon sun bleeding through the cracked blinds, casting jagged stripes across the cluttered desk. Papers sprawled before me—maps marked with red Xs, scribbled notes, dead-end leads—all nine months of chasing shadows for Natalie. My fingers curled around the glass of bourbon, the amber liquid trembling as I lifted it to my lips, the burn a fleeting distraction from the ache gnawing at my chest. Olivia’s words echoed, sharp and unyielding: Find Mom, or we’re done. She didn’t know I’d been searching long before she demanded it, years stretching back to that night when my world splintered.The memory clawed its way up, vivid and cruel. Natalie and I had tucked Olivia into bed, her small frame curled under the quilt, her breaths evening out as I finished the last page of her favorite story—The Wolf and the Star. Natalie’s voice had softened the tale, her hand brushing Olivia’s hair, a quiet smile on her lips.
OLIVIA’S POVI sat on the edge of the bed, my legs tucked beneath me, watching Lucien’s chest rise and fall in shallow, uneven breaths. The late afternoon sun slanted through the curtains, painting his face in soft gold, the scratch marks I’d left on his cheek still stark against his pale skin. He slept now, his body limp, drained from the curse that had seized him hours ago. Zypher had roared through him, pinning me to the wall, his hands tight around my throat—not him, not really, just the beast Archimedes had forced into him. I’d clawed him back, my nails drawing blood, and he’d crumpled, the violence fading as he sank into this numb, paralyzed state. I pulled the blanket higher, tucking it around his shoulders, my fingers brushing his damp hair.I leaned down, pressing my lips to his forehead, the warmth of his skin grounding me. “You’re always in my heart,” I whispered, my voice barely a breath, knowing he couldn’t hear. “This love—it’s not dying, not ever.” My chest tightened,
ALARIC’S POV I leaned back in the leather chair, the dim glow of the fireplace casting flickering shadows across my study. The air smelled of smoke and whiskey, the glass in my hand half-empty, its burn a faint echo of the satisfaction simmering in my chest. Thomas Hale was dead—his wife, his daughter, his grandson, all gone. I’d watched the flames swallow their house, the crackle of timber and the screams fading into the night. No bodies left, no graves to mourn—just ash. Damien would feel it, that hollow stab of loss, and it fueled me, a dark joy curling through my veins. The Hales weren’t the first—his housekeeper, an old woman who’d fussed over him since he was seventeen, had bled out under my knife years back. Servants, friends, business partners—anyone he let close, I’d taken, leaving him alone, a king with no court. He deserved it, after what he’d done.The door creaked, and Creed Hunters stepped in, his boots thudding against the hardwood. His lean frame filled the doorway,
OLIVIA’S POVI perched on the edge of the bed, my knees drawn up, staring at Lucien as he lay sprawled across the sheets. His chest rose and fell, slow and ragged, the scratch marks I’d left on his cheek still red against his skin. My nails had brought him back—snapped him out of Zephyr’s grip—and now he rested, exhaustion pulling him under. The room was quiet, the late afternoon sun filtering through the curtains, casting a soft glow over his face. I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, my mind churning, torn in two directions I couldn’t untangle. Nine months had slipped by since the mate bonds locked me to Damien and Lucien. Weekends with Damien, every Saturday and Sunday tangled in his sheets at the Fallenstar’s Home, learning him piece by piece. Everyone feared him, whispered about the blood on his hands—his parents, his whole family, slaughtered by his own claws. They called him a monster, a killer who’d snuffed them out to claim power. But I’d seen him wake gasping from nig
LUCIEN’S POVI stood in the living room, the afternoon light spilling through the tall windows of the mansion, casting long shadows across the hardwood. My joggers hung low on my hips, the black singlet clinging to my chest, and the coffee mug warmed my hand as I took a slow sip. Olivia was due back today—Monday, her weekday with me—and my blood hummed with anticipation. Nine months she’d been splitting herself between me and Damien, weekdays here, weekends there, a dance I’d grown used to but never liked. I didn’t know for sure what she did with him, didn’t ask, but I felt it—her body carried his echo sometimes, faint and infuriating. That first hickey, two months into this mess, had been proof enough. Since then, I’d buried the question, let it fester in silence. She came back to me ready, always, her heat a wildfire I couldn’t resist.The curse gnawed at me, though, sharper now than ever. Zephyr—my Lycan half—clawed inside, restless, violent, a storm I couldn’t tame. Maximus, my a