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Chapter 1 "Harlow, can you come down here for a minute?" Dad’s voice drifted up from downstairs—probably from his office. I sighed, rolling off my queen-sized bed and tossing aside the book I’d been reading. I strolled out of my room and made my way down the stairs. As I walked, I tuned into my enhanced hearing to pick up where Dad was. I heard his heartbeat, along with two others, coming from the office. Not surprising. I let my hearing return to normal and headed toward the office. I didn’t bother knocking—something I only ever skip when he calls me. I pushed the cherry oak door closed behind me and took in the scene. Dad was leaning back in his desk chair, looking casual, but his face was tight with tension. Knox, my oldest brother and the next Alpha, stood off to the right, leaning against the wall opposite the door. At six-foot-four, his broad frame was relaxed, arms crossed over his chest. His expression was blank, but I caught the hesitation in his eyes—something I wasn’t used to seeing in him. Jasper, my other brother, was sitting on the couch to the right. He looked like he was bracing for a fight, which instantly put me on edge. All three of them looked strikingly alike—same deep brown hair, same piercing midnight blue eyes. The differences were subtle: Jasper had shoulder-length curls and a slightly crooked nose, while Knox had thinner lips and a broader face. Dad looked older, of course, with gray streaking his hair and deeper lines around his eyes—but not as old as he really was. Werewolves aged slowly after maturity, so even though Dad was nearing two hundred, he looked like a man in his late thirties. Knox didn’t look like he was twenty years older than me either. "What’s going on?" I asked, uneasy. "Take a seat, Hal," Dad said, motioning to one of the chairs in front of his desk. I shot him a look for using my childhood nickname, but I didn’t say anything. Now wasn’t the time. I sat down, and the moment I did, I felt like a kid again. This office had seen plenty of stern father-daughter sit-downs when I was a teen. Me and Freya both. Sitting here now, I felt seventeen again—though I was twenty-three. I raised an eyebrow at each of them, waiting for someone to speak. Dad finally started. "As you probably know, I’ve been working toward getting a seat on the council for a while now." He paused. Yeah, I knew. The council was made up of the most powerful Alphas in the country. They advised the King on all things werewolf-related. I didn’t know the nitty-gritty of their duties, but I knew it was a huge deal. Getting an invitation was like being knighted. Dad had been trying for years with no luck. He was strong, no doubt, but our pack wasn’t the biggest. He always hovered in the middle—powerful, sure, but not top-tier. When the current King took the throne about twenty-five years ago, he scrapped the old council his father had set up and started fresh. Only Alphas he trusted made the cut. Dad had been trying to earn a spot ever since. I nodded for him to continue. "Well, I finally received a letter. They’re considering me. They’ve asked me to send representatives to stay with them for a few months. I can’t leave the pack for that long, so they want someone I trust to go in my place—to prove we’re worthy of the seat." "Congratulations, Dad. I’m really happy for you. I know how much this means to you." I smiled, relieved it wasn’t bad news. "So, is Jasper or Knox going?" "That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. Knox has to stay here—he’s needed. So Jasper is going. Ri will be going with him, of course," he added, referring to Jasper’s mate—and my best friend since kindergarten. She was also the daughter of our pack’s witch, and a strong one in training. "I’m gonna miss you guys," I said, frowning at Jasper. He didn’t look thrilled either. Dad cleared his throat. "Actually, Harlow, you’ll be going too." Just like that, the relief in my chest turned into a heavy weight. My gut twisted, and I felt my temper rising—classic Kendall family trait. "Are you serious?" I gripped the chair arms so tightly my claws extended and punctured the wood. Not the first time that had happened. "I’m completely serious." Dad remained calm. "You can’t make me do this. Why do I have to go?" My voice pitched up, high and angry. "I absolutely can. I need you there. I can’t send Freya, for obvious reasons. That leaves you." Okay, fair. Freya was a wild card. I loved her, but she wasn’t exactly known for being reliable or professional. She’d rather party and chase guys than help run the pack. Everyone knew Dad was constantly disappointed in her. "Why can’t Jasper and Ri be enough?" I snapped. "I need to show the King I’m serious. Sending two of my kids, my daughter-in-law, and the pack’s witch shows that. It’s about representation. And I trust you. Leon’s going too." I groaned dramatically and threw my head back. Of course Leon was going. The pack's future Beta—and the biggest jerk I knew. Son of Beta Caleb, and somehow Freya’s best friend. We never got along. "You can’t do this to me, Dad. I hate that asshole," I growled. "Language, Harlow," he warned. I rolled my eyes. "Daddy, please," I tried a different route, softening my voice, blinking my green eyes, letting them mist up a little. I pouted, going full sad puppy. "That might’ve worked at ten, but not now. You said you wanted to be more involved in the pack. This is your chance." I dropped the act. "That’s not what I meant, and you know it. I just spent four years earning my accounting degree. I didn’t do all that to go kiss the King’s ass. I did it to help with the pack’s finances. To help run your businesses.” To the werewolf world, Dad was Alpha Augustus Kendall. To the human world, he was Augustus Kendall, successful entrepreneur. He owned several businesses across the state. That’s how he made his money and kept the pack thriving. We weren’t hurting financially. I’d decided after high school that I wanted to help. Being the youngest of four, I’d never be Alpha, but I could still contribute. So I went to college, just forty-five minutes from home. While I studied, Knox and Jasper trained me on the business side. I’d graduated three months ago, ready to dive in. This? This wasn’t what I signed up for. I wasn’t trying to be difficult—I just didn’t want this. I was a numbers girl. Not into politics. Sure, this was big for the pack, but I didn’t think I was the right person to represent us. What was I gonna do—look pretty and act obedient? Ugh, kill me. "I don’t know anything about werewolf politics, Dad," I said, crossing my arms. "You don’t need to. Jasper will handle all of that. You just need to be respectful, polite. Show we’re serious. That’s all." "This isn’t fair. This wasn’t the plan." I huffed. "I know, Hal. It’s just a couple months. Can you do this for me? When you get back, you can have whatever job you want." My anger deflated. I knew there was no arguing. He might’ve asked, but it wasn’t a real question. He was my Alpha. I couldn’t say no. But if I agreed now, I’d hold him to his word. "Fine. But when I get back, I don’t want to be micromanaged. I want the three of you to trust me to do what I’ve been trained to do. I’m college-educated now, and you’ve taught me everything. I want a real shot." He thought for a moment, then nodded. "Deal." "Fine," I said, nodding back. "When do we leave?" "Tomorrow." My annoyance surged again. I stood up and left before my temper exploded. ***** "It’s not gonna be that bad," Ri said from where she was lounging on my bed, looking way too relaxed. Her green eyes sparkled with amusement, and her lips twitched like she was holding back laughter. "It’s gonna suck," I muttered. I went back to my closet, grabbed another pile of clothes, and started folding them into my suitcase. Ri, of course, was already packed. She didn’t mind the trip at all. Obvious reason—Jasper would be there. They’d been together since she turned eighteen, and they were still annoyingly in love. I chalked it up to the mate bond, but it still made me gag sometimes. Jasper had known she was his mate when she was a kid, but he didn’t act on it until she was of age—more like a big brother before that. Not uncommon, considering how werewolves aged. Big age gaps were normal. Hell, Dad was nearly twenty years older than Mom. Now that Ri was marked and mated, she’d age like a werewolf too. Witches aged like humans unless they found a mate. Kind of a blessing, really—now she’d grow old with me, not die while I still looked thirty. "Try to keep an open mind, Harlow. You might actually enjoy it," she said. She was always the voice of reason. Her intuition, thanks to her witch blood, was never wrong. She’d kept me out of so many bad situations—when I listened, anyway. "I don’t need to keep an open mind. I know this is gonna suck." Before she could reply, my bedroom door flew open and Freya stomped in, looking murderous. "You bitch," she spat. Chapter 2 "What now?" I shot her a glare, not in the mood for her crap. I couldn't exactly toss her out—this was her room too. We’d shared a bedroom since I was born. Either of us could’ve moved into Knox’s old room after he left, but neither of us ever bothered. We'd lived together so long it just didn’t feel right to split up. As much as she drove me crazy sometimes, the idea of not arguing with her every morning actually kind of bummed me out. The thought of being away from her for two whole months hit me harder than I expected. I was actually going to miss her. "What now? You get to spend two months at the Montgomery Highlands, that's what. Seriously, why the hell do you get to go and I don’t?" she snapped, arms crossed over her chest just like I’d done in Dad’s office earlier. "Maybe if you weren’t such an embarrassment, Dad might trust you to go," I shot back with a smirk, one brow raised. "She’s got a point," Ri chimed in with a chuckle. "You two are such bitches." We just laughed at her. Ri and Freya fought like sisters too—but they were also close. Ri might not share our blood, but she was family. She would be even if she and Jasper weren’t mates. The three of us had grown up together. Sure, we argued, but when it came down to it, we had each other's backs. "Maybe, but at least no one’s worried about us jumping the King," Ri said with a wide grin. "I'm seriously gonna enjoy a break from you two," Freya muttered, pushing past me. She flopped down on her queen-sized bed across the room from mine. Her side of the room was a mess, but I couldn’t say much—mine wasn’t any better. That was probably why we managed to tolerate sharing the space. Clothes were scattered everywhere, some hers, some mine. Both beds were unmade and wrinkled. Dust coated the entertainment center and bookshelf. The bathroom? It was technically clean, but a total disaster. "That's mine," she growled a few minutes later, eyeing the tank top I was folding. "Uh, no. You just think you can wear my stuff whenever you feel like it," I argued. "It is mine. And you wear my clothes all the time too." "No I don’t. Your fat ass stretches everything out so I can’t." "It’s not fat, sweetheart—it’s called curves. You wouldn’t know anything about that since you look like a twelve-year-old boy." "Oh really?" I said, dragging out the words as I tossed the top into my bag anyway. "That why Grandma gave you that diet cookbook?" Ri snorted, and Freya let out a low growl. "You know she only gave me that because I told her I was starting to eat healthier," she defended herself. I didn’t feel guilty about the jab. That’s just how we rolled—we roasted each other constantly. Neither of us was overly sensitive. If anything, we gave each other thicker skin. She knew she wasn’t fat, just like I knew I didn’t actually look like a preteen boy. "You sure you can’t leave tonight?" she grumbled. We kept the back-and-forth going for a while. It helped distract me from what the next couple of months might bring. Eventually, she wandered downstairs to help Mom in the kitchen. Freya did her part around the house. She was smart, but hated school, so she skipped college after high school. She didn’t have a job either. Freya wasn’t exactly built for the 9-to-5 life—too rebellious, too many authority issues. She and Dad clashed constantly, though he let her get away with more than he should. Our parents agreed to support her as long as she helped out around the house and assisted Mom with Luna duties. It was her only real option until she found her mate. Poor guy, whoever he ended up being—he was in for a wild ride. After about an hour and another suitcase, I was finally packed. Two big ones and a smaller bag for toiletries and beauty stuff. I had no clue what I’d actually be doing, so I packed for every scenario. By the time I finished, Mom was calling us down for dinner. I frowned, realizing this would be my last family dinner for a while. Ri walked beside me and dropped into the seat next to Jasper, who immediately leaned over and kissed her cheek. I sat on her other side, across from Freya. We passed dishes around, made small talk, and piled food onto our plates. Once we were all served, we dug in. Werewolves eat a lot—except Ri—so it was always a hefty grocery bill. "So, are you three excited about tomorrow?" Mom asked, looking our way. "I am," Ri said quickly. "I heard the castle is gorgeous. And they have a Morozova witch! I’m hoping I can study with her while I’m there." I got why she was so hyped. Ri came from the Bishops, a powerful witch line, but the Morozovas were the most powerful of them all. They'd worked with the royal family for centuries, even before they moved from Europe to America in the 1700s. "Actually, there are three Morozova witches there. I’m sure we can arrange for you to study with one of them. I’ll make a call in the morning," Dad said proudly. A strong witch in the pack was a huge asset. If Ri impressed the right people, it could mean big things for us. "Seriously? Thank you, Gust!" She bounced in her seat, and Jasper looked at her like she hung the moon. "What about you, Hal? You excited?" Mom turned to me. "Not really," I muttered. "Why not? I bet you’ll have a great time. And you’ll get to meet the King! I’m excited for you," she said with so much enthusiasm it made me feel bad for not sharing it. "That’s not really a selling point for me. I’ll probably meet him for like, five seconds." "You never know. And he is very handsome
" she added teasingly. Dad growled low in his throat, but she ignored him. "So? We both have mates out there somewhere. His looks aren’t gonna change anything." Truthfully, I didn’t even know what the King looked like. I’d never been to the castle. Everyone else in my family had—except Freya. The King threw a mating ball every year, a massive event to help people find their mates. I’d never cared enough to go. "Well, that’s something to look forward to. Maybe you’ll meet your mate while you’re there," she said optimistically. She always looked on the bright side. I wasn’t so good at that. Honestly, I didn’t want to meet my mate there. I wanted one, of course—what wolf didn’t? Your mate is the other half of your soul. But if I met him at the castle, he’d probably be someone important. That would mean leaving my family, my pack, and everything I knew. And I wasn’t ready for that. I wanted a mate who could join my life, not the other way around. Selfish? Maybe. But I didn’t want to leave them. I just hummed in response. No way was I saying that out loud—it would lead to a long lecture about fate and the importance of mates. Not tonight. Tonight, I just wanted to chill with Freya and Ri, like we used to. Netflix and junk food until we passed out. Dinner went on for a while, but eventually we were done. We helped Freya clean up, then raided the pantry for snacks. Now we were all piled on my bed, a terrible horror movie playing while we devoured ice cream. We had a pack of Oreos and three different bags of chips spread out across the bedspread. "I’m really gonna miss you two," Freya said quietly, leaning on my shoulder. It was one of her rare sincere moments. "I’ll miss you too, Fae," I told her honestly. "Same. The Three Amigas have never been apart before," Ri added, pouting. "I really wish I was going with y’all." I was stunned into silence when I saw tears well up in her eyes and spill over. Freya didn’t cry. Ever. She quickly wiped them away, annoyed at herself. "I wish you were too. I’m nervous about going," I admitted. "Me too," Ri said. "Maybe Dad’ll change his mind," I offered, and Ri nodded hopefully. "You know he won’t. He thinks I’m only good for cleaning and cooking. He doesn’t trust me with this. He trusts everyone else—but not me." More tears slipped down her cheeks. Her voice cracked, and it broke my heart. I had no idea she felt this way. "Fae, that’s not true. You don’t give yourself nearly enough credit." "I give myself the same credit he gives me." "Okay, I’m gonna be real with you right now, alright?" She nodded, so I continued. "You’re smart, Freya. You have so much potential, but you don’t act like it. If you want Dad to take you seriously, you’ve got to show him he can trust you. He’ll come around. But you’ve got to meet him halfway." "You think so?" she asked, wiping away the last of her tears. "I do." "You’re right." "Wow. Didn’t think I’d ever hear you say that to me," I joked. "And you never will again," she shot back. Ri and I both laughed. "Now enough of this mushy crap. My ice cream’s melting." The rest of the night felt normal again—back to our usual banter and bickering. But something felt different about her. I hoped Dad would go easy on her. After two more movies and way too much junk food, we all laid down to sleep. They were on either side of me, both snoring softly. But I couldn’t sleep. About half an hour later, Jasper came in and carried Ri back to his room. Typical Alpha—couldn’t handle one night apart. My mind kept drifting to tomorrow. My wolf was restless, pacing in the back of my mind. I couldn’t shake the unease. Eventually, I gave up on sleep and decided to go for a run. I needed to let her out. I slipped out of bed and crept downstairs. Everyone was asleep, so I made it outside without anyone noticing. I crossed the backyard and reached the tree line. Hiding behind the biggest tree, just in case, I stripped off my PJs. I called to my wolf, and she came forward eagerly. The shift washed over me, painless and natural. It was freeing. In fifteen seconds, it was done. I was small, but fast and strong for my size. I shook out my glossy brown coat and took off running. As I raced through the forest, dodging trees and leaping over brush, the tension started to melt away. Still, that nagging feeling in my gut wouldn’t leave. I decided to ignore it. Whatever it was—I’d find out soon enough. Chapter 3 "No. I'm not doing it," I told my dad firmly, my voice full of defiance. His patience was clearly starting to wear thin. Getting up this morning had been rough. I’d been out late running last night and only managed to get maybe three hours of sleep. Still, I made an effort to look good—I wanted to make a decent impression. My curls were actually smooth for once, not their usual frizzy mess, and I wore one of my favorite dresses: a deep emerald green that made my eyes pop, paired with a thick black cardigan. "Do you always have to make everything so difficult?" Dad finally snapped, glaring at me. We’d been going back and forth for about fifteen minutes now. He told me when I came downstairs that we were heading to the airport at noon. I told him, just as quickly, that there was no way in hell I was getting on a plane. I had two solid reasons for that. First, I was terrified of flying. I’d only been on a plane three times in my life, and each experience had been pure hell. I’d rather drive—or not go at all. Second, if I was going to be stuck at the King's castle for at least two months, I wanted a way out. I needed either my car or my brother’s so I could leave if I had to. I wasn’t about to rely on anyone there for anything other than a roof over my head. "Where do you think I get it from, Dad? Sure as hell not from Mom." He let out a low growl at that. "She's got a point," Mom added as she walked into the living room and joined the conversation. Dad shot her an annoyed look, but he wouldn’t dare growl at her like he did with me. Even though she was the more submissive one in their relationship, she still expected respect—and he knew better than to cross her. She didn’t get mad often, but when she did
 you ran. She’d only truly lost it on me once, but that was more than enough for this lifetime. "Do you two really have to gang up on me?" he asked, sounding worn out. I had to bite back a smile. "Only when you’re being unreasonable, Gust," Mom replied coolly. "Harlow’s willing to go and help, even though she doesn’t want to. All she’s asking is to drive instead of fly." I gave her a small, grateful smile. She smiled back before turning her attention back to Dad. I could tell he was starting to bend. Their eyes glazed over at the same time—mind-linking. I watched silently while Dad’s expressions changed rapidly. First irritated, then annoyed, suddenly surprised
 and then, disturbingly, lustful. Mom had this playful smirk on her face. Gross. I really didn’t want to know what they were saying. Finally, Dad sighed and gave me a resigned look. "Fine. You can take Jasper’s Tahoe. Your car’s too small for all the luggage anyway." "Thank you, Daddy!" I beamed, running over and hugging him tight. The tension melted off him and he hugged me back, kissing the top of my head. "You’re welcome, sweetheart." I pulled back, smiling, and turned to Mom, wrapping her in a hug too. "Thanks, Mom," I whispered, though I knew Dad could hear just fine. "No problem. I’m gonna miss you so much, Hal. I can’t believe my baby’s leaving me." Her eyes welled up with tears, and my smile faltered. Mom was a total crier, and emotional situations like this always made me uncomfortable. "It’s not for that long, Cel," Dad said, stepping in and pulling her into his arms so she could cry on his chest. ‘Go,’ he mouthed at me. Didn’t need to tell me twice. I bolted out of the living room and headed upstairs. I stopped in front of Jasper and Ri’s bedroom and knocked softly. Within seconds, Jasper opened the door and stepped aside to let me in. Ri was at her vanity, finishing the winged eyeliner on her green, cat-like eyes. She caught my reflection in the mirror and smiled, which I returned. "So, you got Dad to let us drive, huh?" Jasper asked, flopping onto his bed. I joined him. "Actually, it was Mom. Don’t even ask me what she said to convince him—I don’t wanna know." I shuddered dramatically. Jasper made a gagging noise, and Ri laughed. "What time are we heading out?" I asked. "As soon as Leon gets here," he said, checking his phone and tapping out a message before slipping it back into the pocket of his black dress pants. "He’s on his way." "Why’s he even coming?" I groaned. "Dad trusts him. He works closely with us and knows the pack’s policies and politics. He’s supposed to help me with the political side of this trip." "I’ve got an idea—how about he flies, and we drive?" Jasper chuckled. "Nice try, Harlow. He’s riding with us. Hope you realized this is a five-hour drive." "Ugh, that long? This is gonna suck," I groaned, flopping back on the bed dramatically. "Don’t worry—I’m in charge of the music," Ri grinned at me. This time, it was Jasper who groaned. "Great. As if being stuck in a car for five hours wasn’t bad enough, now I have to listen to horrible music, too." "What kind of best friend would I be if I didn’t help take away your will to live on a road trip?" "A terrible one," I muttered. "Good thing I’m a fantastic one. Because I also brought snacks." She lifted a big paper bag from the floor. I couldn’t see everything inside, but I spotted a pack of Oreos sticking out of the top—my favorite. "I could seriously kiss you," I said, grabbing the bag and immediately tearing into the Oreos. I’d already eaten breakfast with the family, but I was basically a bottomless pit. "You’d have to fight me for her," Jasper joked, reaching for an Oreo. I slapped his hand away with a warning growl. He raised his hands in mock surrender. As I dug through the bag, I saw she’d packed a full spread—Oreos, Cheetos, mini donuts
 this was why Ri was my best friend. "Please, we wouldn’t even have to fight. She’d choose me," I teased, nudging her. "Right, Ri?" We both looked at her expectantly. She tried to keep a straight face. "Sorry, babe. You know how it is—hoes before bros," she said with mock sympathy. Jasper stood, walked over to her, and wrapped his arms around her waist. He leaned in and whispered in her ear, "Guess I’ll just have to change your mind tonight." Then he started nibbling on her earlobe. "Okay, party foul. Save it for your alone time," I muttered, thoroughly grossed out. He just laughed and pulled away, looking smug. Ri looked like she might climb him right then and there. "Yup, I’m leaving before you two start going at it in front of me," I said, grabbing one last Oreo before heading out. Ri called out a half-hearted apology, but I just waved her off. I made my way to my room. Freya was sitting on her bed, still looking kind of down—but not nearly as bad as last night. Before either of us could say anything, a voice boomed from downstairs. Leon. Ugh. Announcing his arrival like he thought anyone actually cared. Apparently Freya did, because she jumped up and happily trotted downstairs. I rolled my eyes and grabbed my bags. I slung my purse over one shoulder and a smaller bag over the other. Then I grabbed a suitcase in each hand and made my way downstairs too. It took a bit with all the weight, but I finally made it to the living room. Everyone was already there—except Jasper. I dropped my bags near the front door and walked over. Dad was holding a teary-eyed Mom, Knox stood nearby with his hands in his jeans pockets, Ri was chatting with Mom, and Freya was talking to Leon—who, of course, turned his attention to me. "You ready, Hal?" he asked with that smug tone, amusement flickering in his muddy brown eyes. I snarled. Have I mentioned how much I hate that nickname? He only used it to piss me off. "Are you, jackass? Because you’re riding in the back with the luggage like the mutt you are." Chapter 4 Instead of getting mad like most werewolves would when someone called them a dog, he just threw his head back and laughed. "You're such a sweetheart, Harlow. Really," he said, dripping with sarcasm. "And you're a moron. If we're done stating the obvious, can we get this show on the road?" I asked. "We're heading out now," Jasper said, stepping back into the room. He grabbed my bags and walked right back out. I turned toward my family, and a wave of sadness hit me. Knox was closest, so I went to him first. His usual stern expression softened as he pulled me into a hug. Knox and I weren’t especially close, mostly because of the big age gap. He’d always acted more like a second dad—way too overprotective. It used to drive me crazy, but I loved him anyway. Deep down, I knew he acted that way because he gave a damn. I hugged him tightly. "I’m gonna miss you, Knox." "I’m gonna miss you too, kid." I pulled away and gave him a playfully annoyed look. He ruffled my hair and nudged me straight into Dad’s arms. He wrapped me in one of his giant bear hugs. Those always made me feel safe, like nothing could touch me. As much as we clashed, I was still a daddy’s girl through and through. Maybe it was because I was the youngest—that definitely helped me get away with more than I should have. Jasper used to complain all the time about how Freya and I would get off easy for things he never could. And honestly, he wasn’t wrong. Dad went easier on us, no question. Freya and I were a lot like our dad in personality, not looks—we got those from Mom—but in every other way, we were his daughters. We had Alpha blood running thick through our veins. Unlike our more soft-spoken mother, we weren’t exactly the submissive type. All three of us were stubborn enough to argue with a brick wall and win. It drove Mom crazy, but I think Dad secretly liked it. The others used to say we were the favorites. Personally, I always thought the boys were his favorites. Guess it just depended on who you asked. "I love you, baby girl. Thanks for doing this. I’ll make it up to you, I promise." He kissed my forehead and let me go. "I love you too," I said with a smile. Before I could say anything else, Mom yanked me away from him and practically launched herself at me. I nearly lost my balance, but somehow managed to stay upright, avoiding a collision with the wooden coffee table. She clung to me like I was her lifeline, sobbing into my shoulder. I awkwardly wrapped my arms around her, grimacing. Emotional stuff like this wasn’t really my thing, so I just patted her back and let her cry it out. After a few uncomfortable minutes, she stepped back, her face red and blotchy. "Be safe, my baby girl. Call me every day. I love you so much." She started kissing all over my face, which made me grimace even harder. "I will. I love you too, Mom," I told her once she finally eased off. Dad stepped in again to pull her away from me and into his arms. Ri and Jasper moved toward them, and I headed over to Freya. She rolled her eyes but still pulled me into a hug, which I gladly returned. "Stay out of my side of the closet while I’m gone," I teased as we pulled apart. "They look better on me anyway." "You’re delusional. But I’ll miss you." "Same here, Harlow. Don’t forget to call me sometimes, okay?" I nodded and hugged her one last time. Leon came to stand next to me while we waited for Ri and Jasper to finish saying their goodbyes. Mom was currently wrapped around her “baby boy.” "You nervous?" Leon asked, sounding surprisingly serious. "A little. You?" "A bit," he admitted, glancing down at me. "I’ve only been to the castle once, a couple years ago." "What’d you think?" "It’s beautiful. Definitely worthy of a king. I didn’t meet King Viktor, but I met the Royal Army’s Head Enforcer. Seemed like a solid guy. Had nothing but good things to say about the royal family." "What were you there for? The Mating Ball?" I asked. "Yeah. Haven’t had a chance to go again since then." He’d been in school the last few years, plus training to become Beta one day. I nodded, and my attention shifted back to my family. They were done with their goodbyes, and we all headed outside. Mom squeezed me into one last hug while Dad had a quiet conversation with Jasper and Leon, probably going over last-minute details. Eventually, Mom let me go, and I climbed into the back seat. I frowned immediately at what I saw. "Hell no. These seating arrangements suck," I said flatly. Jasper was behind the wheel, with Ri riding shotgun. Both turned around with amused looks. Leon smirked from the seat next to me, and I shot him a glare. "Can’t you sit up front?" I asked—okay, demanded. "He could," Ri said, "but then I don’t get to control the music. And I honestly don’t trust them with that responsibility." I rolled my eyes with a heavy sigh. She had a point. So I went with the next best option—threats. "If you so much as cross the middle seat, I’ll make sure you never have kids." "You’re so feisty," he said, clearly entertained. We all buckled up and waved goodbye as Jasper pulled away from the house. "I love it." "Yeah? Let’s see how much you love it when I neuter you like the mutt you are." "I’m actually looking forward to it." He wiggled his thick black eyebrows at me. "Poor mate of yours," I muttered. "Same could be said for yours. Gonna take a miracle to tame you." I punched him in the arm—twice as hard—and he didn’t even flinch. He just kept going. "Then again, that fire might be a good thing in bed." That earned him two more punches and a warning growl from Jasper, ever the protective big brother. Ri just laughed and changed the song on her phone hooked up to the car stereo. "At least my mate will want to touch me. Yours probably won’t come near you with a ten-foot pole. And even that might be too close." "Please. She won’t be able to resist this." He gestured to himself. I hated to admit it—even in my own head—but he was good-looking. Too bad he was also insufferable. "Yeah, because arrogance is so sexy. That’ll win her over real fast." "Glad you’re finally coming around, Hal." "Don’t call me that," I snapped through clenched teeth. "Aww, not a fan of the nickname, Hal?" "I’m seriously about to beat the hell out of you." My hands were balled into fists at this point. "Enough. Both of you. I’m not dealing with this the whole drive," Jasper said, his voice full of authority. I glared at him for pulling the big-brother card, but I shut up anyway. Talking to Leon was never my favorite activity. After that, things quieted down. We snacked and listened to music. Ri kept the conversation going, but I didn’t talk to either of the guys, and they didn’t talk to each other. Eventually, I drifted off, resting my head on the small pillow I’d brought. ***** By the time we reached the royal territory, the sun had already set. We’d gotten a late start—didn’t leave until the afternoon—and made a few stops on the way. We grabbed a late lunch around the halfway mark, stopped for gas, and used the restroom. Leon and I had a few more spats, but nothing serious enough to get scolded for. As we got closer, Jasper and Leon shifted into their roles—Alpha and Beta in training. The mood got more serious. I’d managed to nap for about two hours, which helped. I’d barely slept the night before and had been cranky all day, so the rest made a difference. Getting into the royal territory was... intense. At the first gate, they checked our IDs and searched the vehicle thoroughly. It took about fifteen minutes before they finally let us through. We drove another ten minutes down a narrow concrete road surrounded by dense forest before reaching another gate. Same drill—ID check, car search. After they cleared us again, we kept going. Just when I thought we were done, we hit a third gate. This one opened up to reveal a massive medieval castle. It looked like something straight out of a dark fairytale—five or six stories high, built from dark stone, surrounded by forest on three sides, with a snow-covered mountain looming behind it. A thin veil of fog clung to the air, and the moonlight gave the whole place an eerie, haunting beauty. The grounds were wide open, surrounded by wrought-iron fencing. The gates creaked open and Jasper drove us through slowly. The yard had to be at least two or three acres, and it took a full minute to reach the main entrance. A circular driveway looped around a large stone fountain, with a side road branching off—probably leading to a garage. We pulled up in front, just like the last guard instructed. As soon as we stepped out, we were surrounded. Someone offered me a hand to help me out of the car and shut the door behind me. I thanked him, and he nodded before walking away. Another helped Ri, and then two more joined them to unload the luggage from the trunk. They didn’t need help figuring out whose was whose—they could identify our scents. We all regrouped—Ri and I in the middle, Jasper next to her, Leon beside me. I didn’t move away from him, mostly out of nerves. The man who stepped up to greet us was... intense. I shivered, partly because of him, partly from the cold. My legs were bare, and the cardigan I wore wasn’t doing much. He stopped a few feet away, a relaxed expression on his handsome face. He had short, dirty blond hair, warm brown eyes, and thin lips. He was tall—taller than any of the men in my family—and built, dressed in black slacks and a dark blue button-up with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. He was attractive, no doubt, but for some reason, I didn’t feel the slightest pull toward him. He took a step closer, his expression shifting for a split second as he sniffed the air. But the moment passed, and he shook it off with an easy smile. "Welcome, Kendall Pack. I’m Royal Gamma Owen Crawford. It’s a pleasure." Chapter 5 "The pleasure's all ours. I’m Jasper Kendall, here on behalf of my father, Alpha Augustus Kendall." He shook hands with the Royal Gamma, then turned to introduce us. "This is my mate and our witch-in-training, Riley Bishop, our future Beta, Leon Bennett, and lastly, my sister, Harlow Kendall." Leon reached out first for a handshake, followed by Ri. When it was my turn, I placed my hand in his, and he brought it up to kiss the back of it. It didn’t feel inappropriate—instead, it came off as respectful. I figured that’s just how Royals greeted women. I had a feeling he would’ve done the same to Ri if she wasn’t already mated. “If you’ll follow me, I’ll give you a quick tour and then show you to your rooms before dinner. Your luggage is being delivered as we speak. You’ll have time to freshen up before you dine with King Viktor tonight.” My throat instantly dried up, and a knot twisted in my stomach. I definitely wasn’t ready to meet the King yet. Leon must’ve noticed my hesitation because he gave me a subtle nudge forward to follow Royal Gamma Crawford. I was slightly surprised that he was the one personally greeting us and showing us around. As the Royal Gamma—the King’s third-in-command—you’d think he’d have more important things to do. We followed him up the wide stone steps leading to the long front porch. He opened both tall, wooden doors and gestured for us to go inside. The moment I stepped in, my breath caught in my chest. The inside was just as medieval as the outside, yet somehow still modern. The floors were polished, dark marble, and an enormous, expensive-looking chandelier hung from the high ceiling. The stone walls were lined with grand paintings. Twin staircases, also made of dark marble, rose on either side of the foyer. A balcony joined the tops of the stairs, overlooking the entryway. The space between the staircases was cloaked in shadows. I didn’t get a chance to see where it led because our guide ushered us up the stairs and turned right. We followed him down a dim hallway with several turns until we reached a spacious kitchen. “This floor is for guests. This kitchen is open for your use. A chef will be available whenever you request them. Or you’re welcome to join us for meals whenever you’d like. The royal kitchen and dining area are three floors up.” I couldn’t help but wonder who “us” included. The open invitation caught me off guard. Actually, more than a little—it seriously surprised me. The kitchen itself was impressive. Though the structure was stone, the appliances were all sleek stainless steel. A kitchen table sat off to the side, and I could see a large dining room through the adjacent door. He led us back out and continued down the hall. “Royal Gamma?” I asked, my tone more tentative than usual. He looked over and gave me a small smile, so I pressed on. “Just curious—how many floors does this place have?” “Six,” he explained. “This is the east wing, the residential side. The first floor has a lot of empty rooms—it’s not in use. The second and third are for guests. The fourth and fifth are reserved for the Royals. They’re the only ones who live here. The Royal Army and other workers have separate housing. The sixth floor is King Viktor’s personal quarters. No one’s allowed up there but him.” “And the west wing?” I asked. “It serves a variety of purposes. That side holds the ballroom—it’s actually its own floor. There are also multiple meeting areas, plus the King’s offices—both private and public. Pretty much any event or official business happens in the west wing. I’ll show you around tomorrow if you’re interested.” “Thanks, I’d like that.” He stopped in front of an open room—a large living area. Couches and chairs were arranged around a big stone fireplace with a TV mounted above it. It was spotless, but it felt cold and unused. Nothing like the cozy warmth of my living room back home. “This is the common area. Your rooms have TVs, but if you want to use the fireplace, this is the place.” We followed him again, this time down a hallway that led to another corridor. At the end of the hall, he stopped at the first door and opened it. “Beta Bennett, this will be your room during your stay. Each room has a private bathroom and a walk-in closet.” Leon stepped inside. “If you need anything, every wall has a speaker by the door. Just press the talk button, and someone will assist you.” Leon nodded, and we heard the door close behind us as we walked on. The next door was for Ri and Jasper. I could tell Ri was happy with the room, but I didn’t get to see inside before I was ushered further down the hall. Royal Gamma Owen opened the last door and I stepped inside. Once again, I lost my breath. The room was stunning. The floor was covered in thick white carpet, and like the rest of the castle, the walls were stone. A red canopy king bed sat against one wall with deep red sheets and a black comforter. Honestly, it looked more comfortable than my bed back home—which said a lot. Across from the bed was a flat-screen TV mounted above a black sectional couch. Double doors lined the opposite wall, which I assumed led to the closet and bathroom. “Is this suitable, Miss Kendall?” he asked, though he already seemed to know the answer. “It’s incredible. And just Harlow is fine.” “All right. Harlow then. I’ll be back in an hour to take you all to dinner. If you need anything before then, use the speaker.” “Thank you, Royal Gamma.” I gave him a respectful bow of my head. “It’s just Owen,” he replied, echoing my earlier words. “Okay. Owen, then.” I echoed him right back. He smiled and left, closing the door behind him. I noticed my bags had already been delivered to the bed, so I picked them up and carried them into the bathroom to unpack before dinner. I opened one side of the double doors and pulled my luggage inside. The bathroom was just as luxurious as the bedroom—a large Jacuzzi tub, a walk-in glass shower with stone walls, and a vanity with a lighted mirror and chair. As I suspected, the closet was inside. It was massive—and completely empty. I got to work unpacking. I was nearly finished when I heard my bedroom door open and close. I took in a deep breath and caught the scent—Leon. I rolled my eyes and kept working until he appeared in the bathroom doorway. “Your room’s even nicer than mine.” “That’s what happens when people like you. You should give it a shot sometime.” I walked out after putting away the last of my toiletries. He followed. I sat on the bed while he leaned against one of the canopy posts, arms and ankles crossed, smirking at me. “You know you secretly like me. You don’t need to pretend.” “You make me want to jam forks in my ears just so I don’t have to hear your voice. That’s how much I ‘like’ you.” I smirked right back, crossing my arms. “Sounds like you’re keeping your eyes intact so you can keep looking at me,” he said with that smug grin. Before I could fire off a sarcastic comeback, something shifted—something neither of us could’ve prepared for. It happened in an instant. I opened my mouth to speak just as the door to my room flew open. My eyes widened and I stood up fast, arms dropping to my sides. Leon did the same, turning toward the door, just as stunned. We hadn’t even heard anyone approach. Standing there was the most breathtaking man I had ever laid eyes on. Chapter 6 He was the definition of tall, dark, and handsome. His dark brown hair was slicked back in a way that looked effortlessly stylish. A shadow of dark stubble framed his strong jaw and surrounded his full, perfectly pink lips. His nose was long and straight, his cheekbones high and sharp. His body was built—thick with muscle—and dressed in fitted black slacks and a black button-down shirt. Like Owen’s, his sleeves were rolled to his elbows and the top button was undone. He towered over both Leon and me, easily six foot six, maybe even taller. But what really caught me were his eyes. Right now, they burned molten amber—but somehow, I just knew they turned blue when his wolf wasn’t in control. Even though it felt like I was taking him in slowly, it all happened in a flash. He gave me a brief once-over, then turned his focus to Leon and growled. He looked deadly—like he could snap Leon in half without bothering to blink. It didn’t take long for me to understand why I wasn’t afraid for myself—only for Leon. He was my mate. My wolf was losing it inside me, clawing to get out and race toward him. The urge to mark him, to mate with him, surged so intensely I almost shifted right then and there. Somehow, I pushed that part of myself back—barely. He moved toward us with a predator’s grace, every bit as dangerous as he looked. Leon was visibly shaking. And even though I hated his guts, I still felt a pang of sympathy. I was ready to jump in if I had to. I gasped when my mate—still a mystery man, name unknown—grabbed Leon by the throat and lifted him clean off the ground. Werewolves were strong, sure, but this? This was insane. He hoisted over two hundred pounds of solid muscle with just one hand, and didn’t even look like he was straining. Leon hung there, limp. His wolf had probably told him to submit rather than fight. “Don’t ever flirt with her again,” he growled, voice rough and gravelly—half-wolf. Still, the sound of it sent shivers racing up my spine and goosebumps across my skin. Then, just like that, he dropped Leon. He crashed to the floor and scrambled to his feet, eyes downcast, neck bared in submission. “Get out. Now. Tell no one what happened,” he commanded. And I knew—Leon wouldn’t dare disobey. The sheer dominance in his voice had me instinctively lowering my head too, baring my neck without even thinking. I’d never done that before. I was Alpha-born, not submissive by any stretch. But the power rolling off him was overwhelming. Leon bolted from the room without so much as a glance at me. And that’s when it hit me—what was really happening. A large, warm hand wrapped around my chin, firm but gentle, and tilted my face up to meet his eyes. That’s when I realized who he was. As I stared into his now-bright blue eyes, the words tumbled out of me before I could stop them. “King Viktor
” The second his name left my mouth, his eyes flared golden again. A low growl rumbled deep in his chest—but I didn’t think it was from anger this time. He let go of my chin and instead grabbed my hips, yanking me flush against him. There wasn’t a single inch of space between us. His body was hot and solid against mine, and the contact sent a wave of chills down my spine. My wolf surged forward again, desperate to be seen, to be felt. My eyes started to shift too, reflecting his. A sharp gasp escaped me when he buried his face in the crook of my neck, inhaling deeply. His lips brushed over the sensitive skin where his mark would eventually go. The sensation short-circuited my brain, drowning every rational thought in a fog of desire. He nipped at the same spot his lips had just touched, and molten heat pooled low in my belly. I’d never felt anything like it. I’d kissed guys before, sure—but none of them had made me feel like this. I had seriously underestimated the mate bond. Not even in my most vivid, erotic dreams had I imagined something this intense. Suddenly, I was on the bed, my back sinking into the plush mattress. He moved so fast I barely registered it. In the blink of an eye, he was on top of me, settling between my thighs—which were damn near bare now, thanks to my dress riding dangerously high.

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ARIA The key turns the lock with a soft click that sounds too loud in the quiet hallway. I'm practically vibrating with excitement as I push open the door to Marcus's apartment, my heels clicking against the hardwood floor. The promotion letter is still warm in my purse—Senior Director of Marketing at twenty-six. After years of caffeine-fueled nights, endless presentations, and fighting twice as hard to be taken seriously, I finally made it. And I can't wait to celebrate with Marcus. He’ll be proud. I know he will. He’ll kiss me, spin me around, and whisper that he always knew I could do it. The apartment is dark when I step inside, the faint scent of cedar and cologne wrapping around me. A single sliver of light leaks from beneath the bedroom door. My smile deepens. He’s home. I slip off my heels, tiptoeing across the hardwood floor. The diamond on my finger catches a ghost of light. two carats of carefully selected princess-cut diamonds. We chose it together three months ago. Our wedding is in eight weeks. Eight weeks until everything I’ve ever dreamed of becomes real. I reach for the bedroom door, with my heart full, and my mind already painting the moment I tell him. The feeling of his arms around me. His deep, throaty chuckle that does wonders in my body. The champagne we’ll open... A sound cuts through my thoughts. Low, rhythmic, and sexy. I stop breathing. It takes a second for my mind to catch up to my body to process what my ears already know but refuse to accept. No. No, it can’t be... My hand trembles as I reach for the doorknob. A voice inside me begs to turn around, to leave before everything changes. But my fingers keep moving, like they belong to someone else, pushing the door open. The scene before me moves in slow motion and all at once. Marcus... My Marcus is behind a woman bent over the edge of our bed. His hands grip her hips, hard and possessive, dragging her back against him with brutal rhythm. The air fills with the sound of skin meeting skin, obscene and unmistakable. My vision blurs, and my mind refuses to believe what my eyes see. The woman’s hair falls in long, dark waves, and it's a familiar wave, for a fact. No. Please, God—no. She turns her head. And I see my own face. Or rather...my twin sister’s. Vivienne. Her green eyes lock on mine. And then she smiles. Slow, deliberate, cruel smiles, that vicious curve of lips I've seen a thousand times when she's won something, taken something, or destroyed something that belongs to me. “Fuck me harder, baby,” she moans, voice dripping with mockery, not even bothering to look away from me or trying to act shocked. She's performing for me now. The sound pierces through me, and my lungs seize. I can’t move, think, or speak. Marcus doesn't stop. Not immediately. It takes him several more thrusts before he follows her gaze and sees me standing in the doorway. "Aria." His voice is flat. Not shocked or apologetic. Just... flat. Like I was a curious child who walked in on her parents going at it, and now they are disappointed in me for not playing elsewhere. The engagement ring suddenly feels like a chain that weighs a thousand pounds on my finger. "How long?" The words scrape out of my throat like broken glass. Vivienne laughs as she pushes herself up, completely shameless in her nakedness. Marcus pulls out of her and reaches for his pants, but there's no urgency or panic in his movements. Because this isn't a mistake. This isn't a moment of weakness. This is something else entirely. "How long?" I repeat, my voice breaking. "Does it matter?" Marcus asks, buttoning his pants with steady hands. Yes. Yes, it fucking matters. But I can't seem to make my mouth form the words. Vivienne wraps herself in Marcus's robe, the one I bought him for his birthday, and walks toward me. Every step is deliberate and calculated. She's always been like this. Always knew exactly how to wound me in the places that hurt most. "Want the truth, sister?" Her voice drips with false sweetness. I should leave, run. But I'm rooted to the spot, watching my life implode in real-time. Vivienne leans against the doorframe, so close I can smell her perfume. The same one I wear. The same one our mother bought us for our sixteenth birthday. "He was mine first." The words hit me like a physical blow. "What?" "Marcus." She gestures lazily toward him. "He was my boyfriend for eight months before you ever met him." No. That's not possible. We met at a networking event two years ago. He pursued me. He said... "The conference in Boston," Marcus says, and his voice is far gone from the sexy, throaty voice that pulled me to him. He sounds like he's presenting at a board meeting. "Where we 'met'? Vivienne told me you'd be there. Told me exactly where to stand so I'd 'accidentally' bump into you." The room tilts. I grab the doorframe for support. "She gave me everything," he continues. "Your favorite flowers. Your coffee order. The way you twist your hair when you're nervous. How you always wanted to wait for marriage because you thought it would mean something." The virgin comment lands like he knew it would. Heat floods my cheeks. Vivienne's smile sharpens. "You're so predictable, Aria. You always have been. The good daughter. The responsible one. The one who does everything right." "Why?" My voice breaks completely now. "Why would you..." "Because I'm sick of watching you have everything I deserve!" The words explode out of her. "You got the job I wanted. The respect I should have. Everyone loves perfect Aria, so smart, so accomplished, so genuine." She spits the last word like it's poison. "I'm your sister," I whisper. "Exactly." Her eyes flash. "My twin. We're supposed to be equal. But you've always had more. Not prettier...we're identical. Not smarter...I'm not stupid. But somehow, you always win." "So you decided to destroy me." "So I decided to bring you down from your high horse for once." She straightens, crossing her arms. "And it was so easy. God, Aria, you fell for every line. Every carefully crafted text message. Every manufactured 'spontaneous' date. Marcus played you perfectly." I look at Marcus, searching for any sign of the man I thought I knew. The man I thought I loved. "You were a job," he says simply. "A very lucrative job. You had the connections I needed. The respect in the industry. Dating you, getting engaged to you...it opened doors." "And destroying me?" I force the words out. "What did that open?" Vivienne answers instead. "My satisfaction. Finally, watching perfect Aria lose something. Watching you hurt the way I've hurt every time Mom and Dad praised your accomplishments while barely noticing mine." This isn't happening. This can't be happening. "The sex would have been decent," Marcus adds, and I want to vomit. "But you were always so hesitant. So worried about being perfect. Your sister, on the other hand..." Vivienne preens under his attention. Three years. Three years of my life with a man who was my sister's puppet. Who never loved me. Who was actively plotting my destruction while I was picking out wedding invitations and dreaming about our future? The promotion letter in my purse feels meaningless now. Everything feels meaningless. "Get out," Vivienne says, like this is her apartment. Like she has any right. I should say something cutting. Something that puts them both in their place. But my throat is closed and my eyes are burning, and all I can think is that I need to leave before I completely fall apart in front of them. So I do. I turn and walk out of the apartment on numb legs. Behind me, I hear Vivienne's laughter follow me down the hall.

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I used to ask every new dialysis patient the same thing — "What was your A1C before your kidneys failed?" After 11,000 patients and the same answer every single time, I stopped asking. It was always "managed." It was always between 6.5 and 7.5. It was always someone who did everything their doctor told them to do. The chairs aren't full of people who ignored their blood sugar. They're full of people who trusted the wrong number. I need to tell you something I've been carrying for a long time. And I'm telling you now because last month I got my own prediabetes diagnosis — and I refuse to end up in one of my own chairs. I'm Sandra Keller. I've been a dialysis nurse for 14 years. Roughly 11,000 patients connected to machines. Let me tell you what that actually looks like — because most people only know the word. They don't know the room. Three days a week. Four hours a session. A needle goes into a fistula — a surgically created access point in the arm that leaves a scar most patients hide under long sleeves even in summer. The machine pulls their blood out, cleans it — does what their kidneys cannot anymore — and pushes it back in. For four hours. While they sit there. I've watched people cry during sessions — not from pain but from the weight of what their life became. I've watched a 61-year-old man read the same magazine in the waiting room every Tuesday and Thursday for three years while his wife was connected. I've watched patients stop traveling because they cannot miss a session. I've watched marriages buckle under the schedule. I've watched grandchildren learn to plan around Grandma's dialysis days — "we can't do Saturday, Grandma has her treatment." I've watched patients stop coming. And I know what that means. One of my long-term patients — a woman named Ruth, 63, three years in my unit — told me something I think about every single day. She said: "This isn't living. This is just not dying yet." And you know what every single one of them says when I ask how they got here? "I did everything right. My blood sugar was managed. Nobody told me my kidneys were dying." Every. Single. One. Last month I sat in my own doctor's office and heard the word "prediabetes" attached to my name. A1C: 6.4. Fasting glucose running 135 to 145. And here's the part that made my hands go cold — my creatinine had crept from 0.8 to 1.0 over ten months. My GFR — the number that tells you how well your kidneys are actually filtering — had dropped from 98 to 86. On paper, none of that is alarming. My doctor said "we'll keep an eye on it." But I've heard those exact words before. I've heard them from the charts of people who are now sitting in my chairs. I know what "keeping an eye on it" looks like from the other end. It looks like quarterly labs that document the decline in neat little rows while the kidneys quietly fall apart between appointments. I know what a creatinine of 1.0 looks like at the beginning. Because I've held the hands of people whose creatinine started at 1.0. And I felt something I'd never felt in 14 years of nursing — real, bone-deep terror. Not for my patients. For myself. Two weeks later, something happened that changed the direction of everything. A patient came into my unit for his session. Type 2 for twelve years. On dialysis for nineteen months. I'd known him the whole time. He pulled a bag out of his jacket and set it on the table next to his chair. "Sandra. Tell your people about this." I picked it up. Ceylon cinnamon. Concentrated extract. 7,200mg equivalent in MCT oil. Called Metabolae. "My brother-in-law started taking it four months ago. A1C was 7.2. Now it's 5.9. His kidneys haven't gone further down. He was headed where I am. Not anymore." He looked at me. "My brother-in-law is not sitting in one of these chairs. And he was supposed to be." I took the bag home that night. I did what I've done my whole career when something doesn't add up. I opened my laptop at 11:30 PM and started reading. Here is what I found. And here is the thing I should have learned years earlier. Your A1C measures one thing: the percentage of your red blood cells coated in glucose. It's a rolling 90-day average of how much sugar is floating in your blood. That is all it measures. It does not see what that sugar is doing while it circulates. It does not see the tiny capillaries threading through your kidney tissue. It does not see the small vessels feeding the nerves in your feet. It does not see the delicate blood supply behind your eyes. It sees the level of the flood. Not where the flood is going. A 6.4 can be called prediabetic and your kidney filters can still be quietly wearing down behind it. A 6.8 can be called "managed" and the decline keeps moving. Both things are completely true at the same time. Because the A1C is tracking the water level. Your kidneys are paying the price of the current underneath. This is what produces foam in your toilet. The tiny filters inside your kidneys — glomeruli — have been under sustained pressure from glucose circulating through their walls for years. They start to fail. Protein leaks out. It shows up in your urine as foam that sits there after you flush. That foam is not a warning sign that something might happen. It is evidence that something is already happening. Let me explain the mechanism underneath — because once you see it, you'll understand why "managed" doesn't mean "safe." Every cell in your body has tiny doors on its surface — protein transporters called GLUT4. Their job is to open up, grab glucose from the blood, and pull it inside the cell where it gets converted to energy. In a healthy body, insulin gives the signal, the doors open, glucose moves from blood into cell, and blood sugar comes down. In insulin resistance — the thing underneath type 2 diabetes — those doors stop responding. They're still there. They just stopped coming to the surface. Insulin gives the signal. Nothing happens. Your pancreas sends more insulin. Still nothing. The glucose has nowhere to go, so it stays in your blood and keeps circulating. Your cells are starving. Your blood is flooded. And the sugar floating through your bloodstream keeps passing through every small blood vessel in your body, hour after hour, year after year, wearing the walls down from the inside. Think of your kidneys like the finest mesh screen you've ever seen — millions of tiny filters. That excess sugar is like fine sand being forced through the mesh under pressure. Hour after hour. Day after day. Month after month. The mesh starts to tear. First it leaks a little protein — that foam. Then the tears get bigger. Then the filtration rate drops. Then the whole system starts to fail. Metformin slows the flow of sand a little. But the sand is still coming. And the mesh is still tearing. And the monitoring? The monitoring just measures how torn the mesh is getting. Nobody is stopping the sand. And it is not just the kidneys. That same sugar pileup strips the insulation off your nerves — that's why your feet burn and your hands tingle. It starves your brain of fuel — that's why the fog rolls in by 2pm and the words get lost. It wrecks the tiny blood vessels behind your eyes — that's why the floaters showed up. It locks your body in fat-storage mode — that's why the belly won't budge. It shatters your sleep — that's why you're up three times a night with a racing heart. And it damages the blood vessels responsible for intimacy — that's why that part of your life quietly disappeared and nobody connected it to blood sugar. All of it — kidneys, nerves, brain, eyes, sleep, weight, intimacy — traces back to the same closed doors. Your doctor monitors the headline number. The story underneath it is your organs falling apart. Now — your medications. Metformin works on the input side of this problem. It tells your liver to produce less glucose. It reduces the flood. That is a real, useful thing and your doctor is not wrong to prescribe it. But it does not touch the doors. The GLUT4 transporters are still not responding. The glucose that remains in your blood — even at a "managed" level — keeps circulating. Keeps passing through your kidney capillaries. Keeps grinding the mesh. Because the drug that reduced the flood did not open the drain. And here is what stopped me cold at 2 AM in my kitchen with 14 years of dialysis nursing behind me: The research on how to open those doors exists. It has been published. Peer-reviewed. Cited by the ADA's own journals. Sitting in databases that a 15-minute appointment leaves no time to read. There is a specific compound that triggers GLUT4 transporters directly. It bypasses the broken insulin signal entirely. It goes to the cell, speaks to the machinery inside it, and wakes the doors back up. A 2003 study in Diabetes Care — the ADA's own flagship journal — showed these compounds produced a 29% drop in fasting blood glucose. A study published in the Journal of the American College of Nutrition found that MHCP triggers the same internal chemical cascade that insulin is supposed to trigger, and was 20 times more effective at activating this pathway than any other natural compound tested. Twenty times. A second study in the Archives of Biochemistry and Biophysics confirmed that Ceylon extract physically increases the number of GLUT4 transporters at the cell surface. The doors do not just crack open. They multiply. A 2012 review in the Journal of Medicinal Food analyzed eight randomized controlled trials and found meaningful drops in both fasting glucose and A1C. Published. Replicated. Real. And in 14 years of working at the end of the road — watching thousands of patients get pulled into those chairs — not once had anyone put this in my hand. Not because doctors are hiding it. Because the pipeline that moves research from a journal into a treatment room runs on patent money. You cannot patent a plant. So no pharmaceutical company funds the trials that would land it on a sales representative's desk. No sales rep walks it into a primary care office. The studies stay in databases. The patients keep coming in with foam in their toilets and GFRs that drop another point each quarter. That is not your fault. You took the pills. You tracked the number. You kept every appointment. You were not failing the system. The system was only giving you half the answer and never telling you the other half existed. Now. You have probably tried cinnamon before. You sprinkled it on oatmeal. You found a bottle at the grocery store or on Amazon and took it faithfully for three months and watched your meter not move. I've watched patients bring supplement bottles to their dialysis sessions and ask me if they should keep taking them. I need you to understand exactly why most of them fail. They use the wrong plant. The cinnamon in your spice cabinet and in most capsules is Cassia. It looks the same. It smells similar. It is a completely different species with a completely different chemical makeup. At the doses required to move blood sugar, Cassia silently burdens your liver. The European Food Safety Authority documented that as little as a quarter teaspoon per day pushes daily coumarin intake past safe limits — and coumarin damages liver tissue at therapeutic doses. You were not taking the wrong amount. You were taking the wrong plant. True Ceylon cinnamon contains 250 times less coumarin. It is the only species appearing in the clinical research showing real metabolic results. They are catastrophically underdosed. Clinical trials used concentrated extract equivalent to 6,000 to 7,200mg daily. Most capsules contain 500 to 1,500mg of raw powder. That is not a small gap. That is the difference between a therapeutic dose and a decorative amount. They use the wrong delivery format. The active compounds in Ceylon — the ones that wake up GLUT4 transporters — are fat-soluble. Your cell walls are a double layer of fat molecules. Fat-soluble compounds need fat to pass through them. A dry powder capsule has no fat. So the compounds reach your gut, look for a fat carrier to cross the cell wall, find none, and pass straight through without ever reaching the cells that need them. Your cinnamon did not fail because cinnamon does not work. It failed because it was never delivered. The bag that my patient set down on the table next to his chair? He was taking Metabolae. True Ceylon cinnamon. Cinnamomum verum, sourced from a single estate in Sri Lanka's Central Province — the original home of true cinnamon, where the tree has been cultivated for over two thousand years. DNA-verified at the species level. An actual Certificate of Analysis, not a label claim. Dosed at 7,200mg equivalent per softgel. A 12:1 concentrated extract. The dosing range that corresponds directly to the published clinical trials. Suspended in MCT oil from coconuts. Not as a filler. As the delivery system — the fat bridge that carries the active compounds through your cell wall and into the cells where the GLUT4 transporters have been waiting for years to be told to surface. Third-party tested. GMP-certified. Every batch verified for purity, potency, and coumarin levels. Made in an FDA-registered facility. Zero fillers. I ordered a bag that night. Week 1, the fog lifted. Not managed — lifted. I finished a twelve-hour shift and still had thoughts left. My feet stopped aching after long days on the floor. I slept through the night for the first time in months. Week 2, my fasting readings — which had been running 135 to 145 — started showing up in the 110s. I checked three times the first morning I saw 108 because I didn't believe it. Week 4, the readings stabilized in the low 90s. Stable. Consistent. The kind of numbers I had not seen since before any of this started. Week 8, I pulled my own labs. Creatinine back to 0.8. GFR climbed from 86 to 91. Week 10, my doctor pulled up my full panel. A1C down from 6.4 to 5.4. Creatinine holding at 0.8. GFR at 94. Seven pounds gone without changing what I ate. She looked at the numbers. Looked at me. "What did you change?" I handed her the research I'd been reading at 11:30 PM for three weeks. She read for ten minutes. Closed the folder. "Your kidney function improved." I nodded. "Keep doing whatever you're doing." That patient who set the bag on the table? He's still on dialysis. That door closed for him a long time ago. But his brother-in-law — the one he told me about — came in with him to a follow-up visit two months later. I met him in the waiting room. A1C 5.9. Creatinine stable. GFR climbing. Not in a chair. Not going to be. He looked at me and said: "The drain opened." I've recommended Metabolae to eight patients now. Or to their family members in the monitoring window — the ones who still have a chance. Every single one has come back and reported the same pattern. Better sleep within the first week. Steady energy through the day. Lower fasting glucose within the first month. One woman — 58, A1C 6.9, protein spillage climbing for three years — came back at her 90-day follow-up with spillage down 45 percent. She cried when she told me the foam in her toilet was gone. Another patient's GFR went from 53 to 59 in four months. His nephrologist, who had been preparing him for the dialysis conversation, told him the trajectory had changed and asked what he had added. But the one I think about most is Ruth. I told her what I'd found. She looked at me with tears running down her face and said: "Tell everyone. Don't let them end up like me." That's why I'm writing this. If you are sitting in the monitoring window right now — if your A1C is between 6.0 and 7.5, if your doctor keeps saying "we'll keep an eye on it," if your creatinine is creeping up a tenth at a time, if your GFR is dropping a point or two each quarter, if there is foam in your toilet, if your feet tingle — try Metabolae risk-free. Ninety-day money-back guarantee. No questions asked. If your fasting glucose does not come down, if your kidney markers do not move, if you see no difference in 90 days, you pay nothing. The patients who see real movement in their kidney function are the ones who committed to at least three months. That is how long it takes to give your GFR a real chance to stabilize and shift. That is how long it takes to move A1C meaningfully. The 90-day guarantee means those three months cost you nothing if the numbers do not move. Here is what happens if they do. Your fasting glucose starts dropping between weeks 2 and 4. Your sleep improves within the first week — most people stop waking multiple times within 5 to 7 days. Your energy levels out through the day. And at your next lab draw — the one where your doctor has been saying "let's keep an eye on it" — she pauses. Looks at the numbers. Looks at you. Asks what you changed. You tell her. She uses a word you have not heard in years of appointments. "Improving." Not managed. Improving. The window stays open. The chair stays empty. One softgel daily with breakfast. That is the whole protocol. Metabolae is a small company sourcing verified Ceylon from a single estate in Sri Lanka's Central Province, testing every batch, using a fat-based delivery system that costs more to produce. When a batch sells out it waits on the next harvest. If you click and see out of stock, sign up for the notification. If it is available, order now. There is a promotion running currently. Three bottles at a significant discount — which is exactly the window for the kidney markers to actually move. If you are dealing with: Foam in the toilet that will not go away no matter how many times you flush. Tingling or burning in your feet that your doctor calls neuropathy. Fasting glucose that will not come below 130 no matter what you cut out. Creatinine climbing a tenth at a time every quarter. GFR dropping while your doctor "keeps an eye on it." An A1C your doctor calls "managed" or "prediabetic" while your body keeps sending signals that something is wrong. Give it 90 days. Track your fasting glucose every morning. Note your sleep, your energy, your feet. Go back for your next labs. If the numbers do not move, you get your money back. But if they do — if your kidney markers hold or climb, if the foam stops, if your doctor pauses over your labs and says the word you have been waiting to hear for years — you will understand why I now have a standing conversation with every patient who still has a chance to avoid my chairs. The doors are closed. The sand is still coming. But the window is still open. Don't let someone else tell your story with the words "I wish someone had told me sooner." I just did. Click below and get Metabolae while it is still available. ~ Sandra Keller, RN, Dialysis Unit, 14 years 👉 https://metabolae.com/products/ceylon-cinnamon-7200mg

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The queen bee of our school watched *Terrifier* and got this brilliant idea. She wanted to know what it felt like to be hunted by a real killer. Connor grew up on my block. He didn't hesitate. He grabbed a few guys from the locker room and knocked me out cold. They used fake blood and Halloween props. Turned me into a monster. Their little gift for Harper. "Relax. It's just a prank. She's tough. She'll be fine." "Besides, she does whatever I say. She'll play along." I woke up with my face painted into something unrecognizable. Industrial zip ties cut into my wrists and ankles. Silver duct tape sealed my mouth shut. Then they shoved me in front of Harper. She screamed. Then she grabbed a steel folding chair. The kind they stack in the auditorium for school assemblies. She swung it into me. Once. Twice. Three times. More than a dozen. My bones shattered. My face caved in. The last thing I heard through the fog was Connor's panicked voice. "It was a joke! Maya, stop faking it. Get up!" I didn't get up. I spent three months in the Memorial Hospital ICU. Machines kept me breathing. But I wasn't the same girl anymore. And Connor? He lost his mind completely. *** That afternoon, the AP Physics classroom buzzed with something electric. Harper, the most popular girl in school, had just finished watching the latest *Terrifier* reboot. She leaned against Connor's desk, all soft edges and calculated sweetness. She wore an expensive Ralph Lauren sweater. Her fingers twisted through blonde hair. Her voice dripped with that fake-helpless tone. Part pout. Part invitation. "Connor, I really want to know what it feels like. Being that scared. In real life." She paused. Something sharp flickered behind her eyes. "Those CGI effects are so boring. Zero adrenaline." Connor sat up. His quarterback's shoulders squared. The corner of his mouth curved into that familiar smirk. His I've-got-a-genius-idea look. "Easy. I got you." His eyes swept the room. They passed over every corner, every face. They landed on me without surprise. I was hunched over my physics problem set. The one for MIT early admission prep. My pen scratched across scratch paper. "Maya!" His voice cut through the room. "Get over here." I looked up. My fingers were numb from gripping the pen too long. I shook them out and stood. I always went when Connor called. Since we were kids. When he broke someone's bike and blamed me in grade school. When I wrote his history papers in high school. It was reflex now. Burned into my bones. "What's up?" I asked. I tightened my ponytail without thinking. Connor leaned back in his chair. His arm draped over Harper's seat. Casual. Possessive. It stung more than I wanted to admit. "Prank idea. You'll help us out. Super simple. Just dress up like a monster and scare someone." I frowned. I glanced at the binder on my desk. "I need to study. AP Physics mock exam tomorrow." "Jesus. Just a minute." He cut me off. His voice carried that entitled edge. Star athlete. Untouchable. "You've always had my back." The football guys in their varsity jackets piled on. Tyler banged the desk, laughing. "Come on, Maya. Don't be a buzzkill." "Connor asked you himself." Jackson chimed in. "It's a Halloween-level gag. What's it gonna cost you, ten minutes?" Harper's voice came next. Soft. Sugary. "Nerd girl, just help us out. I really want to experience it." She leaned into Connor's shoulder as she said it. I looked at Connor's face. That expectant look. Blue eyes I'd known since we played in the dirt together as kids. Eyes that didn't allow refusal. I nodded. Like I always did. I didn't know that nod would destroy every last hope I had of escaping this neighborhood.They told me they needed Hollywood-level special effects makeup. Told me to wait in the drama club prop room. "Go ahead. We'll grab the fake blood." Connor said it like it was no......

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