Novels by Chloe Sinclaire

The great hall of the Bloodmoon Pack had never been silent.Even in the darkest nights, it echoed with the growl of warriors, the clash of steel, the hum of whispers carried on the backs of courtiers and soldiers alike. But tonight, the silence was different—heavy, stifling, a taut string waiting to snap.Alpha Garrick Stormclaw stood at the center of it all, his back to the tall, frost-rimmed windows that overlooked the mountains. His fingers were clenched behind him, muscles in his jaw working as he stared down the trembling scout before him.“You’re telling me,” Garrick said slowly, voice like grinding stone, “that my daughter has vanished?”The scout bowed his head lower, sweat dripping from his brow despite the chill that crept through the high ceilings. “Yes, Alpha. We searched the manor and surrounding grounds. She’s not within the walls.”Garrick’s amber eyes flared.“I assumed she was mourning her mother,” he said, more to himself than anyone else. “That she was grieving... i

The sun hung low in the sky, casting molten gold across the treetops as Rian stepped out of the forest’s edge. Her heart drummed an anxious rhythm in her chest. Just ahead, nestled at the crossroads between wilderness and structure, stood a small outpost made of stone and iron.The Academy’s border checkpoint.Two tall posts framed a wrought-iron gate, one side of it propped open. On either side, sharp-eyed guards flanked a squat building where the official recruiter sat beneath a canvas awning, sipping something warm from a tin mug.Behind him, the path curved out of sight—toward the gates of the Alpha Training Academy.Rian swallowed hard.Her boots crunched against the gravel as she approached, her satchel slung over her shoulder, her forged acceptance letter tucked deep within its folds. Her shoulders were square, gait wide, jaw tight. Just like she’d practiced.She had to be him now.Rian. Not Rhea. Not scared. Not weak.A tall man stepped forward to intercept her, dressed in the

The air in the human city smelled different—less of pine and soil, more of metal and ash and smoke. The scent lingered on Rhea’s skin, clinging to her like the identity she was slowly trying to wear. No. Not Rhea. Rian. She had to remember that now. It was more than just a name. It was a shield.The inn she stayed at was small and forgotten by time, tucked between a butcher’s shop and a crumbling clock tower. Its windows were cracked, its halls dim. But it was quiet. That mattered more than comfort. No one looked twice at a quiet, scrappy boy with a heavy hood and a handful of silver.Each morning, she ventured into the city.At first, she moved cautiously—head down, shoulders hunched, breath held tight when anyone passed too close. But her caution only made her stand out. She noticed it immediately. Men in this city didn’t shrink. They swaggered. They stomped. They laughed with their mouths wide and their arms swinging. So, little by little, she tried to do the same.She found a spot

By the time Rhea reached the outskirts of the human city, the soles of her boots were worn nearly through, her cloak still damp from days ago, and her limbs so tired they trembled with each step. But none of that mattered—not in the face of what lay ahead.She stood behind a crumbling stone wall, peering down into the valley where the city sat. Smoke curled from chimneys. The faint clatter of horse hooves echoed up the road. Vibrant stalls lined cobbled streets in a mishmash of colors, noise, and life.Humans.So many of them.She’d heard stories of their markets, of their obsession with coin and trade. Of their fragile bodies, blind to scent and bond. But standing here now, watching from the woods as people laughed, argued, bartered, and moved through their lives freely, Rhea felt something twist in her chest.Envy.They didn’t live by blood oaths or sacred bonds. They chose who to love. They built homes, traveled, and questioned everything. No Elders dictating destiny. No forced pai

The candle burned low on Rhea’s desk, casting trembling shadows across the stone walls of her room. Her satchel lay open beside her, half-packed, but her hands hovered uselessly above it. Books, a change of clothes, her mother’s crest wrapped in linen—none of it seemed real. Not the plan. Not the escape. Not even the quiet certainty that this might be the last time she ever stood in these chambers.She pressed a hand against her chest, right over her racing heart.It had only been five days since her mother’s funeral.Five days since she'd stood beside an open grave, the scent of lilies choking her while her father never once reached for her hand.And now—now she was to be given away like cattle. As if her mother’s ashes had barely cooled. As if her pain didn’t matter.A knock at the servant’s door jolted her upright. A soft tap, a familiar rhythm.“Mira,” she whispered, darting over to unlock it.The old nursemaid stepped inside, carrying a bundle of cloth in her arms. Her expression

The rain hadn’t stopped for days. It drummed endlessly on the stone roof of the old library tower where Rhea had hidden herself, muffling the world into a soft, oppressive hush. The air was damp and heavy, curling around her like a shroud. The cracked window beside her wept with condensation, the glass trembling with every gust of wind that rattled against it.Rhea sat curled on the ancient window seat, her knees drawn to her chest, her mother’s faded shawl wrapped tightly around her shoulders. The scent of lavender still lingered faintly in the fabric, even after all these weeks. She clutched it as if it could somehow bring her back.She hadn’t cried at the funeral.She hadn’t screamed or begged when her father announced the betrothal to Alpha Branor, a man old enough to be her grandfather and twice as cruel.But now, alone in the decaying stillness, her hands shook.“I don’t know what to do,” she whispered, her voice hoarse from disuse. It echoed softly through the hollow chamber. “