Novels by Bella Fyre

173 (Kathryn’s POV) The contraction hit so hard it doubled me over. My fingers dug into Tyler’s arm as the air left my lungs in a sharp cry. “Easy,” he murmured, though his voice shook beneath the calm he tried to wear for me. His arm slid under my knees, his other wrapping tight around my back, and in one fluid motion I was lifted against his chest. “I’ve got you.” The world blurred as he started to run, his stride smooth but impossibly fast. The cool night air rushed past my face, the glow of the lake fading behind us. I could hear his heartbeat beneath my ear, pounding hard and steady, faster than I’d ever heard it. His scent familiar, grounding was everywhere, wrapping around me like armor. Through the haze of pain, I felt it, the first time, his voice in my mind, sharp and commanding. Doctor. Now. Meet us at the packhouse. She’s in labor. The bond carried more than words. It carried fear, urgency, the depth of his desperation. Camerin’s answering growl echoed faintly at the

172 (Tyler’s POV) The party swelled after the speeches, music picking up again, wolves crowding the courtyard to dance, feast, and drink until their laughter echoed into the trees. For the first time in far too long, my people’s voices weren’t weighed down by suspicion or grief. Kate lingered at my side for a time, smiling as Celia pulled her into conversations, nodding to the greetings of Rowan’s Luna, laughing at something Katie whispered in her ear. But I noticed the weariness creeping into her movements, the way her hand lingered on her stomach a heartbeat longer than usual. She caught my eye across the throng and gave me a soft, reassuring before slipping away toward the trees. I let her go. Fool that I was, I thought she only wanted a moment to herself. (Kathryn’s POV) The celebration was alive with music and laughter, but my chest felt tight. Too many voices, too many eyes, all of it pressing in. I smiled when I needed to, laughed when I should, but beneath it all, I just

171 (Tyler’s POV) While the house thrummed with preparations, pots banging, wolves stringing garlands between beams, Celia barking cheerful orders louder than any commander I found Kate on the porch, away from the noise. She was seated on the rail, hair catching the last light of evening, eyes thoughtful in that way that meant her mind was running three steps ahead. When she noticed me, she smiled, soft but resolute. “I’ve been thinking,” she said. I leaned against the post beside her, crossing my arms. “That’s dangerous.” She smirked at the joke but didn’t take the bait. “I want to give them something. Not food or decorations, something that lasts. Something for all of them. Your wolves and Jaxson’s.” I tilted my head, watching her carefully. She had my attention now. “What kind of something?” “The lake,” she said simply. “On my family’s land. It’s ours now, but I want it to be theirs, too. A place both packs can use. A place to fish, to swim, to train if they want. A reason t

170 (Tyler’s POV) Two weeks had passed since I ended Laramie’s life in front of them all, and the silence that followed lingered like smoke in the air. The pack carried on their duties without complaint, but their eyes told the story their mouths would not know every movement weighed, every word measured. They walked on eggshells around me, and though I had demanded obedience before, this was something different. Fear had settled into their bones, and I hated the taste of it. I had wanted loyalty. I had wanted unity. But fear was a poor substitute, and it left a bitter sting in my chest every time one of my wolves lowered their gaze too quickly or backed out of a room I entered. In the quiet moments, I replayed all Laramie’s snarl, Jonas’s laughter, the shock on Kate’s face as I made my choice. I had done what was necessary. I would do it again, if I had to. But even necessary things leave scars. Tonight, as the moon hung low over the compound and the sounds of my restless pack d

169 (third party POV) Tyler didn’t waste a breath. He dragged Laramie upright by the scruff of his neck as though he weighed nothing, his body limp and wheezing from the Alpha’s hold. With a sharp nod to Micah, blood still dripping from his nose, Tyler strode for the stairwell. “Bring Jonas,” he ordered. “They will all see this.” Kate followed in silence, her heart thundering. Camerin fell in at Tyler’s flank, his jaw set tight. Micah shoved Jonas forward from the cell, the traitor’s grin feral as though he relished the chaos he’d set in motion. When they emerged into the main hall, the sound carried before them laughter, clatter, the easy noise of wolves at rest. But the moment Tyler’s presence filled the doorway, silence rippled outward like a stone dropped into still water. Every head turned. Every voice fell quiet. Tyler shoved Laramie forward, forcing him to his knees in the center of the hall. Gasps rose from the crowd. Celia pressed a hand to her mouth, Katie’s eyes went

168 (Third party POV) The silence held for a long moment, tension coiled so tight Kate thought the air itself might snap. Jonas leaned back against the wall, a bitter smile twisting his mouth as though he thought he still had control. Tyler’s voice dropped to a quiet growl, more dangerous than any shout. “You will answer me.” His will rolled out in a wave, heavy and commanding, and Kate felt the pull of it even from where she stood outside the cell. The Alpha command pressed like a hand against her chest irresistible, suffocating. Jonas’s body convulsed, his head jerking as though he were fighting chains invisible to anyone but him. He ground his teeth, a sound of pain tearing from his throat, until finally the defiance cracked. “One,” he rasped. His eyes, burning with hate, flicked to Tyler and then away. “You want a name? Fine. Laramie.” The word hung heavy in the damp air. Micah stilled, his hands curling into fists. Camerin muttered something under his breath, too low for Ka

89 Sleep did not come gently. Avi drifted off in Cain’s arms, exhaustion pulling her under despite the tension still coiled through her body like a second spine. She felt safe physically but her magic was far from quiet. The Circle had been restless ever since the emissary bowed and left the throne room. Even Cain’s scent, grounding as it was, only muted it… not silenced it. Sometime after midnight, the whispering began. Not words. Not truly voices. Echoes. Footsteps on stone corridors she had never walked. Breath against her ear that did not belong to Cain. Avi jerked in her sleep, a soft gasp breaking from her throat. Cain startled awake, immediately on alert. “Avi?” he whispered, brushing hair from her face. She didn’t respond; she was trapped somewhere between dream and magic. She stood in the heart of a massive, ancient chamber—circular, carved into black stone. Candles burned in spirals around her feet, dripping wax that fell upward instead of down. The Circle Keeper st

88 The emissary bowed before the throne, her dark Dawlya robes folding like a living shadow around her feet. The air in the throne room felt taut, charged as if the very stone beneath them waited to hear her words. Brie sat straight-backed, regal. Trace’s hands were folded, but Cain stood just behind Avi, ready to move at the slightest threat. Mikan’s gaze was cold steel. The emissary lifted her chin, meeting Avi’s eyes. “Circle Keeper Avin,” she said, voice soft but carrying. “The Dawlya Council has learned of your… awakening. They request no, they insist that you come to us. The Circle must be housed among its own. And…” She hesitated. “…there is a faction forming. Many believe you may be the rightful heir to Seppa’s legacy. Some whisper "you are more.” Avi’s heart lurched. Her dragon stirred uneasily beneath her skin. The Circle that newly awakened presence pulsed like a heartbeat behind her eyes. Cain’s hand hovered near her back, ready, protective. “She’s not going anywhere,

87 The skies over the Draynor capital were unusually still that morning, no patrol wings cutting across the clouds, no messenger flights streaming toward the palace. Every sentinel had been pulled closer to the heart of the city, and even the civilians sensed something was coming. A quiet tension hummed through the stone streets like the pressure before a storm. At the palace gates, Commander Thomas stood flanked by two elite guards, expressions carved from granite. Behind him, members of the royal escort waited in perfect formation. None of them spoke. The entire courtyard felt as though it were holding its breath. A soft ripple of foreign magic brushed against the edges of the dome thin, sharp, precise. “They’re here,” Thomas murmured. A moment later, the air warped. A tear in the space between realms unfurled like a blinking eye, and a figure stepped through. The Dawlya emissary. She was tall, cloaked in desert-gray, her face half-veiled in the traditional silk of Seppa’s old

86 The royal communication room had been cleared, its crystalline walls dimmed for privacy. Only three people remained inside: Brie, Trace, and Morgan, who stood off to the side with his arms folded, silently absorbing every detail. Brie exhaled slowly, fingers drumming a deliberate rhythm on the holo-table. “So the Dawlya have sent an emissary,” she said at last. “And a splinter faction of their own people wants to follow Avin.” Trace nodded, jaw clenched. “Their council must be desperate. If they could have taken the Circle, they would have. The fact they failed and the Circle chose her changes the entire balance of power.” Brie’s eyes narrowed in thought. “They aren’t coming here out of courtesy. They’re coming because they need something. Answers. Leverage. Maybe even permission.” “Or to kill her,” Trace said bluntly. Morgan cleared his throat. “Unlikely, Sire. If they wished to strike, they would have done it when she was still untrained, before the Circle fully merged. Sen

85 The sky above Ashbarrie darkened not with clouds, but with pressure. Avi felt it before anyone else did. A thin pulse, like a cold fingertip brushing the base of her spine. Then a second, deeper pull the Circle responding instinctively, bristling beneath her skin. She stopped mid-stride in the training courtyard, hand curling around her ribs as if something inside her were trying to turn toward the north. Chance’s head snapped up instantly. “You feel that?” Avi nodded, swallowing hard. “They’re close… watching.” Moments later the air shimmered at the warded perimeter, and the royal guards tensed as a hooded figure stepped through the barrier without setting off a single alarm. That alone told Mikan everything he needed. He materialized beside Avi with a crack of displaced air, Cain appearing a half-breath later, eyes already burning orange, body coiled to strike. The emissary bowed low, respectful, but unshaken. “Keeper Avin,” the woman said, her voice layered with ma

84 Far beyond Draynor space past starless reaches and broken asteroids the Sanctuary of Dawlya lay veiled in an eternal dusk. The great stone rings hummed softly, their ancient runes half-asleep, their wards undisturbed for centuries. Until now. The ground shuddered. Every lantern in the hall of circles flared upward at once, gold fire twisting into spirals. The elders froze. No meeting had been called, no invocation spoken. Yet the room pulsed—alive, waking as if something pressed against reality from the outside. High Mother Zairesh rose slowly from her throne, her breath uneven. “Who has touched the Circle?” she demanded. But none answered. Because every Daughter initiates, acolytes, full sorceresses had dropped to their knees, hands pressed against their chests, eyes wide in fear. A surge ripped through them, raw and ancient, older than their order, older than Seppa’s line. It was not Seppa herself. It was her Circle. Claimed. Awakened. Merged with something it had never to