Before he could sink fully into the misery, a sharp knock sounded at the door.
Alexander stiffened.
“Come in,” he said.
Lacus eased the door open and peeked inside. “I just came to check if you need anything.”
“No. I’m fine,” Alexander replied, turning his attention toward the bed.
“I changed the sheets while you were in the bathroom,” Lacus added quickly. “If you need anything else, just let me know.”
“I won’t be needing anything,” Alexander said. “And I don’t want to be disturbed for the next two days. Come and get me only when they bring the blood.”
“Alright,” Lacus nodded before backing out and closing the door.
Alexander lay down, letting the thin mattress cradle his exhausted body. Two days of sleep should conserve his strength and help close the gaping wound in his chest. The little blood he’d managed to swallow had stopped the bleeding, but the healing was painfully slow. He needed more blood.
I hope the next two days go by fast, he thought as he shut his eyes.
Instantly, his mind filled with her. His bride. As always, she was laughing as if she had no care in the world. Tonight, she glided through a lake so clear it looked like glass, the surface reflecting a sky scattered with bright stars. The sight of her wrapped around him like a warm blanket, pulling him deeper and deeper into sleep.
When he finally opened his eyes again, two full days had passed. He felt… lighter. Rested. The wound in his chest was nothing more than a faint scar. He checked it in the mirror, satisfied, then turned just as a knock sounded.
“Come in,” he said, already knowing who it was.
Lacus stepped inside and gave a small bow as if he’d suddenly remembered what respect looked like.
“They are here,” he announced, though Alexander hardly needed the words. He’d already sensed another presence in the monastery. The scent of werewolf clung to the air.
But it wasn’t the scent of the one who haunted his dreams.
It wasn’t her.
But the werewolf could lead him to her.All Alexander had to do was follow.
He trailed behind Lacus through the quiet hall and toward the church doors. Whoever delivered the vial waited outside. Alexander stopped a few paces from the door, keeping to the shadows while Lacus stepped out. Minutes ticked by before the human returned, clutching the vial like an offering. He held it out with both hands.
Alexander took it, and the moment the glass touched his fingers his hand trembled. Hunger slammed into him with twice the force of the last two days.
Fuck.
It was like being chained from the inside out, bound to that blood, ruled by it. Nothing else would satisfy him. Nothing but his bride’s blood.
And as the sun finally dipped below the horizon and the sky sank into darkness, Alexander slipped into the trees, following the werewolf’s scent deep into the forest.
Chapter 1
Boaz
“Are you going to make your move?” Hansel asked, his eyes fixed on Lyla. Both brothers were staring at her, and she was staring right back at them. She twirled a strand of her hair around her finger as she swayed to the music, the bonfire crackling behind her and sending sparks drifting into the night sky.
She looked stunning in her white summer dress and simple pumps, the firelight making her skin glow. Boaz couldn’t stop watching her. Every part of him wanted to stand up, walk over, and pull her into a dance. But he wasn’t brave enough. And Lyla had never actually shown interest in him. She only ever seemed to notice him when he was beside Hansel, which confused him more than he cared to admit.
Right now, her gaze flicked between both of them, her smile soft, teasing. And Boaz couldn’t shake the feeling that she wanted Hansel but didn’t want to be obvious about it. Hansel was the alpha of their pack, after all. He had no shortage of women eager to get his attention, while Boaz… well, Boaz struck out more often than not. More like all the time.
Hansel liked to say it was because he didn’t try hard enough, that he gave up too easily.
But that wasn’t true. He did try. It just never worked out, and honestly, he didn’t care most of the time. He preferred quietly working the land, painting the Claremore meadows on his lunch breaks and living his life in peace. He’d never wanted anyone badly enough to change that.