[Trigger Warning: This dark fantasy romance contains mature themes.]
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SYNOPSIS:

•A WOLRD BUILT ON SECRETS•
Long ago, humans lived unaware of the supernatural beings hidden among them—werewolves with their primal instincts, witches whispering spells in the dark, and elves with their ancient, watchful eyes. For centuries, they coexisted in fragile silence.  

Then, everything shattered.  

Near the shadow-drenced woods of the Shadow pack kingdom, human traveler stumbled upon a gruesome scene: an old woman’s lifeless body, her skin ashen, her wounds gaping like accusations. A few paces away lay a dead werewolf, its throat ripped open, its muzzle still flecked with blood. The truth was undeniable—monsters walked among them.  

Fear ignited war.  

The humans, armed with fire and steel, hunted the werewolves. The conflict dragged witches and elves into the slaughter, their homes burned, their people slaughtered. Years of bloodshed stained the earth until human King Alfred V of the Amethyst Kingdom stood before the four werewolf rulers—the Silverhowl, Crimsonheart, Shadow, and Wildfire Kings—and demanded an end.  

His proposal was a silk-wrapped blade: every twenty years, each human family would sacrifice a daughter to the werewolves to ensure the peace of their kind.

The werewolves agreed.  

The war ceased. The witches and elves retreated, their hatred for the werewolves festering like an unhealed wound. But the so-called "peace" was a lie. The world remained fractured, its people bound by fear and resentment. The cycle of violence merely wore a different mask.  

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•THE PROPHECY OF FIRE•  

In the hidden Blaze Tribe, where crimson eyes burned like embers, the seer Prophetia foresaw annihilation.  

"Our people will fall," she rasped, her voice trembling. "But from the ashes, a girl will rise—the one who will bring true peace… and the one they will slaughter for it."

The tribe made a desperate pact. They would cast a spell—a curse of forgotten memory—erasing their existence from the world’s mind. Their souls would be the price, but their legacy would live on in Ovelia, the child of prophecy.  

The night the Blaze Tribe fell, Ovelia’s parents hid her in the whispering forest, their hands shaking as they sealed a goddess—Firera—inside her infant body. Then, they turned to face their doom.  

[Author: Okay, Firera, stop glaring. You’re not the villain here.]
[Firera: "Then why does it sound like I am?!"]

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•FATE’S CRUEL WHISPER•

Ace Draven, the half-werewolf, half-witch prince of Silverhowl, had never believed in fate—until he found a crying infant beneath the gnarled roots of an ancient tree.  

His wolf, Fenrir, howled in recognition.  

A crimson thread shimmered between them—mates.  

But Firera, watching from within Ovelia’s soul, snarled. "She’s a child. This is too soon." With a flick of her wrist and spell, she tore the memory from Ace’s mind, leaving only an empty ache in his chest.  

[Firera: "I regret nothing."]
[Author: "You’re making this difficult."]

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•TWENTY YEARS LATER: A SACRIFICE AND A RECKONING•

Ovelia, now a woman with fire in her veins and scars on her spirit, has been raised as a slave by the mayor of Timberline Village—a man who would sooner sacrifice her to the werewolves than let his own daughter suffer.  

The night of the sacrifice, the air reeks of damp earth and iron. Torches flicker as the werewolves emerge from the shadows. And then—Ace Draven steps forward.  

Their eyes meet.  

Fenrir *howls*.  

Ace’s claws unsheathe, his breath ragged. "You…" He doesn’t understand why his wolf is clawing at his ribs, why his pulse hammers at the sight of this stranger. But the thread between them burns brighter than ever.  

Ovelia doesn’t know him.  

He doesn’t remember her.

And yet, the bond is undeniable.

The oven door creaked as I pulled it open, releasing a cloud of fragrant steam that curled around my face. The golden-brown pastries puffed up perfectly, their flaky layers shimmering with a delicate sheen of butter. Carefully, I slid the baking tray onto the counter, the metal clinking softly against the worn wooden surface.


"Oh, Lady Ovelia!" Ann's voice trilled from beside me. She bounced on the balls of her feet, her fingers twitching toward the pastries before she caught herself. "That smell is divine! I don't think I can wait another second!" Her wide eyes reflected the pastries' golden glow.


Mrs. Melinda leaned in closer, her gray-streaked hair escaping its bun as she marveled at our creation. "I've never seen anything like this," she murmured, her hands hovering just above the tray. "They look like little clouds of bread." A deep inhale made her shoulders rise. "And that aroma - the butter, the fruit - it's like nothing in our village kitchens."


Chapter 60 - Chapter 60: Pastry & Passion