Novels by Cheryl

The scent of jasmine and cold river stone was the first betrayal. It wafted under the door of the summer lodge, a cloying, unmistakable perfume that did not belong to Elara, and did not belong in the Alpha’s private quarters. She froze, her hand on the carved wooden handle, a basket of freshly laundered linens for Kael’s bed pressed against her hip. The late afternoon sun of Selenar streamed through the high windows, catching motes of dust in a golden dance. It was a peaceful scene. It was a lie. Her wolf, a creature she had long forced into a submissive slumber, stirred uneasily in her chest. Wrong, it whispered. Wrong, wrong, wrong. She pushed the door open. The second betrayal was sound. Rough, ragged breathing. A low, possessive growl she knew in her bones—Alistair’s growl. But it was layered with a high, breathy gasp that was not hers. The third betrayal was sight. Her husband, Alistair, A

Three Years Later. Neo-Verde, Sector 7.The rain on Neo-Verde was artificial, a programmed cleansing of the city’s carbon-filtered air. It fell in precise, shimmering sheets between the neon-lit canyon walls of the megastructures, turning the endless streams of hover-vehicle lights into smears of color on the wet permacrete.In a nondescript mid-level apartment in a building known for its extreme privacy and lack of questions, a woman sat in near-total darkness, illuminated only by the glow of six holographic displays suspended in the air before her. Lines of luminous code—interstellar financial ledgers, security blueprints for a corporate black site, the private communications of a shipping magnate—scrolled past at a speed that would give a normal person a migraine.Lyra’s fingers danced across a tactile interface, her movements economical, graceful. She wasn’t typing; she was conducting a silent symphony of data. One screen showed a live feed from a secu

Consciousness returned with the shriek of something that sounded like a cross between a bird and a chainsaw. Elara—no, here she had to be Lyra—gasped, her lungs filling with air so thick with oxygen and organic decay it felt like drinking soup. She was on her hands and knees, cool, wet moss squelching beneath her palms. WORLD LOADED: VERDANT PRIME scrolled across her vision in elegant, glowing script, followed by a cascade of data: BIOSPHERE: CATEGORY JUNGLE, HOSTILE PRIMARY OBJECTIVE: REACH THE STARFALL TEMPLE SECONDARY OBJECTIVE: INITIATE ROMANCE PROTOCOL HAZARD LEVEL: LETHAL WARNING: BIOLOGICAL, ENVIRONMENTAL, AND SENTIENT THREATS DETECTED “Romance protocol in a death jungle,” Lyra muttered, pushing herself to her feet. “Who designs this stuff?” Her senses, both human and wolf, were on overload. The jungle was a cacophony of sound—chitters, screeches, the drip of water from gargantuan l

The jungle did not relent. It tested them with carnivorous, snapping flowers that sprayed neuro-toxin pollen, with patches of ground that were actually colonies of symbiotic, burrowing insects, with a river they had to cross that teemed with translucent eels whose touch delivered a paralyzing electric shock.Through it all, Aiden was a constant, solid presence. He was a protector, but not a domineering one. He didn’t order; he suggested. “The left path smells of rot, likely a sinkhole. Right is clearer, but the canopy is thick—good for ambush. Your call.”He valued her input. He listened when she pointed out odd patterns in the foliage, suggesting a programmed trap. When she deduced that the shrieking avians were territorial and not hunting them, merely following, he altered their route to avoid provoking a swarm.They spoke in the spaces between threats. Lyra kept her stories vague—a boring corporate past, a desire for a fresh start. Aiden was more forthc

The frost receded with the dawn, leaving the jungle glistening and strangely subdued. They emerged from the cave into a world hushed by cold, their breath pluming in the air. The shared warmth of the night had shifted something between them. There was a new ease in their silence, a communication in glances. When Aiden handed her a canteen, his fingers brushed hers, and the touch sparked a low current that had nothing to do with the game’s protocols.The Starfall Temple came into view as they crested a moss-covered ridge. It was not a ruin, but a defiance of physics. A ziggurat of sleek, silver-white metal and dark, transparent crystal floated serenely above a deep chasm, connected to the land by a single, narrow bridge of light. Ancient, glowing symbols—a mix of mathematics and constellations—swam across its surface.“No obvious predators,” Aiden observed, his hand resting on the hilt of his knife. “Which means the hazard is the temple itself.”Lyra’s anal

The transition was less a wrench and more a drowning. The humid, oxygen-rich air of Verdant Prime was ripped away, replaced by a crushing, cold pressure and absolute silence. Lyra’s eyes flew open to inky blackness, punctuated by faint, drifting specks of bioluminescence.WORLD LOADED: ABYSSAL STATION THALASSABIOSPHERE: SUBSURFACE OCEAN, DEEP TRENCHPRIMARY OBJECTIVE: RESTORE POWER TO CENTRAL HUBSECONDARY OBJECTIVE: DEEPEN ROMANTIC SYNCHRONIZATIONHAZARD LEVEL: LETHAL (PRESSURE, TOXICITY, FAUNA)WARNING: OXYGEN LIMITEDA panicked gasp tore from her throat, but no sound came out. Bubbles streamed past her face. She was deep underwater, wearing a form-fitting, resilient suit with a glowing hud on the wrist. An oxygen counter ticked down in the corner of her vision: 02: 45:00.A powerful hand clamped onto her arm. Aiden. His face was illuminated by his own suit’s hud. He pointed to a direction—down, into the deeper dark, where a colossal