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

He broke off his engagement to the delta of his pack while they all watched. 


Shameless relief washed over me, followed by guilt that I had broken a relationship while ivanna's haunting words played over and over in the background. 


"Do you remember the weight?" I winced, goosebumps raising on my skin. 


​"I was five years old when they locked the first set on me. Wolfsbane-imbued iron. It burned into my skin every day for years while we toiled in those god—" 


"You were not even born when it happened!" Zyra snapped like a whip in my mind that I actually flinched from the phantom impact. 


The words shattered, the horror of her voice washed over with Zyra's ire at my guilt. 


"You keep torturing yourself and then claim to want to be yourself,"  The harshness of her voice in my head receded. "Yet you act like a vessel for the guilt that you should not carry. Time and time again." She snarled, my skull quaking from its intensity. 


Chapter 86 - A Taste