Glimmy

Two centuries after the Great War, peace between humans and werewolves was finally achieved, or so everyone believes. Werewolves reign like gods, and humans remain blissfully unaware of their true place in the new world order. 

To maintain this fragile balance, each year, a handful of "lucky" humans are selected from various districts to attend Lunaris Academy, a prestigious institution that promises glory, status, and a chance to mingle with the elite. Those chosen are hailed as the lucky few, destined to marry powerful alphas and rise as luna.

This year, Violet Purple is among the chosen, much to everyone's surprise. For an orphaned girl adopted by a disgraced prostitute, this is a golden ticket to a better life or so she's told. But Lunaris Academy isn’t the paradise it’s painted to be. 

Everything Violet and her fellow humans have been taught is a lie. Humans are far from equal; they're pawns in a much larger game. The academy is nothing but a gilded cage, and the students are lambs led to slaughter, playthings for the alphas to toy with in their ruthless games. 

To make matters worse, Violet catches the attention of the most dangerous players in this game, the Terror Four: the Alpha of the North, Alpha of the South, Alpha of the East, and Alpha of the West. Each one is more dangerous, more twisted, and more powerful than the last. But even among themselves, the alphas are divided, each with their own deadly ambitions. 

Yet, they all have their eyes on her.

They expect Violet to play along, to fall in line like the others who worship at their feet, to break under their games. But Violet isn’t like the others. She refuses to bow. She’ll defy them all.

Defy The Alpha(s)

If there was anyone Alaric and Griffin hated with every fiber of their being, it was the man standing before them.

Patrick still had the same smug, polished appearance, the same unsettling detached amusement in his expression, like he was dissecting them with his eyes, assessing them as nothing more than test subjects.

His youthful appearance might have deceived anyone else, might have made one believe he hadn't aged a day, but Alaric and Griffin knew better. The bastard had carved up enough bodies to know how to preserve his own.

Yet, even though the surgeries had been flawless, it was not perfect.

The procedures couldn't completely erase the grotesque, jagged scars marring the side of his right face—a permanent signature of Asher's wrath and a reminder of his past failure. It was the delightful legacy of the night Asher had compelled him to stab himself with a scalpel.

Doctor Patrick