Araya Varrow spent years thinking that marrying the pack’s Alpha, Jasper Drevyn, would finally earn her a shred of dignity. Instead, it all blew up in her face. Jasper, proud as ever, shamed her in front of the whole pack, tossing her aside as if she meant nothing, wolf-less, unworthy, and pregnant with his child. Alone and exiled into the bitter cold, survival seemed like a lost cause.

But destiny had other ideas.

Just as her strength was giving out, Araya was found by Ronan Tharos, a Direwolf whose past is written in scars and whose gaze could melt stone. His methods are harsh, his temper sharp, but he pushes Araya harder than anyone ever has. Under Ronan’s relentless training, the wolf inside her finally roars awake—enormous, silver as the moon, and bound to an ancient prophecy. The child she carries isn’t merely a symbol of her old life; he’s the linchpin in a legend that could either heal the rift between wolves and Direwolves or plunge Drevalon into chaos.

When word reaches Jasper that Araya is not only alive but thriving, he returns a shell of the man he once was—pleading at her feet for a second chance, willing to risk everything. But Araya is no longer the vulnerable woman he cast aside. She’s carved herself into a force to be reckoned with, standing at the head of her own pack, a Direwolf at her side, and a son whose power could shake the world.

Now she stands at a crossroads: forgive the man who betrayed her, or embrace the wild Direwolf who taught her to fight for her future.

In a realm where betrayal hits harder than any blow and the fires of prophecy burn hotter than revenge, Araya is ready to take her place at the top and make sure every last wolf who turned their back on her remembers her name.

They gave me three hours to prepare for a feast I didn't want to attend.


The chambers in the royal wing were obscenely beautiful—all dark velvet and polished wood, with windows that looked out over Thornhaven's sprawling darkness. A prison cell dressed in silk and shadows. The servants who'd come to "prepare" me had worked in efficient silence, their hands never quite steady as they'd dressed me in clothes that felt more like costume than comfort.


Black silk that moved like water. Silver embroidery that caught the light wrong, making it look like the threads were moving. And a mask—because of course there was a mask. Half my face covered in something that looked like carved bone, painted with gold on one side and deep crimson on the other.


A hybrid rendered in decoration. How thoughtful.


Chapter 127 - Feast of Lies