Novels by Naina writes

Ryker’s POVI looked up at him. “You’ll keep them safe?”“With my life.”“And you’ll come back?”His jaw flexed. “Only if you command it.”“I do,” I whispered.He touched my fingers—just once—then disappeared into the dark.By morning, they were gone.And I stood alone again.But not as prey.As Queen.And in the silence before the storm, I prayed not for mercy—but for the strength to burn.The hours after they left passed like ghosts—silent, watchful, always at my back.I should’ve slept. I didn’t.Instead, I paced the length of the war room until the candles guttered low and the wind howled outside the stained-glass windows like the dead were whispering.Kira found me at dawn.“You’ve already memorized every line of those maps, Clara,” she said, arms folded as she leaned against the archway.“I’m not looking at the maps,” I murmured. “I’m watching the pieces move.”She walked to the table, her steps as soundless as a shadow. “You know they might not come back.”I met her eyes. “I know.”And it tore at

Clava Pov“The Riders returned while the court was assembling,” she said, voice pitched low. “They found sigils carved into the stones around the ravine. Old runes. Blood magic. Dorian’s not working alone.”I clenched my hands.Rogues were one thing. Rebels another.But blood magic? That was a line even the most desperate packs didn’t cross—unless they’d already given up their humanity.“Where’s the transcript?” I asked.Sora passed me a scroll, hastily copied. The runes were crude but unmistakable—words not spoken aloud in decades. Bind. Devour. Rend.He wasn’t summoning allies.He was building an army.“Aether-born magic,” Ryker said quietly. “Forbidden.”“No,” I whispered. “Forgotten. Buried by the Elders when they realized it couldn’t be controlled. But Dorian…” I looked up. “He was always more obsessed with control than victory.”A silence fell. Heavy. Knowing.If he truly tapped into the ancient magics, he wasn’t just preparing for war.He was preparing to remake the world.A sharp knock ech

Clara’s POV A heavy silence stretched between us.“Elia, if you know something_“I know that the Council underestimates you. I know Lucas underestimated you. But Dorian?” Her voice dipped. “He never did. He always saw what you were becoming. That’s what terrifies me most.”I clenched the feather tighter. “Then he’s coming not to destroy me—but to use me.”“To twist you,” she corrected. “Or worse, to force your hand.”That idea sat heavy in my gut.Because there were still things I hadn’t told Ryker. Still truths I hadn’t faced myself. About my past with Dorian. About the deal I almost made with him once… back when I was still caged, still begging for someone to see me.Before I learned to see myself. “Elia,” I said, voice low, “if there’s a single noble left who’s pledged to Dorian, I want their name. Their house. Their bloodline. I want them watched.”She nodded. “And if he calls for you?”My answer came without hesitation.“Then I’ll answer. But not as his weapon. As his reckoning.”She left

Clara’s POVRyker was waiting by the fire, one hand cradling a crystal glass, the other tucked behind his back like a general surveying his battlefield. He looked up as I entered, and the tension in his shoulders eased, just slightly.“You didn’t throw him off the cliff,” he murmured, amused.“Tempting,” I said, taking the glass from his hand and sipping. “But I prefer my victories slow. Measured. I want him to watch the world move on without him.”Ryker smiled, but there was something darker underneath it—pride laced with something deeper. “You command a room better than any alpha I’ve known.”“That’s because I had to learn how to command silence first,” I said. “And once you master silence, the rest follows.”He studied me, more serious now. “They’ll try to discredit you. The council. The nobles. Even your own blood.”“I know,” I said, setting the glass down. “Let them. I’m not here to be liked. I’m here to lead.”He stepped closer, voice dropping to something intimate. “And if they try to

Clara’s POV He didn’t ask what Lucas had said—he didn’t need to. The tension rolling off my shoulders, the fire burning brighter in my eyes, told him enough.He handed me the goblet without a word. I took a sip.“Did it hurt him?” he asked eventually, voice low, amused.I glanced over my shoulder. Lucas stood rooted beneath the hearth arch, alone amidst a sea of power players and polished smiles. But he wasn’t really alone. He was caged by his past. By me.“Oh, yes,” I replied. “Like poison beneath the skin.”Ryker chuckled, sipping his own wine. “Good. Let him rot in it.”We stood there together, not as lovers, but as conspirators. A king who wanted the crown and a queen who wanted vengeance. A pact forged not from affection, but necessity.“Clara,” Ryker said, tilting his head toward the far corridor, where the war council chamber lay hidden beyond the ceremonial doors. “They’ll expect us soon. The elders want to discuss succession.”I nodded. “Let them.”As we moved, a hush fell over the h

Clara’s POVThe gates of Blackmoor Castle loomed ahead—tall, cold, and iron-forged. Just like the man who ruled behind them.Lucas.Even the name tasted bitter on my tongue.The carriage slowed, wheels crunching against the gravel as my fingers tightened on the folds of my gown. I wore black—not for mourning, but for war. Silk draped over my frame like armor, the neckline sharp, the sleeves clawed. The sapphire pendant nestled above my chest, a gift from Ryker, glinted in the sunlight like a warning.Sora leaned in from across the cabin. “You’re trembling.”“No,” I said flatly, staring ahead. “I’m alive.”She didn’t argue. She knew better. I had been many things in my past—omega, mate, prisoner. But today? I was the storm.The moment the footman opened the carriage door, I stepped out and into the lion’s den.Eyes turned immediately. Gasps. Murmurs. The court, draped in silver and obsidian for the memorial, had not expected this. Not me. My presence was a blade across silk, jarring and unmiss