Third Person’s POV


    <b>+20 </b><b>Free </b><b>Coins </b>


    Back at the ckthorn pack, Prisci was acting like a total show–off, unting her “spoils of war” from the Pce like a prize- winning peacock.


    Sheid out all the gemstone jewelry she’d scavenged earlier that day, hand–picking the two shiest pieces for Adide and Paisley while keeping the rest for herself.


    “Listen up, girls,” Prisci said, holding a ne up to the mirror and striking a pose. She was officially in “life coach<i>” </i>mode.


    “No matter how much life sucks, you’ve got to keep your fur looking glossy, like a wolf that hasn’t been tamed. Treat yourself whenever you can–that’s the real secret to survival.”


    Inside a dimly lit study of Bloodmoon, Ulrik was drowning in a sea of pure absurdity.


    He’d already turned in his resignation, so why was Lycan Erasmus still making him show up for elite training every single day?


    The recent hits had basically snapped his spine.


    Tamara was gone, his unborn child was lost, and even his mother, Rosemary, was dead.


    The entire Packhouse smelled like something rotting–it was too quiet, too still, like living in a decorated morgue.


    He figured his life would just be a long, gray blur from here on out, but surprisingly, that thought gave him a twisted sense of relief.


    But that fake peace didn’tst.


    Vanya was still hell–bent on cutting ties with the pack; Alpha Isaiah had locked himself in his room to wait for the end; and Simon was wandering around like a zombie after losing his job and his mate.


    Then there was Gloria, who looked at him with pure loathing every day, and Velda–the she–wolf he once thought was his “fated mate“—who did nothing but hide in her bedroom and


    cry.


    “Heh…” Ulrik let out a self–deprecatingugh and reached for a bottle.


    He’d spent thest forty–eight hours in aplete ckout.


    High–proof liquor burned down his throat, numbing his nerves and silencing the agonizing howls of his wolf.


    That feeling of absolute nothingness was the only high he had left; it was his only escape.


    On the third morning, his hand was shaking as he poured another bowl of amber liquid. He stared at the ripples in the bowl.


    The smell of the alcohol was a siren song, and his wolf was screaming at him to just chug it and disappear again.


    Suddenly, his hand froze.


    If he kept this up, the Bloodmoon Pack was officially history. A cold shiver ran down his back, and he sat bolt upright on the sofa.


    With a violent swing of his arm, he tossed the liquor onto the floor. The stinging scent of booze filled the room instantly.


    9:31 pm P P M


    <b>pp </b>


    +20 Free Coins


    Ulrik was trembling, cold sweat soaking his shirt. He sat there in the dark, eyes bloodshot, jaw clenched so tight it hurt, listening to the frustrated growls of the wolf inside him.


    He sat like that for the entire night, bone–dry sober.


    Everything from the past few weeks yed in his head like a horror movie, especially Dr. Digby’s words, “Did you really not know what was wrong? You knew, but you did it anyway.”


    The next morning, when the first sliver of sunlight peeked through the curtains, Ulrik finally stood up.


    His eyes were still a mess of red veins, but they looked steady.


    He did a full inventory of his mother’s estate. He kept two small items as mementos and decided to liquidate the rest.


    Vanya had picked up the tab for Rosemary’s funeral, and since she wanted nothing to do with the pack now, the least he could do was pay her back.


    He turned to the butler.


    “Sell all of it. Everyst piece. Take the cash and send it straight to Vanya. Don’t keep a cent.”


    The butler called in a manager from the city’s top antique house to appraise the jewelry.


    As the dusty safes and mahogany chests were pried open, Ulrik was floored by how much his mother had been hoarding.


    Beyond the gold bars, there were piles of rare, vintage jewels.


    Barbara, one of the omegas, leaned in and whispered, “A lot of this belonged to Alpha Isaiah’s mother. Technically, it should have been split with Vanya years ago, but Rosemary kept it all for herself.”


    Then, at the very bottom of one box<i>, </i>Ulrik saw something that made his heart stop. Even after all this time, he could still smell the faint, lingering scent of Adide’s pheromones clinging to it like a vine.


    It was a chest she’d brought with her when they mated. When they rejected each other, Adide had left so fast she didn’t take a single thing. It turned out Rosemary had just imed all of her personal property as her own.


    Ulrik pointed at the box, his voice raw.


    “Take those out. Those belong to Adide. I’m giving them back.”


    Barbara sighed.


    “Alpha Ulrik, honestly, even if you try to give them back, she probably won’t even look at them. Just sell it and give the money to Vanya. She and Adide are tight; she won’t care.”


    “No. Whether she wants them or not is her call. I don’t have the right to make that choice for her, and I sure as hell am not using her stuff to pay off my mother’s debts.”


    Ulrik’s voice was like iron. It was thest shred of Alpha pride he had left.


    Gloria, who had been standing nearby, finally hit her limit. She wanted zero drama with the ckthorn Pack, so she grabbed Ulrik by the arm and practically dragged him out of the room.


    admin


    <strong>Olivia Harris</strong> is an emerging author celebrated for her captivating romantic and steamy novels. With a talent for crafting deep emotional connections and fiery chemistry between her characters, Olivia’s stories offer readers an escape into worlds filled with passion, intrigue, and heart-stopping drama.