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
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
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
LyraWhen the last of the wolves had disappeared into the woods, Lyra staggered to her room. Wrapping her arms around herself, she cried wracked with sorrow until dawn broke. It was clear, the wolf would never come. Eventually, she fell asleep.Under the rising sun’s orange glow, the pack returned from the hunt in spurts.Lyra’s bedroom door creaked open. Seraphina stepped into the room. Lyra groggily pushed herself up on weak arms. When Seraphina saw she had not shifted, a cruel smile spread across her face and she dashed out of the room. Panic surged through Lyra. She had to stop her sister. Couldn’t let their mother find out.‘"Seraphina!" Lyra's voice cracked as she raced after her. "Don't tell her," she pleaded.Seraphina stuck her tongue out as Lyra reached for her arm. But before she could grab her, Seraphina burst away. Lyra stumbled.Just as Seraphina stepped outside, she turned and shouted, "Lyra never changed!" She threw herself into Selene’s waiting arms, standing in th
LyraAs Lyra rushed through the village, smoke’s acrid bite stung her nostrils. Homes smoldered. Everything was in ruins.She scrambled through collapsing buildings looking for signs of life. But the streets were vacant, eerie silence weaving through the heat. Then, a faint cry near the old well drew her attention. Aunt Maris lay on the ground. Blood stained her clothes. When she heard Lyra approach, her eyes fluttered open. Maris smiled weakly as she kneeled beside her.The cold, damp ground sent a shiver through her, the metallic scent of blood making her stomach twist. Warmth faded from Maris’s hand as Lyra gripped it in her own.“Aunt Maris!” She blurted, trying to stop the bleeding pooling beneath her.Maris’s chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven breaths. Lips tinged blue. “Lyra…” Maris gasped, her dull gaze filled with love.Lyra’s heart throbbed in anguish. “Don’t talk. Save your strength,” she pleaded. Maris’s fingers twitched in Lyra’s grasp. “They took them…” she sputte
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
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