The Pack's Secret Keeper

Waking up handcuffed to a bed, Aislen Carter finds herself trapped in a nightmare. The haunting River House, once a teenage hideout, is now a gilded cage, and her captor is none other than Heath Gale, one of the notorious Triquetra. Five years ago, she fled Havermouth, desperate to escape the gaslighting and predatory games of the werewolf pack who held her captive. Now, forced back by her father's death, her unique telepathic gift, a curse that exposes the darkest secrets of those around her, becomes her only weapon. With the Triquetra circling—Heath, Rhett, and Cameron—each with their own hidden depths and sinister agendas, Aislen must navigate a treacherous path. Can she expose their secrets and reclaim her freedom, or will she be drawn back into their dangerous web, where desire and betrayal intertwine?

The Pack's Secret Keeper

Waking up handcuffed to a bed, Aislen Carter finds herself trapped in a nightmare. The haunting River House, once a teenage hideout, is now a gilded cage, and her captor is none other than Heath Gale, one of the notorious Triquetra. Five years ago, she fled Havermouth, desperate to escape the gaslighting and predatory games of the werewolf pack who held her captive. Now, forced back by her father's death, her unique telepathic gift, a curse that exposes the darkest secrets of those around her, becomes her only weapon. With the Triquetra circling—Heath, Rhett, and Cameron—each with their own hidden depths and sinister agendas, Aislen must navigate a treacherous path. Can she expose their secrets and reclaim her freedom, or will she be drawn back into their dangerous web, where desire and betrayal intertwine?

The air in the River House hung heavy with the scent of dust and something metallic, a memory of abandonment clashing with new, unsettling opulence. Aislen pried open her eyes, wincing at the red glow of bedside lights, a stark contrast to the familiar gloom. Her hands were cuffed, threaded through the wrought-iron headboard of a lavish bed, black satin rustling beneath her. She recognized the room, yet it was transformed, no longer the dusty relic of her youth but a meticulously restored cage.

The chorus of crickets and the whispered rush of the river, usually distant, now seemed unnervingly close, amplifying the ache in her head and the parched dryness in her mouth. This wasn't her father's house; this was the River House, and she had a dreadful feeling she knew exactly why she was here.

The ensuite door opened, and Heath Gale stepped out. Dressed in stark black, his sleeves rolled back to reveal brightly colored tattoos, he held a glass of water, his gaze piercing. “Lift your head,” he commanded, and the glass touched her lips, a cruel comfort. Images flashed through her mind: bright light, a tattoo gun, gloves. Her past was undeniably, terrifyingly present. She braced herself, knowing this was only the beginning.