Novelas de Kay Voss

PRINCESS SIGRUN OF WINDSMOOR [Brooklyn. The morning after the swap] I woke up to a cacophonous nightmare. A high-pitched, screeching howl that sounded like a dying beast. There was a loud deafening HONK that rattled me so much I threw myself from the bed and onto the floor for cover. An angry man’s voice yelled from faraway, “Ay, fuck you, jackass! Watch how you drive, shithead!” I remained where I was on the floor for a few more moments, my arms covering my head, and my heart slamming violently against my ribs. Slowly, I raised my head and my eyes darted frantically around the room. Everything looked so different. And the noise, dear gods! Constant, chaotic, overwhelming noise that seemed to be coming from somewhere outside the window that was strangely so close to the narrow bed I’d thrown myself down from. A low, vibrating hum rattled through the floorboards—coming from a giant white box in the corner—while the ceiling above me creaked under the rhythmic thud-thud-thud of so

SIGRUN Waking up was a slow, luxurious unraveling. Every single muscle in my body felt heavy, loose, and pleasantly bruised. My thighs throbbed with a dull, persistent ache, my throat felt slightly raspy, and the skin on my wrists bore faint aches where the soft leather bindings had held me fast to the headboard. I didn't open my eyes immediately. I just lay there, buried under a mountain of thick, dark furs, breathing in the warm, intoxicating scent of pine, winter air, and Varul’s unmistakable masculine scent. He was still here. That was the first real realization that washed over me. For seven long, miserable days, Varul had risen before dawn, leaving the bed cold before I even had the chance to reach for him. But this morning, the heavy, immovable weight of his broad arm was clamped firmly around my waist, his large palm resting flat against my bare stomach, trapping me flush against his side. I shifted slightly, letting out a soft, feline sigh, and the arm around my waist i

SIGRUN The angle was lethal. Every thrust hit a deep, sensitive node inside me that made my vision blur with stars. I bit my lip even harder to stop myself from making a sound. My slick core was trembling, contracting wildly around his shaft, hovering right on the precipice of a mind-shattering orgasm. I was desperate. I twisted my hips slightly, trying to chase the friction, trying to push myself over the edge. "Don't you dare," Varul growled into my ear, feeling my body fighting for release. He tightened his grip on my hair, holding me pinned in place while his hips slammed into me with relentless, rhythmic power. "Hold it for me, Sigrun." Tears of pure, unbearable pleasure gathered in the corners of my eyes. I gripped my own bound fingers behind my back, praying to survive the sheer intensity of his punishment. He was relentless, a man possessed, his heavy chest heaving against my back, his dark growls vibrating against my spine as he took his fill of me. My body was

SIGRUN My knees were shaking so violently I wasn’t sure they would support my weight for another five seconds. Kneeling on the fur rug in front of him, my lips swollen and wet, my knees weak, I looked up into Varul’s face. The dry, stoic Alpha King was completely gone. In his place stood a man consumed by raw, untamed desire—his golden amber eyes glowing like burning coals in the dim firelight, his broad chest heaving as he stared down at me. Before I could even draw another breath, his massive hands clamped under my armpits, lifting me off the floor as easily as if I weighed nothing at all. I let out a soft gasp, instantly reaching up to wrap my bare arms around his neck. I hitched my legs up, locking my ankles firmly behind his broad waist. A sharp, dull throb shot up my right foot—the sprained ankle reminding me it wasn't quite a hundred percent healed—but I didn't care. The aching joint was nothing compared to the white-hot heat pooling between my thighs. Varul adj

VARULThe quill was heavy in my hand, the wet black ink leaving dark, jagged initials across the bottom of another trade shipment manifest.I dipped the feather back into the well, my knuckles already stiff from hours of mind-numbing paperwork. Wall. Timber, iron rivets, extra grain stores, and heavy canvas for the builders working at Linewatch.The rebuilding was coming along. Weeks after the wall collapsed, there still hadn't been a single report of another attack from the blue creatures. No strange tracks in the snow.So far, everything was peaceful—even after the little hiccup that was Lord Halvar’s sudden death.I leaned back in the carved oak chair, rubbing the bridge of my nose as I stared at the stack of parchment waiting on my desk. The council had unanimously marked his death as collateral. The death of an Alpha during a primal ritual like the High Hunt was hardly uncommon. When the blood moon rose, everyone became feral. Beasts took over and blood was spilled in the dark. I

SIGRUNA sudden, sharp click of the iron latch shattered my sleep.My eyes snapped open, my heart instantly leaping into my throat. The hearth fire had burned down to a mound of glowing crimson embers, casting long, shadowy fingers across the high stone walls. The room had grown cold. I had no idea how many hours had passed, but my eyes felt heavy, my tongue dry and thick.I must have fallen asleep waiting for him.Panic and instinct surged at once. I tried to sit up quickly, but as my body shifted, my bandaged right foot caught on the heavy fur coverlet. A sharp, searing bolt of pain shot straight up my ankle, ripping a jagged gasp from my throat."Ah—" I winced, sucking in a shuddering breath and clamping my teeth over my lower lip as I dragged myself upright against the pillows.The heavy oak door swung shut, sealing the midnight chill into the room.Varul stood in the entry, framed by the faint amber glow of the dying fire. He was dressed for the grand festival, clad entirely in h

JOANNA I take another sip of my champagne and immediately remember why I don’t drink champagne. It tastes like sparkling disappointment. Then again, maybe my taste buds just aren’t rich enough. Around me, Icarus gleams. Everything about the club screams obscene wealth. The ceiling disappears into darkness broken by cascading crystal lights. Marble floors reflect designer heels and polished Italian leather shoes. Every other person I glance at looks like they either owns a private jet, models for Vogue, or has inherited enough money to casually buy a small country. Women glide past in dresses that undoubtedly cost more than my entire wardrobe combined. One of them is wearing what looks suspiciously like actual diamonds sewn into her dress. I stare for an extra second. Yep. Definitely diamonds. Meanwhile, I’m silently praying nobody spills some expensive thing on my dress. It’s a direct result of a last-minute shopping splurge. And by splurge, I mean a literal financi

ROWAN Wealth attracts exactly three kinds of people. Those born into it, those who built it, and those desperately trying to be photographed beside it. Icarus has managed to gather all three under one roof tonight. From our glass-walled mezzanine in the VIP section, the entire spectacle looks less like a high-profile launch party and more like a beautifully curated zoo. Downstairs, a world-famous DJ is currently committing crimes against music, blasting bass so loud it vibrates through the leather of our booth. Influencers pose in front of the marble staircase as though they’d personally commissioned the architecture, nepo babies loudly discuss "investments" funded entirely by their parents' trust accounts, and models drift between tables wearing dresses worth more than the average Manhattan mortgage. Luca calls it networking. I call it overpopulation. “If you stare any harder at that railing, Thorne, you're going to burn a hole through the steel," a voice drawls in a

JOANNA[One month later...] There are exactly three things I’ve learned over the last month. One: heartbreak is apparently not a straight line. Two: blocking your ex means absolutely nothing if you’re the idiot who keeps unblocking him at two in the morning just to see if he looks miserable. Three: Kenneth looks annoyingly well-rested in selfies. I block him again. Hopefully for the last time. “…And blocked,” I mutter triumphantly, tossing my phone onto the nearest chair before temptation can strike again. Ria, who’s currently stealing fries off my plate from across the kitchen island, raises an unimpressed eyebrow. “That’s what you said last Thursday, and the Tuesday before that, and the Sunday before that.” I glare at her and she blinks at me innocently. “Well, I mean it this time.” She pops another fry into her mouth. “I’ll believe it when your thumb develops self-control.” “…Rude.” She grins. The annoying thing is…She’s right. Recovery hasn’t been some dramatic movie

JOANNA “Ria, wait—" My voice comes out as a pathetic, dry rasp, completely lacking the strength to cut through the sudden spike of adrenaline in the air. Ria doesn't hear me. She steps directly into the stranger’s space, her small frame vibrating with a terrifying, protective fury. Her midnight-black hair practically crackles as she glares up at him, her hands clenched into tight fists at her sides. Her shoulders squared like she’s ready to commit a felony on my behalf. God, I love her. “I said, what the fuck are you doing, stranger?” she demands. Only then does he take a step back. The movement creates space between us I’d barely realized he’d invaded. I suck in a steadier breath. He doesn’t look offended. Or intimidated. He simply turns to face Ria, one slow movement at a time, until I fully appreciate just how unfairly tall he is. Good Lord. He has at least half a foot on her. He raises both hands, palms open. A universal gesture of surrender. "I'm not touc

ROWAN Numbers are clean, logical, and entirely devoid of emotion. That is why I like them. Algorithmic forecasting models don’t have a fragile ego. They certainly don’t call you at midnight to remind you that your older brother has just successfully resected a glioblastoma while you are merely "playing with spreadsheets." I push my glasses up the bridge of my nose, ignoring the faint vibration of my phone in my breast pocket. It's my mother. Again. Calling, I'm sure, to remind me about Julian’s celebratory dinner. A dinner I plan on skipping because a room full of arrogant neurosurgeons is a special kind of hell I lack the patience for. I just haven't gotten around to telling her that I won't be there. It'll break her heart, for sure, but she'll be the only one to miss me there. I sit on my barstool in the dim, leather-scented quiet of the financial district’s most discreet lounge, nursing a scotch as I go through the stock market charts on my tablet. After the shitt

JOANNAFor two full weeks, I exist in a liminal space of heavy, dreamless sleep and waking numbness. I exist entirely in oversized sweatpants, watching the shadows shift across my bedroom ceiling while playing the last year of my life on a torturous loop. I try as much as I can to block out the world. I try not to look at social media, but I can’t help stalking Paula's Ins.tag.ram. I feel bitter envy as I scroll through the pretty selfies she’s posted, and I am very analytical in comparing her looks with mine. Maybe if I was thinner and had clearer skin, Ken wouldn’t have thought twice before setting those boundaries with her. I’m also ashamed to say this (and I can’t even let Ria know about it), but I unblocked him sometime ago, desperate to hear from him. He’s called and texted, but I haven’t picked up any calls or replied any of his texts. Am I crazy for unblocking my emotional cheater ex so I can feel better about myself whenever his name lights up my phone screen? Yeah, I