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“Hope is being able to see that there is light despite all of the darkness.”
— Desmond Tutu
Prologue: Seraphina
Two types of people exist in this world—those who rise with the sun, and those who rise with the moon. Personally, I’d choose the moon every time. There’s a unique peace in the twilight hours when the sky transitions from cool to warm hues. Purples and reds mingle, casting streaks of pink across the heavens. It’s the perfect blend of opposing forces.
As I kick my feet out, watching the sun dip below the horizon from the service kitchen window, my ice cream shows signs of battle—dented and half devoured. I wonder how much more vanilla cinnamon swirl ice cream with little chunks of shortbread cookie I can consume before I reach my limit. Clearly, I’m eating my feelings, and I’m not sure I care anymore.
“Seraphina,” the gamma cook at the omega sanctuary chides, circling the island where I sit. She wears a warm smile. “You’re going to make yourself sick.”
“I’m trying, Celeste. Trust me, I am,” I reply, tapping the pint with my spoon. “But it hasn’t happened yet. I think I’ll need more.”
She tilts her head, concern etched on her features. “It’s not that bad. Tomorrow, you might find a pack and fall for the perfect alphas.”
I hum, scooping another mouthful of ice cream. Why bother explaining when what I have is what many yearn for? It just isn’t my dream.
Celeste sighs, her round cheeks flushed with mild irritation. “You’re eating your feelings, aren’t you?”
“Yes, I am,” I answer, pointing my spoon at her playfully. “But tell no one.”
She rolls her chocolate brown eyes. “Your secret’s safe with me. At least the new dean doesn’t make you count calories.”
“Exactly,” I retort. “Now, let me indulge in my sugary solace.”
“Don’t stay up too late,” she advises, tossing me a towel to prevent any ice cream casualties from soiling my silk pajamas.
“I won’t,” I promise, even though we both know I might. Celeste leaves the kitchen, locking the outside doors but leaving one path open—the steps to the dorms. Here I am, in my gilded prison, with only one way out.
I turn back to the window, my ice cream in hand, idly kicking my legs against the island as the sun bids its daily farewell. Tomorrow is significant. It’s my twenty-first birthday. According to the alpha council, that’s when I become eligible, a prize for alphas to claim. My virginity is something to be auctioned off.
The world is shifting and evolving, though, and I refuse to be a trophy. Not yet, if ever. I yearn to taste life on my own terms, thrive independently, and discover who I am beyond the omega identity ingrained in me. For eight years, this sanctuary has taught me the art of being the perfect omega—dressing, cooking, cleaning, and mastering the role of a submissive mate—but I’ll go to the gallows kicking and screaming if that’s what it takes, and believe me, I will.
There’s someone, though, who’s already captured my heart.
I catch his scent before I see him—cinnamon buns. Perhaps that’s why I adore this ice cream so much. Without glancing at the door, I reach for a spoon and extend it toward Avery Griffin.He’s my secret rendezvous, my man-crush Monday, my delta dreamboat.
He’s not truly mine, though, always keeping a careful distance. He ushers me to bed after we share ice cream, maintaining boundaries.
Always with those stupid boundaries. I want to set them on fire.
He’s the reason I stayed here and didn’t beg my parents to rescue me from this place.
In the silence that envelops us, a thousand unspoken words hang in the air. It’s our last night together, and my stomach knots with nerves. The thought of never seeing him again slices through me.
For years, we’ve skirted around this inevitable night. Our friendship has blossomed and evolved into something uniquely ours, with memories I’ll cherish for the rest of my omega life.
His presence soothes my frayed nerves as he glides through the kitchen, his steps silent and predatory. I watch him from beneath my lashes, my hair shielding my eyes just enough to observe him as he leans against the counter I’m perched on.
He takes the spoon I offer and dives into the ice cream. I close my eyes, simply relishing his existence, his fiery spirit somehow tempered in this quiet moment.
As the sun finally disappears, and the creaks and groans of the castle reach our ears, I break the silence. “Did you get the assignment?”
He turns to me, his light eyes rimmed with an intensity that’s inherent to him. His gaze holds a smoky depth, complemented by his deep voice that could easily lull me into a peaceful slumber. “I won’t know until morning. I can’t…” He pauses, clearing his throat.
“I get it,” I say, flipping my hair over my shoulder and tucking my legs under me, sitting cross-legged. “You don’t want to walk me down the aisle, huh?”
“Seraphina.” He groans my name, which sounds like a plea. “You know that’s not it.”
