Two Minutes:Seven Series Novel Book 6

By: Dannika Dark


After years of living abroad, Maizy returns home to the only family she’s ever known—a pack of wolves. When she confronts her childhood watchdog to see where they stand, his resentment leaves her uncertain about where she really belongs.

Behind Denver’s charming smile is a tragic past—one that’s made his wolf savage and unpredictable. Only Maizy has been able to tame that darkness, and when they’re reunited after many years apart, he no longer sees a child he once protected. She’s captivating and intelligent—a woman with the world at her fingertips and two suitors offering more than he ever could.

Torn between two worlds, Maizy must choose how her fairy tale ends. Tragedy, murder, passion, and imprisonment all collide with a heart-stopping twist.

Book 6

Two princes.

Two worlds.

And a fate sealed in two minutes.


“What are you doing, kiddo?” Denver asked.

Melody’s head poked up from the front of the sofa, a mischievous smile accenting her expression. “Um, nothing?” she replied, her voice uncertain, arm wedged behind the seat.

Denver planted his fists on his hips, pretending to give her a scathing look. But he knew what she was searching for: money. While the pack had plenty of funds, they also taught their children the value of earning their keep. Melody was fourteen with a crazy sense of style and an addiction to clothes, and that hobby depleted her funds fairly quickly. She used to spend hours sewing by hand until Izzy finally broke down and bought her a sewing machine. When she was little, she’d often mismatched her clothes. But as she aged, the pack began to notice her talent—an ability to make something ordinary stand out. A couple of her friends from the neighboring packs had even paid her to design their jackets and customize their sneakers.

Melody pulled her arm free from the cushion and wiped crumbs off her wrist, the milky-green eyes she’d inherited from Jericho filled with guilt.

Denver paced forward and flattened his hands on the armrest of the sofa. “If you’re going to look for spare change, you need to dig deep. Aus likes hanging his legs over the edge, which means his ass is tucked against the armrest, not the center cushions.”

Everyone knew Austin always carried change in his pockets.

A smile beamed across her face, and she threaded her hair away from her eyes. Melody’s razor-cut hair reached her shoulders to give her an edgy look, similar to the way April sometimes styled hers except Mel’s was all one length. Sometimes she borrowed Jericho’s hair dye and lightened a few strands of her brown hair as he did.

“Learn from the master,” Denver said, pulling the cuff of his short sleeve over his shoulder and holding up his arm as if he were about to perform surgery. He reached deep into the crevice of the sofa—that realm where deep cleaning was nearly impossible—feeling all the grit and crumbly evidence that had accumulated during the past fifteen years of living in the Weston house. He snatched his hand back and put eighty-five cents in her palm—along with a dust bunny from hell. After a little more searching, he found a total of four dollars and fifty-two cents.

“What about the other side?” she suggested.

Denver performed the same maneuver, cramming his hands in godforsaken places that no hand was meant to go. He recovered some Skittles, a toothpick, a few candy wrappers, a broken crayon, and something butt-nasty that looked like an old piece of dried meat.

“Sweet! Thanks, Uncle Denver.” Melody counted out the additional coins he’d found.

“I don’t know how much you’re going to get with that.” He gave her a cursory glance before rooting his hand beneath the cushion.

She shrugged, and her custom-painted sneakers squeaked on the wood floor. “I don’t need that much. It’s just for accessories, and I can usually find something el cheapo in the craft store.”

After Melody flew out of the room, Denver straightened his back, fist tight around a small object. When he opened his fingers, he looked down at a tiny plastic princess in a pink dress. Melody had never liked dolls, and the twin boys sure didn’t. He turned the tiny toy between his fingers.

Naya sauntered in, little black hairs clinging to her white shorts. She cuddled her new five-month-old kitten against her neck and lavished him with kisses. “Want to pet the baby?”

Denver stepped back. “That thing ain’t normal. I thought after Sparkles died you weren’t going to get another cat.”

“Her name was Misha,” Naya said with annoyance. “And a five-year grieving period is sufficient. A pet isn’t a novelty. They don’t have anyone else to look out for them.” She wiggled her nose from the black hairs that were stuck to her lipstick.