Where Soft Light Shines Darkness Fades From Tired Hearts by Evan Holt Crane 483
Third Person’s POV
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At dusk, the Los Angeles sunset hung over the Ironthorn estate like a wildfire.
The second Cassian stepped into the foyer, his father Wilmot’s roar nearly took the roof off.
“She thinks she can just call it off? Who the hell does Trista think she is? To humiliate our bloodline at the altar like that!” Wilmot paced, his face contorted with rage.
“If that full moon ceremony doesn’t happen by the end of the month, I’m leveling the Silverlight territory. I’ll make them disappear!”
Cassian walked into the living room, his expression unreadable. His cold pheromones sliced through the heated air like a blade.
He looked Wilmot dead in the eye, his voice flat but heavy with pressure. “Dad, the mating is my private business. You can drop the tired threats.”
Trista hated being threatened more than anything.
Having lived through it once, Cassian would rather be flayed alive than let them put another noose around her neck.
Alaina’s eyes were red, her voice cracking with frustration. “Cassian, tell me the truth. Is she really not coming? She told me she only sees you as a brother–what the hell is going on!”
Cassian lowered his eyes, masking a flicker of manic obsession.
He sat on the sofa, silent for a long moment, before muttering, “I’ll talk to her.”
Finally, Howard–the stone–faced patriarch of Ironthorn–spoke.
His voice was ancient, carrying the cold ruthlessness of an executioner. “Ironthorn isn’t some back–alley pack, Cassian. You represent our reputation. The whole city is watching this ceremony.”
Howard’s clouded eyes locked onto his grandson. “The ritual happens on schedule. If you can’t get that Silverlight girl to the altar, then the ceremony for Trista becomes your engagement ceremony to the daughter of the Tundras.”
Cassian stood up, feeling a wave of bone–deep exhaustion.
In this life, his grandfather and father were just as overbearing, just as dictatorial.
17:38 Mon, Mar 30 d
“Even if the ceremony is delayed,” Cassian said firmly, “I am not mating with Rowena.”
Howard let out a cold snort. “That’s not up to you.”
Cassian’s face darkened. “Grandfather, I’m your grandson. You’re ready to chain me to a random woman for the rest of my life? Does my happiness mean that little to you?”
Wilmot pointed a finger at him. “We’re doing this for your own good!”
That phrase again.
Cassian took a slow, weary breath.
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“Think about it,” Wilmot continued. “How much have you invested in those Silverlight people? You’re a businessman, not a charity! Without this family backing you, without absolute power and status, how do you expect to control anyone? How do you expect people to look up to you? How do you expect to be ‘happy‘ without leverage?”
Cassian stood his ground. “All the power and status in the world, all the wealth in the city- none of it can buy a real connection or a peaceful home.”
Howard’s face turned a sickly shade of grey.
He trembled as he stood up, pointing his cane at Cassian. “I wasted years teaching you. Are you trying to kill me?”
Cassian tried to be patient. “Grandfather, power and money matter, but they aren’t worth sacrificing your soul and your marriage for.”
Howard was beyond reason. “Everything you have was given to you by Ironthorn. You will listen. There are ten days left. Either you get mated with Trista, or you get engaged to Row Your choice.”
Seeing Howard’s blood pressure spike, Cassian softened his tone. “I hear you, Grandfather. C some rest.”
Before anyone else could speak, he strode out of the room.
He paused at the door to look back–his grandfather was gasping for air on the sofa, his father was screaming at the servants, and his mother was sighing in the corner. He lowered his lids, hiding the storm in his eyes.
By his car, Cassian leaned against the door and lit a cigarette.
In a family as rigid as Ironthorn, arguing was a waste of breath. Only results mattered.
The next few days were a disaster,
17:38 Mon, Mar 30 d.
He went to the Silverlight territory; Trista locked her door.
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He managed to corner her in the community, and she nearly kicked him when he tried to get close.
Calls ignored. Texts unread. Expensive snacks sent back. Gifts thrown in the trash.
If he tried to talk, she insisted they were “siblings.”
If he mentioned the mating, she flipped out.
Cassian was out of moves.
If this kept up, their relationship would spiral back into the toxic “love–hate” wreckage of his previous life.
Seven days left until the full moon.
Standing under Trista’s apartment building, Cassian dialed Fred. “I need a favor.”
That afternoon, Trista was heading out to look at new apartments when Fred cut her off at the
gate.
“Get in,” Fred urged, patting the car door. “I’ve got an emergency.”
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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.