Novels by Prachi Kanade

KAELThe Hollowed Ones came like a storm of ink—dozens of eyeless, shifting beasts dragging the shadows behind them. Their howls were more psychic than sound, splitting through Kael’s mind with a frequency that made his teeth ache. They moved like smoke and death, like hatred incarnate.But Kael didn’t flinch.He stood his ground, shielding Lyra behind him.“Run,” he growled.“I’m not leaving you.”He glanced back once—and saw the silver burn of her eyes. Different now. Brighter. Almost unnatural. The Hollow had changed her.No… awakened her.The nearest creature lunged, a mass of writhing limbs and jagged mouths. Kael met it mid-air, claws slicing through smoke-flesh. The thing screamed—not from pain but fury—as if Kael’s touch burned.Lyra gasped. “Kael, they can’t stand your light—your blood.”That was it.The Hollow hated light. Hated the blood of the Gate’s guardian.Kael let the wolf fully rise.His bones snapped. His spine arched. In seconds, he stood not as man but beast—a tow

LYRA:-The fall was endless.Darkness swirled like ink, thick and humming with something alive. There was no ground. No sky. Just her, suspended in a world that felt too still and yet too loud—buzzing with whispers she couldn’t understand. She reached for something—anything—but her fingers sliced through nothing. No air. No gravity. No wolf.Her wolf.It was gone.Or hiding.For the first time in her life, she felt it severed. Not quiet, not sleeping. Absent. Like the bond had snapped.The hollow pull of the void didn’t feel like death. It felt worse. Like being forgotten. Unwritten.Then—light.A single sliver split the dark, curling at the edges like fire swallowing parchment.Lyra fell toward it.And crashed.But not into stone or earth. Into memory.She stood suddenly in the middle of a clearing, moonlight bathing her skin. A child’s laughter echoed—hers—chasing fireflies through tall summer grass.Then the laughter cut short.And the moon split in two.She turned.Her child-self

She didn’t remember falling. One second she was reaching for her dagger, Kael’s shout echoing in her ears—“Lyra, behind you!”—and the next, she was swallowed by darkness.Something cold and formless had wrapped around her, sinking into her bones like smoke, like water, like shadows made flesh. Not claws. Not teeth. Just pressure—suffocating, inescapable—and a sickening pull that turned her world inside out.When her senses returned, she was no longer in the forest.She was somewhere else.Somewhere ancient.The air was stale with age and secrets, the ground beneath her damp and uneven. Lyra groaned as she blinked into the darkness. A soft, eerie blue glow pulsed faintly from the walls—light from stones embedded in cracked stone. The walls were carved with runes—symbols older than language. Older than the packs.She was underground. A ruin maybe. Or a tomb.And she wasn’t alone.She sat upright slowly, pain lancing through her ribs. Her cloak was gone. Her boots too. Even her dagger h

Lyra stared at the white rose like it might bite her.It was delicate, perfect—each petal unmarred, impossibly pure. And yet it was more chilling than any blood-soaked weapon. She’d been trained to track monsters, to fight with blade and claw, but no one had ever prepared her for this.A Thornwyn rose.A symbol of possession. A claim.Her fingers trembled as she snatched the folded parchment tucked behind the stem. The seal broke with a soft crack—the Thornwyn crest etched in crimson wax, pressed like a threat into the aged paper.Four words. That was all it said.We always take back what’s ours.The ink was dark, almost wet. As if it had just been written. As if Kael himself had stood here only moments ago.Her stomach twisted violently.Her father. Her pack. The guards—Lyra turned and sprinted toward the estate doors. Her dagger was already in hand, heart pounding like war drums in her ears. The massive oak creaked open slowly beneath her push, revealing the vast stone hall within.

The forest never slept. Even in stillness, it pulsed with ancient energy—wild, restless, and eternal. Trees stood like silent sentinels, their canopies clawing at the sky, veiling the stars. The moon hovered like a silver eye above the world, watching. Waiting.And beneath it all, Lyra Blackthorn ran. Her breath fanned in soft clouds, chest heaving as she darted between trees. Her black cloak billowed behind her, mist curling at the hem. Moss and roots kissed her bare feet, but she didn’t flinch. She wasn’t afraid of thorns. She had grown among them.This part of the woods had long been forbidden by her pack—neutral ground between rival territories. A place soaked in the blood of a forgotten war. But tonight, something called to her from the silence. Something more primal than instinct. Something older than the moon itself. A scent.Not human. Not fully wolf.It was smoke and spice. Power and ruin.She stopped near a ridge overlooking the valley below. The river shimmered like molten