Novels by Mia Monroe

The woods are quieter this time.Not silent, but still — like the forest is holding its breath as I walk the winding path to the elder’s cottage. Sunlight filters through the canopy in patches of gold, illuminating moss-covered stones and the dust motes that dance around me. It feels less like I’m visiting a place and more like I’m being called back.I don’t knock. I don’t need to.The door creaks open before I reach it, and she’s there — standing in the soft shadow of her threshold, wrapped in a shawl the color of moonlight, her eyes already knowing.“You came back,” she says gently, as if she’d never doubted it.“I wasn’t sure if I would,” I admit, stepping into the familiar scent of herbs and firewood. “But something… something’s been off. I feel like I’ve lost something. Like I’m only half here.”She doesn’t respond right away. She merely motions for me to sit at the same spot by the hearth as before. A kettle hums in the background, and the same wind chimes tap softly like distan

The forest is quieter today.I walk the narrow trail back toward the village, the elder’s words echoing in my mind like ripples over still water. Something in me has softened, though I can’t say exactly what. Maybe it’s the way she looked at me—not with judgment, not with pity, but with understanding. Like she saw me. Like she knew the parts of me I keep buried beneath callouses and sarcasm.The wind shifts, and I catch the faintest scent of rain on the horizon.For the first time in days, I don’t feel the need to fight everything.When I return to the pack’s main grounds, the sun is lower, casting a soft amber light across the rooftops. Lila is waiting near the training grounds, leaning lazily against a wooden fence post, her phone in one hand and a strawberry lollipop in the other.Her eyes flick to me. “You survived the forest witch.”“She’s not a witch,” I mutter, but I don’t deny the weird comfort I felt in that ivy-covered house. “She’s just… strange.”“Strange is good for you.”

I sit at the edge of the training cliffs, watching dusk bleed slowly into the trees. The wind brushes against my arms, tugging strands of hair into my eyes. Behind me, the world is loud — negotiations, alliances, broken promises. Out here, it’s quiet enough to think.I haven’t told anyone what Ethan said.Calista Alder. The name sounds like it belongs to someone born for courtship. Poised, elegant, the perfect ornament to place beside a future Alpha. She was one of the few girls I’d considered, briefly, when Ethan and I were planning his way out. And now she’s his new plan.I should feel nothing. But “nothing” is never how the wolf works.The wind carries the sound of footsteps behind me — light, familiar.“I figured I’d find you brooding somewhere scenic,” Lila says, stepping into view with two drinks in her hands. “I brought peach tea. And possibly a shoulder to punch.”A small smile pulls at my lips. “Peach tea and violence. You really know how to cheer a girl up.”“I try.” She drop

The wind carries the scent of pine and distant rain as I make my way toward the eastern terrace. My boots tap lightly on the stone path, each step echoing the low hum of anticipation building in my chest.I don’t know why he called. But I know why I came.When I round the corner, Ethan is already waiting. He turns at the sound of my footsteps—and for a breath, there’s something in his face. Relief. Warmth. The same flicker of something I felt the last time we were alone.He steps forward. “Thanks for coming.”“Of course,” I say, trying to sound neutral.There’s a pause. His eyes search mine, and for a second I think maybe… maybe something’s changed.He gestures toward the garden path. “Can we talk?”I nod, following him into the trees where the lanterns flicker along the path like fireflies. The silence between us feels fragile, full of the things we left unsaid.“I’ve made progress,” Ethan says suddenly, stopping beneath an overhanging branch. His tone is brighter than I expected. “I

I walk the narrow trail back toward the village, the elder’s words echoing in my mind like ripples over still water. Something in me has softened, though I can’t say exactly what. Maybe it’s the way she looked at me—not with judgment, not with pity, but with understanding. Like she saw me. Like she knew the parts of me I keep buried beneath callouses and sarcasm.The wind shifts, and I catch the faintest scent of rain on the horizon.For the first time in days, I don’t feel the need to fight everything.When I return to the pack’s main grounds, the sun is lower, casting a soft amber light across the rooftops. Lila is waiting near the training grounds, leaning lazily against a wooden fence post, her phone in one hand and a strawberry lollipop in the other.Her eyes flick to me. “You survived the forest witch.”“She’s not a witch,” I mutter, but I don’t deny the weird comfort I felt in that ivy-covered house. “She’s just… strange.”“Strange is good for you.” Lila pops the lollipop back i