Where Soft Light Shines Darkness Fades From Tired Hearts by Evan Holt Crane 481

Third Person’s POV

The electric sting of pain deep in Cassian’s chest finally began to fade.

Fred was right.

8

Finished

Before they were mated, the Trista he knew was a girl whose head was filled with romantic fantasies–someone who would pull any stunt just to get his attention.

Her flight from the temple and her cold rejection under the streetlights? Maybe it was just payback for years of his indifference. Maybe it was just a desperate, dramatic plea to be loved.

He had been too impatient.

He thought coming back and forcing the bond was “protection,” forgetting that at this stage of her life, she was still waiting for a real confession and some actual Alpha sincerity.

Two nights later, Trista had just finished dinner with Xander.

She had been exceptionally polite, wanting to thank the Blade pack’s ultimate networking king for connecting her with the auction house and landing her an internship at a top–tier medical

center.

Around 9:00 PM, as they stepped out of the restaurant, they were cut off by a frantic Fred.

He looked like he was in a massive hurry, claiming he had an emergency and needed Trista right away.

Xander, being the sharp operator he was, read between the lines immediately. He excused himself politely and took off.

Trista wanted to go straight home, but Fred used the “Wynn is waiting for you” excuse to practically drag her to the Imperial Club.

The moment she pushed open the door to the private lounge, she was hit by a wall of heavy alcohol fumes mixed with a familiar, suppressed scent of cold cedar.

Wynn nearly jumped out of her skin the second Trista walked in. “Trista! Thank God you’re here! Some friends from the pack got together tonight, and Cassian… he drank way too much.”

Trista looked at Cassian. He was sprawled across the leather sofa, his tie yanked loose, looking completely “unconscious.” Her eyebrows knitted into a tight, skeptical knot,

Fred and Wynn exchanged a perfectly synchronized look.

16:07 Thu, Mar 26

8

Finished

Wynn grabbed her bag and bolted out the door without wasting a second.

“Sorry, Trista. Ever since he went under, he hasn’t stopped mumbling your name. No one can deal with him,” Fred said, his hand already on the door handle. “His private suite is just upstairs. Since

you guys are about to mate with each other anyway, taking care of him for one night isn’t a big deal, right?” Fred shut the door with practiced ease, and he and Wynn vanished down the hall.

The lounge fell into a dead silence.

Trista strolled over to the sofa and sat down, looking down at the man with a judgmental gaze.

She’d seen Cassian’s tolerance.

In the L.A. shark tank, the person who could actually drink him under the table hadn’t been born yet.

Drunk? Mumbling her name?

She didn’t believe a single word of this third–rate romance script.

Trista flexed her slender wrist, her knuckles making a soft popping sound.

She started by giving Cassian a tentative shove, but he kept his eyes shut, his breathing perfectly heavy and rhythmic.

She let out a cold laugh. Her fingers slid down the fabric of his tailored trousers, stopping right at the sensitive skin of his inner thigh.

Without a hint of hesitation, she pinched a small section of flesh between her fingers and twisted with every ounce of strength she had.

Trista didn’t hold back. Visibly, Cassian’s normally composed face twitched. His brows slammed together into a pained furrow.

Trista stood up coldly, making a move for the door.

The “comatose” Cassian snapped into action instantly. His hand, burning hot, reached out and clamped firmly around her wrist.

Trista looked down at those deep, dark eyes and violently shook off his grip. “Drop the act,” she snapped. “An Alpha’s healing factor can’t even handle a little pinch?”

Cassian studied her reaction, scanning every micro–expression, before cautiously sitting up.

He stood before her like a kid who’d been caught breaking a window, his voice dropping to a

16:07 Thu, Mar 26

…

low, raspy mumble. “I… I did have a few.”

:.

“Whose idea was this?” Trista’s gaze was as sharp as a scalpel.

8

Finished

They locked eyes for a moment. Finally, unable to withstand her judgmental stare, Cassian looked down and ratted out his best friend. “Fred.”

The short answer didn’t just expose his own lie; it threw Fred completely under the bus.

Trista couldn’t help but scoff. This man’s EQ is exactly where it was in the last life—buried in a dead dream.

She patted Cassian on the shoulder, her tone surprisingly peaceful. “Just sit here and sober up. I’m going to the restroom. I’ll drive you home when I get back.”

Cassian stood frozen, his eyes filled with disbelief.

He thought she’d blow up or declare war, but she wasn’t even angry. She was actually going to drive him home?

However, the second Trista stepped out of the lounge, she walked straight out of the club.

She escaped the stagnant air of alcohol and hormones and hailed a cab on the curb.

On the way home, she took a detour to pick up some hot late–night snacks for her parents and Attwater.

Next Monday, she was reporting to the private medical center in the West End.

In this life, she wasn’t letting any tragedy repeat itself–not for her, and not for Cassian.

She’d made up her mind: she was going to be a happy werewolf. She’d make her money, treasure her life, and love her family. As for the man who was haunting her? She was staying as far away as possible.

Trista had it all figured out. But the rest of the Ironthorns? They were starting to lose their patience.

Sara Lili

Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.