Chapter 9 CHAPTER 9

Leslie Monroe wasn’t a woman who shared. She got what she wanted and who she wanted.

She was the kind of girl men risked marriages and could go to war for, the kind that walked into a room and made the air smell like sex and Birkin.

She had the kind of beauty that demanded attention, golden hair that gleamed like spilt honey, legs that went on for miles, and a tongue sharper than any blade.

She has never been caught unfresh.

She was also a problem, Damian Blackwell’s most intoxicating and exhausting addiction. She kept him addicted, so she wondered why, just in a few weeks, he had lost interest.

They’d met in New York, in a club filled with shadows, jazz, and whiskey-soaked sins. She was everything he wasn’t supposed to want but everything he couldn’t resist.

For months, their relationship was built on fire, dominance, and escape sex that burned and drowned at once.

They lived in luxury and lived like it was the last day of their lives.

But Damian had left abruptly, claiming family business, and for weeks, Leslie had felt the walls closing in. She missed the wildlife and wild sex; not like she couldn't get it anywhere else, but his was special, his body, his rhythm, and the size of his cock.

The way he made me squirt. He always went hard and knew how to touch my body in ways no one could and also knew how to spend in ways no man could. If she had met a better man, she wouldn't be bothered, but no one could make Damian Blackwell lose interest in her.

At first, she thought it was just space. Damian always pulled away when things got too deep.

But lately… he’d stopped calling.

Stopped answering.

Stopped wanting.

And for a woman like Lesley, who lived off desire, that silence was an insult.

She booked a flight to New Orleans with nothing but a carry-on bag full of lingerie and vengeance.

Her lips were blood-red; her heels, razor-sharp. If Damian thought he could ghost her, she’d remind him exactly why men don’t leave her.

He was Fire, and so was she.

When she arrived at the Blackwell mansion, an estate that looked like sin carved in stone, she could tell this family had more money than Damian let on.

Their riches were endless.

The guards bowed lower than usual. The staff whispered when she walked past.

The airport authorities must have notified the family of an unusually beautiful woman in New Orleans; she gleamed luxury and matched the Blackwell class, so they must have known she was their visitor.

She walked in like she owned the place and demanded to see Damian.

She was directed to his quarters; she found him bent down on his ipad, engrossed in work, so she thought.

And Damian… Damian looked different.

He was quieter.

His eyes were darker.

His forehead looked more serious and strict than usual.

And when she tried to kiss him, he turned his face away.

He would have fucked her right there before they exchanged pleasantries, what happened to her man, she wondered.

“What’s going on, baby?” She purred, tracing her nails along his jaw. “You forget how good I taste?”

Damian’s jaw tightened. “You shouldn’t have come here, Lesley.”

Those words hit her like a slap.

Lesley Monroe, queen of every man’s fantasy, stood frozen, her pride screaming while her heart cracked in silence.

But she pushed further; she wouldn't give up that easily. He can't leave her; she's too dickmatized to care.

“There’s someone else,” she said quietly, but her tone was venomous.

Damian didn’t answer.

That silence told her everything.

She knew she would be in New Orleans longer than necessary. Time to feel at home.

She smiled bitterly, masking pain with lust. “Then I’ll find her. And when I do… she’ll wish she never met you.”

That night, Damian stood at his window watching her storm out of his house, red dress fluttering like a warning flare. Her ass jiggled. He thought about how wild and exotic their relationship had been a few weeks ago.

He didn’t chase her; he couldn't.

He does not chase women.

Because what tied him to Luna Rivers wasn’t a choice. It was destiny.

He knew his attention had wavered, and it wasn't Lesley's fault. He hoped she would understand when she eventually found out he had lost interest in all her charm.

His mind wandered to Luna Rivers again. Two bloodlines cursed and bound by prophecy, one of light, one of shadow.

And the closer they got, the more dangerous it became.

But destiny didn’t care about danger.

And Lesley Monroe had just arrived in New Orleans, dripping with jealousy and ready for war.

Well, he hoped she wouldn't be a distraction; he needed to step out to Eden this night.

Luna Rivers had always blended into the background. She was the quiet one with oversized hoodies, smudged glasses, and a laugh barely heard above the noise. She always thought, or rather knew she was ugly, but lately… something about her was shifting.

It started with her reflection.

Her posture.

She’d wake up, brush her hair, and pause because the strands didn’t look the same.

Under the dim light, faint streaks of silver shimmered through the brown. Not grey, not dull, but luminous like the moonlight had kissed her hair while she slept. Every morning, a little more shimmer appeared, creeping down from her roots like secrets being revealed. She decided she would wear a cap and roll her hair up until she understands what's going on with this feminine shit.

Her skin had changed, too.

Smoother. Glowing, freckles fading even when she hadn’t eaten properly or slept enough. Her eyes, once soft brown, seemed to have this faint, eerie silver glint. People were starting to stare longer than usual. The bullies had gone quiet lately, unsure what to make of the girl they once mocked.

And when she shifted into her wolf form… gods.

The fur was sparkling. It was pure silver, radiant silver, with a faint glow like something divine. She looked ethereal, untouchable, almost sacred. Even she didn’t understand it. Wolves in her family were usually dark-coated rogues. None had ever been silver. None had ever looked like this.

But it wasn’t just her appearance that was changing.

It was her body. In and out.

At night, she would lie in bed, her heart thudding for no reason. Her body burned in strange places: her neck, her stomach, and between her thighs. She wanted him to touch her, to make her scream his name and gasp for more, but who?

She dreamt of gold eyes and rough hands. Of a voice whispering her name like it belonged to him.

She hated that she knew whose voice it was.

Damian Blackwell.

The more she felt she had a crush on him, the more she hated him, and the more she scolded herself and almost slapped herself back to reality.

The one man she’d sworn to avoid.

The arrogant heir with a smirk sharp enough to slice through silence, with a scent that wrapped around her like smoke and sin.

Every time he passed by in the hallways, her breath would hitch. Her wolf stirred restlessly under her skin, whining, Mine.

And every time, Luna would bite her tongue and whisper back, No.

She made a mental note to stay far away from him. To ignore the pull that made her heart race and her body ache.

He was in danger, through and through. The kind of man who could ruin a girl like her with just a look. Tsk Tskk

But no matter how much she tried to ignore it, something inside her was awake now.

Something ancient.

Something hungry.

She felt like she could eat him, and eating in her context meant an unquenchable taste for sex with him.

She would find herself touching her own skin in confusion, feeling warmth and life thrumming beneath her fingertips. Her senses were sharper, her instincts louder. She could feel when he was near before she saw him. The air would change to grow thicker, charged, almost electric.

Why do I feel this way? She would whisper into her pillow. Why him?

But there was no answer. Only the soft hum of the moonlight outside and her heartbeat pounding like a drum.

And as she finally drifted into sleep, unaware of the quiet storm building inside her, something ancient stirred within her womb.

A spark of creation, small, silent, and slow but powerful.

The union of golden and silver bloodlines.

The child even the prophecy could not see.

Wolf pregnancies were different. They developed more slowly, the bond forming long before the body even realized it. Luna had no idea that the warmth she felt beneath her belly wasn’t just from nerves or desire; it was the life growing inside her, hidden by destiny itself.

The moon outside her window shimmered silver that night, almost as if it was watching over her.

Protecting her.

Warning her.

Because when a moon-born wolf and a golden heir break a prophecy…

The world core trembles.

She felt eyes on her, and she drifted off to sleep.

The eyes wrapped her in protective warmth.

Damon watched as she curled up in her dirty blankets and drifted off to sleep. How did she not notice he was in the darkest part of her room? He watched as she touched herself. He loved the curl of her fingers on her clit. She gave up too early. He wanted to see her shake in orgasm, but she stopped too early as if frustrated at the thought of pleasuring herself.

Damian wondered when he would see her again in wolf form; he wanted to experience fucking her one more time.