HER FIERY LOVE

The Archives

The pack house was deathly quiet at two in the morning, save for the rhythmic creak of the old floorboards under my weight. Slipping past the lower-level guard post had been easy enough—I knew the shift changes better than anyone—but my heart was hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird.

​If William catches us down here, Beta title or not, we are in massive trouble, Ember muttered, her mental form pacing near the edge of my consciousness.

​He won't catch us, I replied, pressing my back against the cool stone wall outside the basement archives. We just need five minutes.

​The heavy iron door groaned softly as I turned the brass handle, stepping into the damp, smelling air of the subterranean vaults. Rows of floor-to-ceiling wooden bookshelves stretched into the dark, housing centuries of pack history, lineage scrolls, and crest registries from every major territory in North America.

​Pulling a small penlight from my pocket, I illuminated the slip of parchment in my palm. The intricate crest drawn beside my mother's name was etched in dark ink: a stylized crescent moon pierced through the center by a double-headed dagger, framed by intricate thorned vines.

​"Let's see where you really came from, Mom," I whispered, pulling down the heavy leather-bound compendium titled The Lost Houses & Extinct Bloodlines.

​I flipped through the crisp, yellowed pages, my eyes scanning past familiar pack emblems—the Solstice Sun, the Bloodfang Crescent, the Iron River Shield. Page after page, nothing matched. Frustration began to coil tight in my stomach. My whole life, I had been told my mother, Rosalind, was a quiet orphaned wolf from a small rogue pack near the northern borders, a gentle woman who had married my father, Richard, before his untimely death in a rogue ambush.

​She wasn't supposed to have a "House." She wasn't supposed to have a crest.

​Try the restricted ledger on the bottom shelf, Ember suggested, her ears pricking up in my mind. The dark leather one with the silver clasp. It smells like old parchment and forbidden ink.

​I crouched down, sweeping my light over the dusty spine of the sealed tome. The silver lock was tarnished, but using a thin metal hairpin, I picked the mechanism until it gave a sharp, satisfying click.

​I opened the book to the section labeled Dissolved & Exiled Coven-Packs.

​My breath hitched.

​There, stamped in faded red wax on page forty-two, was the exact same crest.

​House of Rosalind (Formerly of the Shadow Veil Sovereign)

Status: Eradicated / Exiled

Note: Lineage bound by blood-magic covenants and ancient dark debts. Supposedly destroyed during the Great Purge of the Southern Territories. Survived by hidden bloodlines carrying the mark of the Pierced Moon.

​A cold dread pooled in my gut. My mother hadn't just been a quiet wolf from the north. She was the last remnant of a dark-magic bloodline—a house built on forbidden covenants. And when she died, she hadn't just left me her bright blue eyes; she had passed down an unpaid debt that a dark caster was now coming to collect.

​A floorboard creaked loudly right outside the archway.

​"I know someone's in here," a voice called out quietly from the darkness.

​I froze, slamming the heavy tome shut and sliding it back into the shadowy bottom shelf just as a familiar figure stepped into the beam of my penlight.

Blaze stood in the archway, his broad frame blocking the exit. He had shifted out of his patrol gear into a dark, worn t-shirt and sweatpants, his silvery-blonde hair delightfully messy from sleep. But his warm bronze-gold eyes were dead sharp as they swept over the penlight in my hand and the dust coating my fingers.

​"Sorano?" he asked softly, stepping into the room. The casual, teasing edge he usually wore was completely gone. "What the hell are you doing in the archives at two in the morning?"

​Think fast, Ember warned, her claws digging into my subconscious. He’s a guard, but he’s also smart. He knows you’re lying.

​"I couldn't sleep," I said, forcing my voice to sound smooth, stepping away from the restricted shelf so my body blocked the bottom row. "After what happened in Vector Three, I... I wanted to check the old territorial maps. See if there were any old rogue strongholds in that ravine we missed."

​Blaze didn't move. He slowly crossed his arms, leaning his weight against one of the heavy oak bookshelves. "You're a terrible liar, Angel Eyes. You have been since we were kids."

​My pulse spiked, hammering against my throat. "Blaze—"

​"You've been off ever since we brought down those puppet rogues," he interrupted, his voice dropping an octave as he took a slow, deliberate step toward me. "You didn't look at Alpha William during the report. You barely looked at me. And now I find you down here, picking locks on restricted ledgers?"

​He stopped right in front of me, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from his chest. He reached out, his long fingers gently catching my chin, tilting my face up so I had to look him in the eye.

​"What really happened in that ravine, Sorano?" he whispered, his thumb brushing over my lower lip. "What did that caster say to you before Trax and I broke through the trees?"

​I swallowed hard, the weight of the secret suffocating me. Part of me wanted to spill everything—to tell him about the black ash, the name Rosalind, and the dark-magic bloodline mapped out in the forbidden ledger behind my feet. But if I dragged Blaze into this, he would be bound by his duty to inform Alpha William. Or worse, he'd throw himself in front of a dark caster to protect me.

​"He said something that didn't make sense," I murmured, keeping the truth half-buried. "He knew my name, Blaze. He knew who I was."

​Blaze’s bronze eyes darkened, a flash of pure, territorial wolf flaring in his gaze. His jaw set into a hard line, his grip on my chin firming just enough to emphasize his words.

​"He knows who you are because you're the Beta of the strongest pack in the region," Blaze growled softly, his thumb tracing my jawline down to the pulse pounding in my neck. "And if he thinks he can come into our territory and touch you, he’s going to find out real fast what Grim and I do to trespassers."

​He leaned in closer, his forehead resting lightly against mine, his breath warm against my skin. "You don't have to carry the whole pack on your shoulders, Sorano. And you don't have to hide things from me. Remember the promise?"

​My heart did a painful, conflicted flip. "Blaze..."

​"I'm keeping my end of it," he whispered, his lips brushing the corner of my mouth, sending that familiar, electric spark straight through my chest. "I'll protect you. From rogues, from dark magic, from whatever the hell is out in those woods. Just don't shut me out."

​I closed my eyes, letting myself lean into his chest for a brief, fleeting second, soaking in his warmth before gently pushing back.

​"I'm fine, Blaze. I promise," I lied again, hating how easy it was becoming. "I was just shaken up. Let's get out of here before Derek does his rounds."

​Blaze studied my face for a long moment, searching for the crack in my armor, but finally let out a heavy sigh and nodded. "Fine. But I'm walking you back to your quarters."

​As we slipped out of the dark archives and locked the iron door behind us, I felt the small slip of parchment heavy in my pocket. Blaze thought the threat was coming from outside our borders—a random caster targeting the Beta of Crescent Moon.

​He had no idea that the threat wasn't looking for the Beta. It was looking for Rosalind's daughter.