Trigger Warning: This book contains morally gray werewolves, aggressive mate bonds, and a love interest who doesn’t understand the concept of personal space. Forced intimacy? Physical, magical, boy on girl, girl on girl... Dubious consent? Why stop at the MMC? If you like your romance with a side of "this is probably a red flag," proceed with caution (and maybe a glass of wine). A fantasy adventure steeped in dark romance, where a haunted warrior may be the submissive heroine’s greatest protector—or her ruin. She ran from him once, but fate, magic, and something far more dangerous—desire—dragged her back. He destroyed her life, and now, with the future of the world at stake, he can’t trust himself not to destroy her again. CHAPTER PREVIEW: Lyra swallowed hard, her throat dry, but the words escaped her lips before she could stop them. “I’m a reject,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “The man who was supposed to be my mate chose my sister instead.” His palms slammed the wall beside her head as his roar blew the hair out of her face. Lyra flinched, recoiling. His growl deepened, reverberating through the small space. “Whoever rejected you is irrelevant,” he snarled, his voice dripping with finality. “You. Belong. To me.”
View MoreLyraLyra turned to Brann, flashing him a playful smile. “So, Brann, tell me—are all warriors as fearless as you, or are you just special?”Brann, caught mid-drink, nearly choked on his ale. “I—I suppose I’m just special?”Rivenn barked out a laugh. Across the fire, Veyron finally looked up.His eyes flashed feral, his muscles coiling with restraint. She smiled, letting her fingers graze Brann’s arm, a bolt of heat shot through her at the contact. If Veyron wanted distance, she would give it to him. But she wasn’t about to disappear into the shadows.Veyron abruptly stood. His shoulders rigid as he stalked away from the fire, disappearing into the darkness beyond its glow. Silence fell over the group.Brann hesitated before speaking, quieter than usual. “I’m worried about him.”Delvin nodded solemnly. “Yeah.” Rivenn exhaled, rubbing his jaw. “He’s much darker than we’re used to. More moody. More volatile.” Genuine concern replaced his teasing lilt.“We need to keep an eye on him.” E
Lyra The fire crackled, sending embers swirling into the night as laughter rolled through the camp. Brann was mid-story, tankard in hand, weaving an exaggerated tale with the kind of energy only he could muster.“And then…” Brann’s voice boomed over the crackling fire, “Veyron, not even flinching, just leaps right at the beast, his cloak billowing behind him like the wings of some dark omen! He—get this—grabs its horns and yanks it to the ground like it’s nothing! He looked like some ancient god of war, practically glowing in the moonlight!”Delvin gave a dry smile, his arms crossed, leaning slightly away from Lyra as she sat dwarfed between him and Rivenn, who casually stroked a lock of Daphne’s hair with one hand and subtly brushed the back of Lyra’s.. “He looked more like a man trying not to die, if you ask me.”Brann shot Delvin a glance, but didn't let it derail him. “No, no. His shirt shimmered under the light of the fire. It was magnificent, really.”Rivenn leaned in closer t
VeyronThe warmth of the fire heated Veyron’s back, the crackling flames filling the tense silence. “What did you say to her?” Delvin asked. “To make her run off like that?”Veyron clenched his jaw. “I said nothing, Delvin,” he snapped. He didn’t want to discuss it.Delvin hesitated, studying him. “She really needs to be careful in these woods,” he said quietly. “There are wild creatures out here. It’s the border of your territory, not sure what might wander over. Just… stay alert. We’ll find her.”If he came looking for her, she would run. A vision of Lyra fleeing from him flashed before his eyes. Her face full of fear as she ran, with the wolf in him chasing, taking over. The excitement that tore through him at the thought twisted in his stomach, nauseating him.“Do you need me to help?” he asked, the words heavy.Delvin shook his head, gaze softening. “Nah, we’ve got it. You just stay here. We’ll bring her back.”With that, Delvin turned and joined the others in the search for the
LyraLyra stumbled through the woods, her chest constricting. Her breath came in shaky gasps, and she barely noticed the way the brambles tugged at her cloak until her foot caught on an unseen root. With a startled gasp, she tumbled forward, hitting the damp earth hard.For a moment, she stayed there, pressing her palms against the cool ground. Her vision blurred with unshed tears, and she let out a quiet, bitter laugh. Pathetic.A rustling sound drew her attention. Lifting her head, she blinked through the dark.A deer stood just beyond the trees, bathed in the soft glow of moonlight filtering through the canopy. Its coat was white as freshly fallen snow, and its antlers stretched high and twisting, larger than any deer she had ever seen. A shiver ran down her spine.Lyra swallowed, wiping at her eyes as she sat back on her heels. “Why is Veyron like this?” she asked the deer. “Why push me away like I’m nothing, when I know he feels it too?”The deer watched her with unsettling still
Veyron Veyron slid the dagger’s edge methodically against the whetstone with a slow, deliberate scrape. The sound sliced through the quiet night. His mind had no business straying. But still, it did.The motion of the blade against stone felt too familiar—like the feel of her body beneath him, his senses surging from their closeness. He tried to focus, but his thoughts kept circling back to the way she trembled under his touch. Everything about her made it impossible to hold back.Her approach tugged at his awareness before her scent even reached him. Eryx’s growl vibrated beneath his ribs, impatient with his hiding.She is coming to you. Let her finish the bond. She is ours.The ancient voice twisted through his mind, cold and insistent, filling the deepest corners of his thoughts. No. Let her ache. Let her yearn. She is already bound to you, whether she admits it or not. Veyron knew who spoke to him. He had used the crescent gate just before this journey. Though it had never comm
LyraThe night air carried the scent of burning wood and crisp earth as the group settled around the campfire. Shadows danced through trees, stretching toward the sky. Lyra sat near the flames, absently poking at the embers with a stick, her thoughts a tangled mess.Her skin prickled, flushed from more than just the fire’s heat. Magnetic fluid cloyed the air—or perhaps it was just her. Every shift of her cloak across her shoulders made her wince inwardly, growing more sensitive to even the smallest sensations the longer she went without satisfying Vespera’s magic, which smoldered under her skin.Veyron had been avoiding her all day, stealing glances at her as if ashamed to even look at her. He had dragged her into this journey, forced her along. The heat of last night replayed in her mind—the touch of his hands, the weight of his body, the bite that had sent something deep and ancient crackling through her. Her thighs still remembered the press of his hips. Her neck still tingled whe
LyraThey had been riding all day, the sun beginning its slow descent, stretching umbra across the land as the open grasslands gave way to a darker, denser world. The air grew cooler, damp with the scent of pine and moss. Where the horizon once rolled in golden waves, tall grasses now broke against clusters of underbrush and the twisted limbs of trees that marked the threshold of the forest.Riding beside Daphne, Lyra kept her eyes forward, trying to focus on anything other than the way her chest tightened every time Veyron ignored her presence.She shouldn’t care. Shouldn’t want his attention after what had happened.And yet…She swallowed hard, casting a wary glance toward Veyron’s broad, rigid back. No matter how much space he put between them, the truth remained—Lyra had recognized him even when he wasn’t entirely himself. Even now, her skin hummed with the confusing, heated memory. A flush clung to her cheeks, despite the breeze. Her thighs pressed instinctively against the sadd
LyraMorning came with the quiet shuffle of footsteps and the distinct, exasperated sigh of Rivenn.“There you two are,” he drawled, arms crossed as he leaned against the doorway. “You know, most people sleep in their own beds. Or at the very least, don’t start secret study sessions before breakfast.”Lyra and Daphne sat cross-legged on the bed, deep in discussion, their conversation flowing easily despite the tightness refusing to let go of Lyra’s chest.“So what you are saying,” Lyra questioned, “witches have more control over magic? Directing and shaping it with careful precision?”Daphne nodded. “It’s a disciplined craft, harnessing raw energy and focusing it into intention.”Rivenn raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Yeah, yeah, all very sophisticated. But tell me this—what happens when things go sideways, and you don’t have time for all that careful focusing?” He tapped his temple. “Werewolf magic isn’t about control. It’s about instinct. Raw power. We don’t have to shape it. We are
Mistress Of ShadowsThe cavern pulsed with the whispers of ancient power, the air thick with incense and the glow of a hundred flickering candles casting shadows along the stone walls. Vespera sat upon her throne of obsidian, watching the great hall of the Mothers stir with anticipation. The covens had gathered, draped in silks and veils, voices like rustling leaves as they spoke of omens and portents, of war and prophecy.And yet, her mind was elsewhere.She had left before Veyron. How had he told her she would no longer be going? And how had she reacted? Then, a soft gasp of pleasure called out to her through the magic link. "Vespera—!" Lyra had not been able to resist long.She smiled as a ripple of energy licked down her spine with the languidness of a dream.She rose, her sheer black robes flowing around her like smoke as she approached the pedestal where her crystal ball rested. The glass swirled, deep indigo and silver mist.An unfamiliar room appeared. Common cotton sheets ta
ElysiaEvery witch, no matter their origin, carries the marks of their craft; glowing eyes, hair flowing like a waterfall, and porcelain skin. Deep in Mount Everstrike’s belly, the Matriarchs of all Covenkind circled the cavern’s hollow. The pure power that flowed through them intensified these witches’ magical features. Their eyes lit the darkness, dispelling the need for torches.A single woman stood in the center. Her ebony hair hung around her heart shaped face, obscuring her ocean blue eyes. Her shoulders slumped as she stared at the ground. Elysia stood on trial and she knew there was only one way it could end.Sabel waved her hand dismissively. "Seriously?" she scoffed. "You expect me to see our beloved sister—" Pointing at Elysia, her voice rose in disbelief. "—as a villain?" Indistinct voices murmured among the women as they scrutinized her with a variety of expressions ranging from pity to accusation. Elysia fought the urge to call out to them for compassion. She could beg t...
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