Desire mixed genre collection

lia's

ard situations. Apparently, I was wrong. Dead wrong. Standing in my cozy little pottery studio, clay-covered apron tied ar

h drop faster than a poorly throw

on a tea towel that had seen better dec

mebody important. Well, important-adjacent. The reje

f questionably shaped mugs and seller of overpriced ceramic nonsense

daring me to open it. I'd been perfectly happy pretendin

sanctuary. No pack politics, no hierarchy drama, no devastatingly handsome alphas makin

d t

eek-old fish. The official seal was still intact, all gold foil and pompous c

e apparently five years wasn't enough time f

enshollow Estate regarding a matter of utmost u

ng ceremony and announced to three hundred guests that he'd "reconsidered his choice." In front o

. Not a pleasant laugh, mind you. The kind of laugh that makes people take a st

ut the important bits were these: Lysander was dying, they

, but five years of pack politics ha

nlight streamed through the windows, illuminating doz

el, abandoned when the postman had arrived

peaceful, and blissfully fre

p, and spent my evenings reading romance novels where the supernatural love i

from my friend Imogen, w

ed windows parked outside your

y like a dark omen. The driver was probably some pack enforcer, waiting to escort m

er the supernatural connection. The bond was damaged, certainly, but traces remained.

hick you could ser

text fro

e for twenty minutes. Sh

back q

st old friends

d watched silently while their precious alpha had dest

h to come crawling back to me, the very ones who had once

ed their part in it with those quiet nods, complicated silences, may

it. Pride's a funny thing like that. But I could feel it. Hear it in

ay, trying to frame their desperation as

finally be knocking, I wasn't sure if I was ready to open t

on and hung it on its hook. My reflection in the studio mir

e everyone had been replaced by someone with callused hands, p

thing that had happened, despite the rejection and the humiliation and the year

call of the man who'd once be

t's go see what sort of trouble the great

nore the way my heart had started beating just a little t

ast word