Adele de Frostfang, born a princess and a Luna by blood, she was never meant to be invisible. Yet at twenty-two, she remains unmated, powerless, and whispered about behind gilded doors. Her childhood spent in hospitals left her sheltered and naïve, while her younger sister shines effortlessly in the spotlight of society. In a world ruled by packs, power, and bonds, a Luna without a mate is seen as incomplete—and disposable. Tired of pity and ridicule, she makes a reckless decision: if fate will not give her a mate, she will choose one herself. She decides to learn the ways of high-circle from a rogue, what begins as lessons in confidence, society, and adulthood slowly turns into something deeper. But secrets cannot stay buried forever.
This is a modern werewolf romance about choice, growth, forbidden bonds, and a no-mate Luna who dares to write her fate.
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Excerpt 1:
The study was dim, lit only by the hearth's amber glow. Adele stood by the window, her fingers twisted in the silk of her gown, watching the moon rise over the palace grounds. She had been in this very room before, in daylight, with the same man, but the memory of their past encounters here and the knowledge of what's about to happen made her pulse flutter with unease.
"Come here, Ele." Damon said, looking up from the papers she had written earlier that day. He sat on the edge of the table, supported slightly with his firm ass on the edge and his long legs, his voice low and steady. It was not a request.
She turned, meeting his eyes which were red in the firelight, ancient and knowing. Her heart hammered as she crossed the room, each step feeling both too fast and impossibly slow.
"You asked to understand," he said as she stopped before him. "But, you still have much to improve. What you've learned so far is only the foundation." Damon stood, towering over her and placing the papers down on table, "We will resume our different kind of lesson from now on. Ready, Princess?"
Adele nodded before swallowing, not trusting her voice.
He came now close enough that she caught his familiar scent of leather and seasalt and something wild underneath. She closed her eyes, waiting for him to take the lead as he always did, but nothing happened. Frowing she opened her eyes again, and Adele found him already lowering himself onto the brown sofa. He had already discarded his gloves on the ground.
"What?" he said mildly, catching her confusion. "We will start something new, today. I believe you have been pampered enough." Adele noticed his gaze flicking down at her core before commenting, and her face displayed a shade of red, "Now you need to learn taking initiatives."
He leaned back, stretching his legs out with the relaxed confidence of a man entirely in control. "If you want to snag a man, you can't keep thinking like a princess."
Damon patted the cushion beside him—once, twice like an invitation that felt more like an order. After a heartbeat of hesitation, she obeyed and sat beside him looking down at her hand on her lap.
His hand lifted to her chin, tilting her face up. "Out there, in the world you're so desperate to understand about, there's no one to hide behind. No titles, just you and the instincts you've spent your life ignoring."
Her pulse raced. "I'm not hiding."
"Aren't you?" His thumb traced along her jaw, moving in soft circular motions. The gentleness of the his touch was at odds with the bluntness of his words, "But you're nervous."
"That's different!" she whispered. "This is new for me, you know that."
"Is it?" The corner of his mouth curved slightly. "Tell me what you want, Ele. Not what you think you should want. Not what a princess, nor a daughter but what Adele desires."
The question hung between them, heavy with possibility. She could feel the heat radiating from him, the warmth coming from his touch, and could hear both their hearts beating in the quiet room—too fast, synchronized.
Can she really put her thoughts into words? she wondered. But looking at Damon's encouraging and patience eyes and the way he stood up for her earlier, something inside her loosened.
"I want..." She swallowed. "I want to stop feeling like I don't know anything."
"Then stop asking for permissions." His voice dropped lower. "Claim what you want."
Her hand lifted, hesitant, then pressed against his chest. Beneath the fabric she felt the solid warmth of him, the steady thrum of his heartbeat. His hand covered hers, holding it there.
"Like that," he murmured. "But bolder."
The firelight cast shadows across his face as she moved closer, her other hand joining the first, to be placed over his chest. She could feel the tension coiled in him, the control he was maintaining, waiting for her to decide.
"Damon," she breathed on his lips.
"Yes?"
"I want to see it."
His eyes flashed lust, and his wolf rose to the surface, and then his mouth was on hers—