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LyraThe room was too quiet without Veyron.Lyra lay still, staring at the empty space where Veyron had been just moments ago. His absence had stolen the heat.She gripped the sheets, trying to steady herself, but nothing could erase those black, eternal eyes. The voice had wrapped around her like chains forged in shadow. A shudder wracked through her at the memory of how powerfully her body had responded. She swallowed hard against her closing throat.The moment he’d realized what he was doing, he’d torn himself away. She should have called to him, told him to stay. They could talk about it. If should she have felt relieved, she didn’t. Because now, she knew the truth.Veyron was breaking. His iron grip on himself was under the darkness inside him. And if it disintegrated completely…Lyra pulled the blankets tighter around her, curling up into a ball as though she could shut out the ghost of his touch. But his touch continued to feather her skin.She had feared his control before. N
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
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 ar
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
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
LyraThe pack gathered in the streets, stars blinking into the dark indigo sky. It was the night of her 18th birthday and the village was alive with festivity. But no one celebrated her birth. They only looked forward to her wolf awakening. Their pack was small, just short of 50 people. Every wolf brought increased prosperity. Every marriage promised children. And with her marriage to the Beta, Theron, she would no longer be an outsider.Sitting on the fountain on the outskirts, Lyra dragged her fingers through the cold water and watched the ripples spread. Laughter and music buzzed around her like a distant dream.As the moon rose, the town cheered. But not for the girl with the ebony mane tangled around her face, dirt on her cheeks, and eyes too full of loneliness to be seen. Her unfocused gaze drifted through the crowd, where Theron’s family partied the hardest. “Just my luck,” she muttered, splashing water droplets with a smack. “The full moon would rise on my 18th birthday.” F
LyraAt the front of the square, Lyra watched her father, Alpha Aldric, as he spoke to his advisors. They were preparing the run that would happen after her first shift. Everyone would head into the woods as their primal instincts flowed through their veins, free as only a wild wolf could be.When their eyes met, Alpha Aldric’s expression was distant, as if she were just another face in the crowd.“Father… I need to talk to you.” She called.“Not right now, Lyra…” He turned away as someone offered him a paper that he reviewed as he continued speaking. “Your wolf... will be here soon. I know... you must be eager for that moment.”The words rushed out. “But Father—Seraphina said—”He cut her off without a glance. "Don’t let your sister bother you. She’s just teasing. And I’ve got enough to worry about. Besides, your mother said it’s lighthearted."She hated how small and invisible she felt. But what could she do? She reached out, just shy of touching his shoulder, trembling. Even the c
LyraAs the moon climbed higher, the villagers grew more restless. Lyra sat in a dark corner, afraid to be seen.Would her wolf change things? Would they accept her? Or would she be left behind, standing alone as others forged bonds?Lyra watched Seraphina loop her arm into Theron’s, tilting her head and batting her eyelashes. Theron smiled charmingly, their faces inches apart. Was this what their marriage would look like? Nothing but a ghost at Theron’s side?“You look lost in thought, Lyra,” Aunt Kyline broke through her reverie, soft and low.Kyline and Maris were twin sisters, her aunts on her father's side. They were always kind to her, although their truths were not always gentle. “I’m just…” Lyra trailed off. “We’re supposed to be mated, Aunt Kyline. But.. I don’t feel connected.”Fated mates, destined to be together, were supposed to form an unbreakable, deep bond, often from the moment they met. Kyline’s expression softened for a moment. “The Moon Goddess doesn’t make mistak
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 ar
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
LyraThe room was too quiet without Veyron.Lyra lay still, staring at the empty space where Veyron had been just moments ago. His absence had stolen the heat.She gripped the sheets, trying to steady herself, but nothing could erase those black, eternal eyes. The voice had wrapped around her like chains forged in shadow. A shudder wracked through her at the memory of how powerfully her body had responded. She swallowed hard against her closing throat.The moment he’d realized what he was doing, he’d torn himself away. She should have called to him, told him to stay. They could talk about it. If should she have felt relieved, she didn’t. Because now, she knew the truth.Veyron was breaking. His iron grip on himself was under the darkness inside him. And if it disintegrated completely…Lyra pulled the blankets tighter around her, curling up into a ball as though she could shut out the ghost of his touch. But his touch continued to feather her skin.She had feared his control before. N
VeyronVeyron climbed on top of Lyra, his world narrowing to her softness beneath him, her warmth branding him deeper than any fire. She was everything. The only thing. Starved compulsion consumed the edges of his feverish conscious. The wicked delirium of her stormed beneath his skin, pooling deep within him, demanding more—demanding her.He pinned her hands above her head, savoring the way she shivered beneath his touch, the way her breath caught. Every nerve awakened, attuned to the press of her body, the rapid beat of her pulse. Pressure built until his limbs trembled with the effort of holding on, his body no longer his own, ruled by the need to claim, to take, to make her his. Instinctively, he rocked against her, chasing her heat with a desperate, mindless rhythm that grew wilder until he was lost in her.She was his abyss, his surrender, his undoing.And then—he was gone.The unleashing became a vast ocean he could not escape, pulling him deeper. No sight. No sound. Only her. O
LyraThe mistress's touch seared into Lyra and she was powerless to stop her. “Please, don’t. I can’t take anymore, Vespera…”Pleasure and pain comingled until they were indistinguishable, reducing her will to a gasping, quivering rapacity.Even as the dream faded, its effects did not. The need coiled tight. Her fingers twitched, drawn down to where the mistress had taught her would quench the terrible hunger. She squeezed her eyes shut, lips parting as her fingertips brushed over her clit.Slick sweat coated her body as hands she couldn’t see ghosted over her skin, breath she couldn’t feel whispering in her ear. It wasn’t real. And yet…The mistress was still here. A phantom presence. No… Someone was in the room with her. Ice flooded through the fire in her veins. Humiliation being caught like this flooded her senses, awakening every nerve, driving her closer to the edge.Her eyes snapped open.Veyron loomed over her, his massive frame shrouded in shadows, the hunger radiating fro
VeyronThe room was suffocating. The candle on the nightstand burned out, leaving the scent of melted wax and a faint wisp of smoke. Veyron sat on the edge of the bed, his hands clenched into fists so tight his nails left crescent shaped lacerations on his palms. Lyra’s laugh still bounced around his head. Rivenn had charmed her, teasing, touching, even stealing glances. And Veyron watched, as the people he trusted most toyed with her attention. And she had welcomed it.Eryx growled in his mind, a low, restless rumble. They covet what is ours.Ours.Veyron’s breath shuddered out, the tension in his shoulders growing until they ached. He wanted her. More than he wanted air. Why did he yearn for her so? Why did her refusal to accept him burn so hot and deep? He didn’t need some girl. Never had. And yet, he needed her.The Mistress’s voice was a whisper in his mind, silk over steel, winding through the cracks in his resolve.Break her…He squeezed his eyes shut, but it was useless. Her
Lyra“He’s got a habit of picking up strays,” Brann remarked, tipping back his ale and nodding toward Veyron. “Over half the bastards here wouldn’t have a place if he didn’t take ‘em in.”Eryssa smirked. “Or a purpose. We’re all misfits in one way or another, but Veyron—he finds a use for the discarded.”Lyra listened quietly, her fingers tracing the rim of her tankard. She had seen Veyron’s leadership firsthand—the way these warriors, dangerous and unruly as they seemed, deferred to him without a command ever needing to be spoken. “And yet, he doesn’t unwillingly bind anyone to him as their Alpha.” Rivenn admired. “Veyron doesn’t demand it. He never has.”Most packs didn’t work that way. The pack bond was everything. The unshakable link that demanded loyalty, submission, belonging. It kept betrayal and fights out. Veyron did that all through sheer might.She glanced at him, half-hidden in the shadows now, nursing his drink as he listened but didn’t engage. His eyes distant.“It’s be
Veyron 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