I tear through another blood sucker’s throat as my wolf is slammed to the floor. A dark elf smiles from the doorway, his purple eyes gleaming, bony fingers extended toward me. I feel my joints stretch as his spell threatens to rip me apart.This is it. This is how I die. I accept it. I can finally be with my sweet Amalea. I close my eyes, giving myself over to his power, and whisper thanks to the moon goddess—and then the pressure is gone. I open my eyes to see one of my fellow warriors eating the dark elf’s entrails.I lurch forward off the ground sinking my teeth into the nearest enemy I can find, before looking for more. Another day. Another battle. We’ve spent nearly a year trying to reclaim Cold Bay, but every time we push them back, they redouble their efforts.At this rate, we’ll never leave this goddess-forsaken frozen wasteland, unless it’s on a funeral pyre. Not that I care. Suicide by sacrifice. That’s what Marcus said when I left. I thought he’d command me to stay at first

Hurry up and wait. That’s the situation I’ve put myself in. When I saw my mate on that video, all I wanted to do was get to her as quickly as possible—fuck the consequences—but the trip here gave me time to think, painful as it was.Rash decisions made in the name of love rarely work out outside of fairy tales. This is reality. I can’t just run all the way to the Blood Moon pack house, waving howdy to pack border patrols as I go with an “oh, hey, just passing through to kill the Blood Moon Alpha! See ya later!” I might be willing to fight our entire species to get to my love, but I’d die doing it. What good would that do her?So here I am, waiting for preparations for the Alpha challenge to be complete, trying to formulate a plan through my rage. If—when—I beat Marcus, I can petition the council for her return from a position of power. I’ll get a copy of the video from Paul and show them just what Darius considers “punishment.” Even prisoners have rights. I don’t doubt more is going o

A moan slips from my lips as he sucks gently at my neck, the pressure of his body atop mine leading my mind to places I never thought it would go for him. I pull my hand from his hair, and push his shirt up, tracing the firm muscles of his abs. He pulls his teeth from my neck, hovering there, his lips just grazing the skin. I press closer to him, opening my legs more so that he can slip between them. He lifts his head and looks me in the eye when I do. I hate him. What am I doing? I lean forward off the bed, suddenly kissing him, tasting my coppery blood on his lips. He doesn’t kiss me back at first, seemingly surprised for a moment, before he does, deeply, his tongue mingling with mine. I feel him pull closer to me as his hand trails down my neck, and then lower, grazing my nipple, before sliding down to my hip. He grips it, his kiss growing hungry as I reach to undo his belt. He lifts himself slightly, letting me, as he breaks the kiss to pull my nightshirt over my head before smas

Bacon? Does he really think he can buy my forgiveness with bacon? He didn’t even stick around to apologize in person, just crept in, left food, and crawled away like the coward he is. I sit up in bed, eying the plate on the bedside table. That bacon does look perfectly cooked, though.I grab a piece, hop off the bed, and wander over to the window, staring off into the empty yard below, suddenly realizing I’m looking to see if he’s out there. Why am I looking for him? Why do I expect him to apologize at all, to be sorry? I’m his possession, a pet he plays with when he’s bored. He doesn’t care about me. Fuck, the bacon probably is just to make sure my iron levels stay up, so his meals keep coming.I made a fool of myself last night, and he set me up to do it. He knew all along what his venom was doing to me, making me care about him, want him. I mean at least the men who visited me in cell six had the balls to be honest about their intentions.What Darius has done is worse. He made me w

It feels like my head is underwater today—far too many bourbons and not enough sleep. Why do I do this to myself? You’d think hangovers wouldn’t exist for werewolves, but nope. We can heal from a gunshot wound or stabbing, but a little strain on the kidneys, and we’re as weak as a human. Anthony was right about Alicia, too. She’s changed nearly every element of this stupid funeral—some twice—in the last 8 hours, and I’m left trying to both avoid her and comply with her requests. He was her brother. I keep reminding myself of that. I don’t have any siblings myself, but I hear that’s a strong bond. Now she wants a podium to give a eulogy. Not just any podium, either. It needs to be made from oak, painted black, and trimmed with lilies—fucking white lilies—as if Marcus gave two fucks about flowers. She can’t just stand on the lake bank like everyone else. Of course not, that wouldn’t make any extra work for me. I’m an alpha now. I shouldn’t even have to put up with this shit, and yet,