Queen_of_harts

"I know exactly who you are," he murmured, his voice a low growl as he pressed me against the cold stone wall. His body caged mine, heat radiating from him like a wildfire waiting to consume.

I lifted my chin, ignoring the way my pulse betrayed me. "Then you know why I’m here."

His lips brushed dangerously close to my ear, not touching—just enough to make my breath hitch. "Do you?" His fingers traced a slow, deliberate path down my arm, stopping just before my bound wrists. "Because you don’t look like a hunter right now."

I swallowed hard. "And you don’t look like a monster."

He chuckled, dark and amused. "Oh, little hunter, you have no idea”.                                        In a world where humans and werewolves are sworn enemies, fate weaves a different tale.

Violet, the daughter of James—descended from a long line of legendary werewolf hunters—has spent her life preparing for one mission: to kill Alpha Zain, the feared Demon Alpha. To prove herself worthy, she must bring his head as a trophy. But when she finally faces him, destiny shatters everything she’s ever known.

While her sisters, April and Jade, eagerly await news of her death, Violet finds herself entangled in a fate far more dangerous than she imagined. Because the greatest threat isn’t the battle between hunters and werewolves—it’s the bond that should have never existed.

Falling For The Demon Wolf

The evening settled over the pack grounds like a slow-moving fog, cloaking the stone walls of the estate in soft blue shadows. Somewhere in the distance, a howl echoed—deep, haunting, and long. It raised the hair on the back of my neck, reminding me that this place, no matter how well-guarded or structured, was still a home to monsters.

After the bruising encounter with Cian, I wanted nothing more than to sink into a hot bath and forget every pair of eyes that had watched me stumble, every laugh that still echoed in my skull.

But of course, peace was not something this place seemed keen on giving me.

Inara didn't say much as she led me through one of the quieter hallways that coiled around the west wing of the pack house. The walls were lined with paintings—portraits of previous Alphas, warriors mid-battle, scenes of wolves under blood moons—and the silence was filled with the distant murmur of voices and the occasional crackling of torches.

Midnight Noises