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). Unwanted by her own pack, exiled on her 18th birthday, Lyra's dreams were torn from her. What hope did she have for a better future? It's only when fate brings her to Alpha Veyron that she begins to understand the moon goddess has so much more in store for her. Will this Alpha force an eternal claim on her, denying her love forever? Or will he allow her to choose what to do with her future? 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 MoreVeyron The tavern buzzed with life, its warmth at odds with the cold void inside him. His enforcers reveled in their drinks, their camaraderie unshaken despite the serious mission ahead. They nudged him, coaxed him, trying to pull him into their merriment. “Come on, Veyron,” Brann called, already three drinks deep. “I haven’t seen you smile in years. Are your teeth still intact, or did you grind them all to dust?” Veyron exhaled through his nose, arms folded across his chest. “I’ll smile when I see something worth smiling about.” Delvin smirked. “Gods help us all when that day comes.” Eryssa shook her head. “Lost cause,” she muttered, clinking her tankard against Rivenn’s. “Might as well try getting Aeron drunk.” Veyron barely heard them. His attention was elsewhere. On her. Lyra sat among them, relaxed in a way she never was around him. Her lips curved in amusement as she sipped her drink, a strand of raven hair slipping over her shoulder. The firelight softened her edges… w
Lyra“We’re after an artifact,” Veyron explained, setting his tankard down with a dull thud. “The Eglantine.”Silence fell over the table.Brann exhaled. “Shit.”Rivenn let out a low whistle. “She really has you chasing that?”Eryssa threw back a swallow of her drink before asking, “I knew it had to be bad, but… that bad?”“Alright,” Daphne glanced between them. ”someone want to explain? What’s the Eglantine?”Delvin drummed his fingers on the table. “Ancient. Dangerous. Powerful. One of a kind.”Brann chuckled, but it lacked his usual warmth. “Sounds like my type.”Eryssa rolled her eyes. “It’s not something to joke about, Brann.”“So we’re retrieving it…” Lyra frowned. “for what purpose?”Veyron’s jaw flexed before he answered. “The Mistress wants it. She says it’ll protect the pack from what’s coming.”That sent a ripple of unease through the group.Eryssa spoke, “It’s really happening, then.”Aeron merely nodded.Lyra’s eyes narrowed. “And what exactly is ‘it’?”No one answered i
LyraFollowing the group to the table, Lyra watched Veyron warily. Rivenn had been testing and teasing him but she had seen the moment where he almost didn’t stop. He had wanted to see blood and the echoes of anger hadn’t fully faded.Rivenn leaned back in his chair, lazily scanning the room as he took a deep swig of ale—then nearly choked on it. He set his tankard down with a thunk, eyes locking onto Lyra and Daphne.“Well, well,” he drawled, a slow grin spreading across his face. “No one told me we’d have company.”At that, the rest of the group turned, as if finally registering the two women who had ridden in with Veyron.Brann’s grin widened. “And no one told me the company would be this pretty.”Veyron’s fingers curled around the handle of his drink, his knuckles tightening as Brann leaned forward, all easy charm and reckless grins. A low growl hummed in the back of Veyron’s throat, too soft for anyone but Lyra to catch.She tried to ignore him.Eryssa groaned. “Gods save us, her
VeyronLyra, Daphne, Veyron, and Delvin rode toward the inn, its warm golden light spilling from shuttered windows onto the mud-slick road. It was a welcome sight after a long day’s ride, promising food, rest, and reacquaintance with old friends.The inn was bustling, the scent of roasting meat and ale mingling with the perfume of courtesans who prowled between tables like well-fed cats. Laughter and the clink of tankards filled the barroom.When they stepped inside, the world stilled. People recognized Veyron. A few stiffened, others averted their eyes. He was their leader, if not their Alpha, and he had long since stopped caring about being the center of attention.Then, cold steel pressed against his throat.Lyra sucked in a sharp breath, taking a step back. The firelight caught the glint of the blade, its edge whispering against his skin. His body went taut, but he didn’t flinch.Rip. Tear. Make him bleed. Eryx’s voice rumbled inside him, low and eager, his wolf’s instincts coiled
LyraThey traveled for the better part of the day through the vast, wind-swept grasslands, where golden fields rippled like an endless sea. Daphne kept the mood light, chatting idly with Lyra about whatever she saw around them; the color of the sky, the crispness of the air, idle musings about the villages they passed. Lyra responded when she could, but she was exhausted. Yet with every lapse of the conversation, her blood burned with a secret intimate need. The mistress of shadows’ torment never far, lurking behind every breath. The vibrations of riding thrumming along her ever sensitive womanhood.Veyron rode ahead. The tension in his shoulders and the sharp set of his jaw made it clear that his thoughts were not something he intended to share. The warrior who had fetched them from the quarters rode alongside them. He was middle-aged, with graying temples and a face lined by years of battle, yet his demeanor was easygoing. He joined in Daphne’s chatter with an amused tone, though w
LyraThe morning light spilled into the maids’ quarters, casting long golden streaks across the worn wooden floors. Veyron had told her to ready herself, but for what? He hadn’t said where they were going or what she would need. The others were dressing and debating the order of tasks for the day ahead.Daphne turned toward Lyra as she entered the room and beamed. “We were worried about you last night,” she said. “You came back unconscious. Are you alright?”Lyra opened her mouth to answer but she had none. Was she alright? The exhaustion, the pressure of everything smothered her. “I don’t know,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.Before Daphne could respond, a sharp knock at the door drew every gaze. A warrior stepped inside, broad-shouldered and solid, his face weathered with years of battle. His graying hair was cropped short, a jagged scar cutting across his brow. He wore dark leathers reinforced with iron plating, his sword strapped to his hip. The scent of damp sto
LyraLyra didn’t remember standing, didn’t register the moment her feet began to move. Her thoughts drifted through her dream. Who was mother talking about? How will I find them? And what is this rose?Her heartbeat was too loud in the den’s quiet halls. Everyone slept.The mistress had tested her tonight. Why? What would it lead to? Her skin still hummed with the magic’s energy, the thrill splashing over her thoughts like ice water. Her cheeks flushed with shame. Why did I enjoy it?Rounding a corner, her breath caught as she caught sight of Veyron.He moved down the hall ahead of her, a bowl clutched in his large hands. His fingers were tight around it, knuckles white. He did not stride with his usual command; instead, his steps were short, and careful as if afraid he might lose his balance.She followed but he didn’t notice. Not when he entered his chamber. He stepped toward the great stone hearth, the firelight throwing his shadow long against the walls. Lyra stopped at the th
LyraDarkness cradled her, weightless and eternal. That’s it… I’m lost in the haze. Pleasure and pain. I’ve drowned in it.Even as the thought crossed her mind, a spark ignited in the void bringing the world alive.Ancient runes shimmered in the air, their glow pulsing like a heartbeat. They floated, drifting before her, shifting and rearranging, whispering a secret only she could understand. She had never seen the symbols before, yet she knew them in the marrow of her bones. They sang a wordless melody to her heart. You are more than this. Meant for more.The runes led her forward. The grass beneath her feet was cool, damp with night, and in the distance, the wind howled low and hungry. Wolves moved within the tall grass on either side of her, wisps of silver and black. They watched her, darting in and out of existence.Nestled in a moonlit field, stood a small cottage carved from ancient, gnarled wood as though it had grown from the earth. The runes pulsated brighter, urging her on
LyraPain. A bite. Lyra’s eyes flew wide as venom spread through her like lava overflowing a volcano, forcing her senses wide open. Her muscles tightened, her pulse throbbed. Goddess, it hurt!Every excruciating throb evoked another electrifying rush between her legs. Her breath turned ragged, trembling on the precipice of something new and horrifying.She clenched her teeth, trying to force her rejection. But the venom burned deep into her bones, threading fire through her nerves. The torture sang in perfect harmony with elation, and she—she couldn’t stop it. Didn’t want to. She loved it!The mistress found the spot between her legs that she didn’t know needed the stimulation. Shame ignited with the intimate touch that lifted her higher and higher—until, if the world didn’t implode, she surely would. Then the mistress was no longer touching her, whispering that drinking would end the agony. Why would she want to end this unbridled beauty? Yet even as she reveled in it, her body writ
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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