Novels by Elizabeth

Cora's POV Morning comes quietly in Frostbite. The air is crisp, sharp with pine and earth, and the training grounds are still damp with dew when Eric calls a break. My muscles ache in the good way now, the earned way. Sweat slicks my skin, my heart pounding steady and strong in my chest. I never thought I’d love the burn this much, but here I am, breathing hard and smiling despite myself. Eric watches me with that look again. Pride. Approval. Something warmer beneath it. “You’re improving fast,” he says, handing me a bottle of water. “Your balance is better. You’re not hesitating anymore.” I take it, fingers brushing his, and that familiar spark jumps between us. I swallow, forcing my eyes away before I overthink it. “I stopped doubting myself,” I say honestly. “Turns out that helps.” His lips curve, just slightly. “It does.” We walk toward the edge of the field together, my wolf calm and content beneath my skin. She likes him. Trusts him. That alone still feels surreal. Tha

Eric's POV The council hall hummed with the low murmur of wolves discussing strategy, but my attention was elsewhere. I couldn’t shake the tension radiating between the Lincoln pack’s Alpha son and Cora. Even from across the room, I could feel it—like a storm barely contained, dangerous and unpredictable. Anton leaned beside me, his eyes following the subtle interactions I was already tracking. “You saw it too,” he murmured. I nodded slowly. “Yes.” “Cain Lincoln,” Anton said, voice low, almost cautious, “he’s clearly… unsettled by her. There’s history there. I saw it when they arrived—the way he looked at her. And he tried to speak to her, but she shut him down.” I frowned, turning to watch the younger Alpha. He carried himself with a mixture of pride and restraint, trying to maintain control, but his gaze kept flicking toward her. My wolf stirred inside me. Protective. Territorial. She hadn’t fully revealed herself, hadn’t told anyone here about her past or the connection to Li

Cain's POV I didn’t expect to see her. Not here. Not now. Not like this. I had assumed she was still hiding somewhere in the forest, nursing the wounds of my rejection, still broken, still unsure of herself. But there she was, walking along Frostbite’s border with a girl I didn’t recognize at her side, laughing softly, moving with a confidence I didn’t recognize. She had changed. It wasn’t just her posture or the way she carried herself. Her hair framed her face perfectly, her eyes sparkled with life and purpose, and every step she took whispered strength. She was… formidable now. She had been forged from fire and rejection, and she had survived. And the girl with her, red hair, green eyes, small, poised, and laughing as if she owned the space, was clearly part of her world now. I didn’t know her. I didn’t know her name. I didn’t like her. But my gut screamed that she wasn’t going anywhere, and more importantly, she belonged with Cora. Then it hit me. The resemblance.

Cora's POV Happiness doesn’t arrive all at once. It doesn’t crash into you like pain does, loud and merciless. It settles instead, quiet, careful, almost shy. Like it’s afraid you’ll send it away if it makes too much noise. I wake up smiling before I realize I’m doing it. Sunlight spills through the window, pale and warm, brushing against my skin like a promise. The house is quiet, too quiet to belong to a pack, but that’s what makes it feel safe. This isn’t a pack house filled with judgmental eyes or whispered expectations. This is Eric’s home. Hannah’s home. Mine, for now. I stretch beneath the blankets, listening to the faint sounds of movement downstairs. Hannah’s laugh drifts up the stairwell, bright and unrestrained, followed by the clatter of dishes. The scent of coffee curls into the hallway, rich and grounding. I smile before I can stop myself. I never used to smile like this. The thought still startles me sometimes, but it feels truer every day. My mind

Eric's POV It becomes obvious, eventually, that Cora isn’t just improving. She’s thriving. I don’t realize how much space Cora has taken up in my life until I try to picture my days without her. The image doesn’t settle. She’s there every morning now, standing across from me in the training yard, hair pulled back, eyes focused and bright with purpose. Where she once moved cautiously, she now moves with confidence, fluid, controlled, precise. She reads opponents instinctively, adapts mid-strike, and pushes herself harder than anyone else. Including me. “Again,” I tell her, even though she’s already breathing hard. She grins, not cocky, not reckless. Just determined. “Thought you’d never ask.” She comes at me fast, faster than yesterday. I barely block in time, surprise flickering through me before discipline snaps it away. Her strength has grown exponentially, but it’s her control that’s staggering. She doesn’t fight with desperation anymore. She fights like some

Cora's POV I try not to think about him. That’s the problem, I’m failing. It starts small. The way my chest tightens when I hear his voice before I see him. The way my attention drifts, uninvited, whenever he enters a room. I tell myself it’s gratitude. Respect. Safety. But gratitude doesn’t make my pulse jump. Eric Williams is careful with me. Not distant, just measured. Like he’s aware of every step he takes around me, every word. And somehow that makes it worse. It makes every glance feel intentional. Every quiet moment charged. Hannah notices before I do. She’s sitting across from me at breakfast, swinging her legs under the table, watching me poke at my food without eating much. “You’re doing it again,” she says casually. “Doing what?” She grins. “That thing where you pretend you’re not staring.” I nearly choke. “I’m not staring.” “Mm-hmm.” She leans closer, lowering her voice. “You’ve looked at my brother seven times in the last two minutes.” Heat fl