Althea Nocturne is nothing but a wolfless omega rejected by her Alpha mate and framed for murdering his unborn heir.
With a pack baying for her blood and nowhere left to run, she flees into the one place no wolf dares tread: the Red Mist, where the Hellhound of the North makes his den.

Thorne Vargan is a creature of shadow and vengeance, the son of a Witch Luna burned alive by Althea's own mother. He swore to destroy everyone responsible and when Morgana's daughter stumbles bleeding into his hellish domain, he sees his chance.

He claims her as a captive. As the perfect tool to gut the pack system from within.

But the bond doesn't care about his plans for retribution. It doesn't care that she's the daughter of his enemy. It thrums for her with a fury that threatens to consume them both 

Her scent tempts the beast he's barely controlling, her fear feeds something he thought long dead while she bears secrets that could unravel everything he's built.

And while Thorne keeps her caged, the Alpha she fled is coming.
He wants his little omega back.
But Thorne isn't letting her go.

—

~Excerpt~

"Because," he said, his voice dropping to a husky growl that made my core clench, "my restraint is going to shatter if you keep touching me."
The words hung in the air between us.
I looked down, following his gaze, and saw it, the unmistakable bulge pressed against his pants, hard and straining.
My pheromones.
They were affecting him.
"I would like to take you up on your offer," he muttered, his voice rugged, tipping into ravenous.
Confusion whirled through me. "What offer?"
"The kiss," he whispered. "Not a peck, Thea."
My heart ceased beating, liquid fire filling my veins.
"I want tongue.”

—

Dark paranormal romance
Morally Grey ML
Forced proximity
Captor/Captive
ENEMIES to lovers
Fated mates
Angst
Smut

​The Gamma's voice was urgent as he intercepted me in the hall. I didn't ask questions; I followed. My boots thudded against the stone, each step heavy with the dread that had been trailing me since Althea woke up.


​As we reached the eastern wing, her voice carried through the open door—firm, defiant, and laced with a pride that made Umbra howl.


​Umbra pranced on his paws within my mind, his tail wagging with a primal, puppy-like yipping. She likes us, he echoed. She claimed us.


​The door hadn't even finished swinging shut before Ivanna was across the room. She didn't move with her usual clinical grace as the High Delta; she moved like a woman drowning.


​"Thorne," she gasped, her hands reaching for my leather vest, her eyes searching mine with a terrifying, wide-eyed hope. "Tell me what she meant. Althea... she showed a mark. Tell me it's a trick. Tell me the Allied girl is lying."


Chapter 85 - Fangs