CRAVING THE PRIMORDIAL ELDER
Naelis Haldrith is many things, daughter to the South's most strategic Alpha, an Omega with Alpha genes, and an unapologetic misfit. During summer break, she decides to journey to Frostpine and spend her heat cycle with her boyfriend, the golden pea of the Thalric pod.
But during a collared moment, a secret of his is revealed, and Naelis realizes that their relationship was more complex than it seemed. Choosing to return to her pack, she steps outside under a storm, and it is at that moment she crosses paths with a man she had never seen before.
Zoran Vyer Thalric. Uncle to her ex. Member of the Elder's Council. The otherworldly primordial with red-ringed eyes and a wolf barely chained beneath his skin. Desire sparks instantly, and her sights are immediately set on him, but... he is a devotee of the Citadel, celibate, untouched, and unwilling to be the calm to her fury.
She is fire, wild and untamed. He is steel, honed and contained. And for the first time, Naelis is the hunter after her prey, and the line of resistance slowly blurs as he finds his years of enforced self-control and suppression unraveling at the tint of her touches.
And with a maniac on their radar, this summer break will demand blood, sacrifice, and passion that howls to the moon.
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Chapter 4
The Great Dining Hall buzzed with the clamor of dishes and voices until Rowan Thalric raised a hand and the conversation softened, a ripple of respect for the Alpha.
He sat at the head of the table, black hair streaked with grey at the temples, the years only sharpening his edges instead of dulling them. A strong man of about six foot one.
Picking at his hot cinnamon buns.
Beside him, Zoran studied the platter of roasted meat set before him. Grapes and a jug of wine were also arranged neatly at his place. He picked up the goblet, swirled it lightly, and then looked up at his brother.
"This..." he tapped the rim, "is it alcoholic?"
Rowan chuckled. "No, brother. It is not."
Zoran took a brief sip and then inclined his head.
It packed a fruity punch.
The Alpha leaned back in his chair. "So. Tell me. Have you rethought your decision about the Beta seat? The Pack still waits. You would serve well, you know."
Zoran set the goblet down carefully.
"Unfortunately not. The Beta's role demands mateship, perhaps children down the line. But a primordial cannot take that path. If I ever found a mate..." He left that part hanging. "It's better to remain in council."
The silence that followed was brief, but not uncomfortable.
Rowan's attention then shifted to the boy on his left.
"Silas."
His son froze mid-bite. "Yes, father?"
Rowan chewed, swallowed, then said casually, "That reminds me. Zoran mentioned last night that he saw Naelis. Out in the storm, alone. Trying to leave?"
Silas's fork clattered against his plate.
"Uh-yes. Well. We are not... together anymore, stuff happened."
Rowan's hand stilled. The fork in his grip paused mid-air. His head turned to his son, brows knitting in confusion.
"Not together?"
Silas cleared his throat, fidgeting under his father's stare. "Naelis thought it was better if we ... .stayed best friends. Platonic, that's her word for it."
Rowan leaned back, the faintest sigh escaping him. "Huh. She's wild, that girl. Spirited too. I thought the two of you made a fine match."
"Apparently, we're better off platonic." Silas muttered, stabbing his venison.
Rowan shook his head, then raised a brow.
"And where is she, then? Why isn't she at breakfast?"
Silas hesitated. Turning off his ringing mobile.
"She, uh... went to the woods."
"To....?"
"To hunt."
Rowan frowned. "To hunt? At this hour?"
The answer came before Silas could form one. The great iron doors at the end of the hall banged open. Heads turned to the figure coming in and gasps rose.
Naelis strode in, her dress torn at the hem and hands slick with blood. She dragged a full-grown boar across the stone floor until she heaved it forward and dropped it with a meaty thunk.
The carcass sprawled in the middle of the dining hall, blood coating the polished tiles, the scent of fresh kill cutting through the aroma of roasted delicacies.
Naelis straightened, her dark eyes bright with feral triumph.
"I hoped someone saved me a seat."
The hall fell silent, even the cooks froze in the archways.
Rowan's fork slipped from his fingers and fell to the ground. The chunks of bread in his mouth, spilling over his parted lips and falling onto his plate.
Zoran alone did not flinch, his gaze met Naelis's and deterred the dead boar. Others may have assumed it was just a simple hunt. But he saw the thin pendant around the boar's hoof. And he understood the gesture.
"A little birdie told me that this would be a good gift for your brother, Alpha Rowan."
She plopped into the seat and grabbed a chicken thigh. She wanted to put it in her mouth when Silas pulled out a water gun from his pocket and squeezed jets onto her face.
"You look like a bloody Mary."
"Silas!" Rowan tried to hold back his chuckle.
Naelis narrowed her eyes when the stream of water stopped hitting her. She wiped her face.
"I might gut your son in his sleep, and I'll do it with one hand."
Zoran dropped his grapes, plopping the last one into his mouth and washing his hands in the porcelain basin beside him.
"Good morning, Naelis... Haldrith." He said simply, a soft smile on his face.
All traces of irritation melted from Naelis's face as she turned to Zoran.
The turquoise shirt. The laces at his cuffs. The navy joggers that seemed almost careless, and yet the man carried them with an elegance that made the hall itself lean in to listen.
Her lips curved.
"Zoran," she said, greeting him by name, "would you... like to taste it? The chef could immediately prepare the boar for you, served however you please."
He shook his head gently, a small smile tugging at his mouth.
"I don't eat boar."
Naelis blinked, her eyes darting to the carcass she had dragged in triumph. The hunt that had left her bruised, scraped, blood-soaked.
"You... don't eat boar?" she repeated, voice thin.
Zoran's gaze dropped to the beast's snout, streaked with a purplish line. He did not say more than that.
Her eyes followed his, finally remembering the tales.
Boars with purple-streaked snouts were one of the things regarded as sacred by the citadel men.
Fuck.
She pressed her palm hard against her brow and let out a frustrated groan. "Crap."
She pushed back her chair, muttering, "Fine. I'll go hunt you a deer instead. Something.... proper. The cooks can-"
But Rowan cut her off,
"Naelis. I've never seen you hunt for anyone."
Naelis exhaled, her eyes fixed stubbornly on Zoran.
"I just... wanted to align myself with him. I know the rest of this family. Even your dead relatives. But your brother is the only one I don't know. And I thought.... a gift would bridge that."
Rowan leaned forward as though he had something more to say, only to be cut off by his own delighted groan.
The chef had returned, bearing a tray of fig, sour lemon, and curd. Rowan's favorite. His eyes lit up like a boy's, the Alpha's composure dissolving into simple, greedy joy.
Silas stared in disbelief, lips twitching. How easily his father could be conquered by food.
"Honestly," Silas muttered, pushing back his chair, "you reek of blood, Nae. Go wash before the stench kills my appetite any further."
Naelis screwed up her face and jutted her tongue at him.
"Uh...fine."
But just before she grabbed the chicken thigh, she reached into her pocket, drew a small, folded paper and slid it across to Zoran just as he lifted his goblet.
His brows arched but she motioned for him to open it.
Alpha Rowan was too busy devouring curd to notice.
Silas was too busy glancing at his screen.
The moment Zoran's fingers flipped open the paper, he spat out his wine.
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8.9
Aliana braved a heavy storm, carrying a warm stew for her fiancé, Ivan, just as she always put his needs before her own. This ingrained habit, a survival mechanism from a cold childhood, was about to shatter into a million pieces. Tonight, everything she believed was a lie.
The iron gates of Ivan's private villa flashed red, denying her entry, and a guard mumbled lies. Ignoring him, she pushed past, a strange orchid perfume leading her to Ivan's car, where a tube of crimson lipstick lay on the passenger seat. Through a window, she saw him with another woman and a small child, an image that felt like jagged glass twisting in her heart.
Then his words cut through the storm, cold and cruel:
"Aliana is just a placeholder."
He was marrying her for her multi-billion-dollar patent, a secret deal made with her own parents, who had sold her for a kickback to buy this very house. Her family, her love, her future-all were a calculated lie.
Her inner wolf, usually fierce, fell terrifyingly silent, replaced by a chilling resolve. The burning acid in her throat wasn't just bile; it was the taste of her shattered devotion.
She didn't want his apologies or his guilt. She wanted his ruin, and as Ivan walked in with a fake smile the next morning, Aliana was ready to deliver it.
8.6
I was the youngest Paladin in history, the absolute pride of the Azure Blade.
But after a disastrous mission in the snow, I was falsely accused of slaughtering my own squad.
Grand Master Bernardo Rowe didn't just exile me; he surgically severed my connection to the magic Aether, turning me into a crippled mortal.
Desperate to survive, I tried to climb the Holy Stairs to reclaim my legendary sword, "Rebellion."
Instead of answering my call, my own blade shrieked in absolute rejection and blasted me down the thousand stone steps.
My bones snapped like dry twigs, and I was left in a pool of my own blood.
The pilgrims laughed at me. The guards declared me a lost cause and left me to rot in the dirt.
I should have died there, betrayed by the Order and the holy magic I once served.
But a silent, massive laborer named Cato Sims dragged my mangled body into the shadows.
He healed my shattered skeleton in mere days with impossible skill, yet he allowed lowly servants to spit on him and beat him just to keep my presence hidden.
I didn't understand why my holy sword had abandoned me, and I understood even less why this stranger was protecting a condemned criminal.
When I finally snapped and demanded to know his price for saving my life, he didn't ask for money or my body.
"The mountain does not forget its debts. I am reclaiming what was taken from it."
Staring into his unyielding eyes, I realized my exile wasn't the end, but the beginning of a terrifying truth.
9.3
Born into privilege, Eleanor never imagined her life could shatter in a single night. Then her father disappeared with his mistress, her mother fell from a building and slipped into a coma, and everything she once owned turned to dust.
Determined not to ruin Jonathan's future with her family's disgrace, she ended their relationship and became the bride of a man trapped in a vegetative state.
She believed that was the last time their paths would cross. But two years later, Jonathan pinned her in the dark and whispered, "Long time no see, my sister-in-law."
9.2
When Alma's father stood in front of the bulldozers to protest, the energy company's thugs beat him half to death in the mud.
Instead of arresting the attackers, the police handcuffed her bleeding father and threw him into a cruiser.
"Stay back, kid," the officer barked, shoving Alma away.
Her father was denied bail and framed for assaulting an officer. The corrupt mayor just smiled and told her not to cause a scene. Meanwhile, the company mailed her weeping mother a severance check that barely covered a month of groceries.
Alma was forced to watch her family be completely destroyed by men with money and power.
Kneeling in the cold dirt where her father's blood had spilled, she didn't shed a single tear. The panic in her chest died, replaced by a cold, absolute hatred.
She realized that crying wouldn't do anything. In this world, justice didn't exist for the weak.
Years later, Alma stepped onto a prestigious Ivy League campus, her cheap backpack slung over her shoulder.
She was surrounded by the arrogant children of the very executives who ruined her life.
She lowered her head, hiding her dead eyes, and put on the perfect mask of a timid, helpless charity case.
Undergrad was just a training ground, and these elite kids were just her practice dummies. The hunt was officially on.
9.4
I was a New York photographer, but I woke up under the brutal sun of the African savanna.
Worse, I wasn't human. I was trapped in the body of a male cheetah, with two starving cubs clinging to my fur, telepathically calling me "Mom."
But I am a real man!
To keep my adopted sons alive, I had to fight hyenas and dodge rogue lions. But the real nightmare was my bizarre survival mechanism. Under extreme threat, I would uncontrollably shift back into my human form—stark, undeniably naked. I was forced to sprint across the plains with my bare skin exposed, carrying two cubs while escaping furious lionesses. I became a freak, the most confusing and humiliating legend of the animal kingdom.
Covered in bloody scratches and mud, I was pushed to the brink of despair. Why was I thrown into this beast's body? Why did my only defense mechanism involve profound social death?
Just when I barely survived a cliff dive to escape the lions, my path was blocked by two massive, highly intelligent prime male cheetahs.
But the alpha, Bradley, didn't want to kill me for my territory.
His intense gaze raked over my naked, bleeding human body with a dark, possessive hunger.
"You are full of surprises."
He purred smoothly, teaching me to magically summon a fur skirt before demanding I join his coalition.
"Oh, you'll come to me. I guarantee it."
Looking into his predatory eyes, I realized I was no longer just surviving the wild; I was the prey of a completely different kind of beast.
9.2
I woke up suffocating in the dark, only to find my mind trapped inside a tiny, plump, and entirely uncoordinated body.
A cold, mechanical voice echoed in my brain, announcing that I was dead in my original world and had transmigrated into a corporate revenge novel as the six-month-old illegitimate daughter of Edward McClure, the story's ruthless villain.
The system mercilessly outlined my doomed fate. Tonight, my cold-blooded father would abandon me to a state orphanage. By age two, he would officially sign my rights away, leaving me to die miserably at the hands of human traffickers. Outside my nursery, I could hear his terrifying footsteps approaching, his voice devoid of any human warmth as he debated throwing me out like garbage. I was completely helpless, trapped in a baby's body, staring up at a man who looked at me with pure, visceral disgust.
Why did I have to be reborn as the tragic cannon fodder of a tyrant destined to put a bullet in his own head? How was I supposed to win over a severe germaphobe when my unequipped infant reflexes made me literally pee and vomit all over his pristine Tom Ford suits?
"Your ultimate mission is to prevent Edward McClure's self-destruction. Step one: Survive tonight's abandonment crisis."
Hearing the system's terrifying ultimatum, I swallowed my adult panic, forced a pool of pitiful tears into my large eyes, and reached my chubby little hands toward the monster.