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)

"Don't. Make. A. Sound," Roman warned again, just in case she had any other bright ideas.

At first, defiance blazed in Violet's eyes, but the seriousness in his voice told her he meant every syllable. So she grudgingly forced herself to relax.

The full weight of Roman's body pinning her down. His naked chest flattened against hers, the heat of his skin scorching through the thin fabric of her nightshirt. And worse, something else —very much not flaccid—nudged her thigh.

Her eyes widened in alarm, a new kind of awareness crashing over her.

Roman smirked, clearly enjoying the realization that dawned in her gaze.

"Get off me, asshole," she snarled into his palm.

Roman studied her for a moment, his keen senses reading her body language. Then, as if deciding she wasn't a threat, he slowly lifted his hand from her mouth. Except that was his first mistake.

The Truth About Friday —1