INICIAR SESIÓNThe slam of the heavy oak door hadn’t been the end. Barely ten minutes after he had stormed out, the latch rattled violently again. Torin threw the door open for a second time, his predatory patience completely evaporated. The image of her face—glassy-eyed, shivering, yet refusing to give him a straight answer—had festered in his mind on the stairwell until it drove him back up. The mate bond was twisting like a knife in his gut, and his paranoid mind demanded a resolution. He could not, would not, let a spy sit at the peak of his citadel while his borders hung in the balance. Eva hadn’t even managed to crawl back onto the wooden cot. She was still crumpled on the floorboards, her cheek pressed against the cold wood, her breathing a shallow, ragged whistle as the fever ravaged her system. "Get up," Torin growled, his voice dropping into a terrifyingly quiet register as he closed the distance between them in three massive strides. He grabbed the collar of her oversized dress—careful
The climb up the southern tower was a silent, lethal march. Torin didn't hide his approach. The heavy, rhythmic thud of his leather boots bounced harshly off the cold stone spiral staircase, sounding less like a man returning to his wife and more like an executioner ascending the scaffold. In his right hand, he tightly clutched the crushed, wrinkled parchment from the Ironwood Pack. The words sing your songs sweetly burned in his mind like a brand, stoking the fires of a cynical, protective fury that completely overrode the restless, grieving whines of his inner wolf. She is a weapon, Torin repeated to himself, his jaw locked. A beautiful, fractured illusion sent to break my pack. When he reached the top landing, he didn't bother to knock. He slammed his hand against the heavy oak door. Finding it unbolted—Eva had been too weak to even slide the iron latch back after Martha brought her up—he shoved it open with a violent force that sent the door crashing against the stone interior
The midday sun had barely dipped behind the jagged peaks when a messenger from the neutral borders arrived at the front gates of the Midnight Packhouse. He bore a single, crisp parchment sealed with the crest of the Ironwood Pack—a howling wolf entangled in thorns. It was addressed directly to Lady Victoria, the only daughter Silas had ever acknowledged to the world, and the name Torin believed belonged to the fragile girl currently shivering in the southern tower. The letter never reached her. By order of the Alpha, any correspondence crossing the southern border was routed directly to the pack’s strategy room. Torin sat at the long mahogany table, his golden eyes burning with a dark, dangerous intensity as he stared down at the unopened letter resting on the wood before him. His right hand was still tightly balled into a fist, the memory of that electric, soul-shattering spark from the service corridor lingering beneath his skin like a stubborn curse. His inner wolf, Fenrir, was
The heavy iron cauldrons of the Midnight Packhouse were built to feed armies, and they felt every bit of their brutal weight. Evangeline stood before the massive stone wash-basin in the back scullery, her small frame leaning heavily against the damp wood to keep from collapsing. The midday sun was streaming through the high kitchen windows, but to Eva, the world was a chaotic, shifting canvas of blinding white glare and suffocating, dark shadows. Her body was on fire. It had started just before noon—a strange, deep-seated heat that began in the center of her chest and spread outward through her limbs like liquid embers. It was a terrifyingly sharp contrast to the freezing draft sweeping across the floorboards. Sweat poured from her hairline, soaking the rough collar of her oversized dress and causing her dark blonde hair to plaster itself against her pale, hollow cheeks. Her vision swam, the heavy copper pots in front of her shifting and distorting as if seen through a wall of wate
The heavy oak doors of the Alpha’s private study slammed shut with a force that rattled the iron sconces lining the stone walls. Torin paced the length of the room like a caged beast, his heavy fur cloak discarded on the floor, his chest heaving as he fought for control over his own body. His hand was still burning. He stared down at his right palm, his fingers trembling slightly. The skin looked entirely normal, yet beneath the surface, the residual current of that terrifying electric spark was still buzzing through his veins. Deep within his consciousness, Fenrir was throwing himself against his mental barriers, tearing at the chains of Torin's restraint with a feral, agonized howling that threatened to split Torin's skull open. Mate! Go back! She is ours! the beast roared, demand after demand crashing against Torin's logic. "Shut up," Torin snarled out loud to the empty room, pressing his fists against his temples. "It’s a lie. It’s an illusion." He stormed over to his heavy m
The narrow service corridor felt as though it were running out of air. Evangeline was entirely lost to the panic, her small frame curled tightly against the base of the black stone wall as her lungs seized. The shallow, desperate wheezes cutting through her throat were growing weaker, her body trembling so violently that her head knocked repeatedly against the rough masonry. Torin knelt on the cold flagstones before her, his large hands hovering in the empty space between them. For a warrior who had faced down rogue hordes and severed the heads of monstrous beasts without a flicker of hesitation, he felt utterly paralyzed. His commanding Alpha aura, usually a weapon of absolute compliance, was only suffocating her further. He pulled the oppressive energy back into himself, desperately trying to quiet the crackling power that filled the hallway, but the damage was already done. She was slipping into unconsciousness right in front of him. "Look at me," Torin rumbled, his voice droppin
The wind outside the pavilion howled like a dying beast, whipping flakes of aggressive, icy snow against the heavy black canvas. Inside, the atmosphere was dead silent, save for the heavy, retreating footsteps of Alpha Torin and his formidable guard. They didn’t wait for her. They didn't offer a cl
The neutral summit grounds sat in a desolate, forgotten valley where the borders of the two packs collided. A massive pavilion of black iron and heavy canvas had been erected over the frozen earth, snapping violently in the biting northern wind. Inside, a long stone table split the room in two, act
The heavy wooden door of the preparation chamber clicked shut, cutting off the raucous laughter and clinking goblets of the Grand Council Hall. The sudden silence in the smaller room felt violent, thick with an anticipation that made the hairs on Eva’s arms stand on end. Eva stood rigidly in the c
The cellar floor was always coldest just before dawn. For Evangeline, the chill wasn't just a seasonal shift; it was a permanent resident in the damp, stone-walled underbelly of the Ironwood Packhouse. She pressed her forehead against the rough wooden handle of her scrub brush, her breath blooming







