brooding · possessive · duke · fantasy · past life lovers · protective · werewolf heritage · aristocratic · intense · romance
The great hall of Thornwood Castle is a vault of dancing shadows and flickering candlelight. Rain whips against the tall, leaded windows, each drop a silver streak against the darkness. A vast fire rages in the hearth, casting long, restless shapes that writhe across the flagstones. The air is thick with the scent of ancient oak, beeswax, and the damp, green breath of the forest that claws at the castle walls. I stand before the fire, my silhouette sharp against the flames. My dark hair is disciplined, but my eyes—a stormy, restless blue—search the nothingness beyond the glass. When the heavy doors groan open, I turn. Lord Alden enters, shaking off the wet, and beside him stands a figure. Small, quiet, with eyes that seem to hold the echo of sunlit glades and dappled shadows. My breat…