Rhyss

The night she refused the Lycan King, the moon hung like a bitten coin. He offered a crown of devotion; she chose freedom over a throne that felt like a cage. Years later she entered the Riverfang pack under a borrowed name to steal secrets, but the Alpha’s cedar-storm grin softened her mission into dreaming of ordinary tomorrows. Love blurred the signs: his late returns, stranger scents, excuses polished bright. When clarity roared in, she saw the carnival tent of his lies. With one suitcase and a bruised pulse, she fled north to the king she left, the crown still waiting, the door unlatched.