Novels by Xoxo

For a heartbeat, nobody moved. The blood moon hung overhead like an open wound. Lyra could still feel the burn of the new crescent mark in her palm, hot and alive, as Adrian’s words settled into the chamber. She is. The one fated to die. The one the prophecy had been circling all along. Cassian stepped in front of her so quickly she barely saw him move. His body became a wall between her and Adrian, shoulders rigid, voice low enough to cut stone. “You used us.” Adrian’s smile deepened. “I guided events toward their natural conclusion.” “By opening the wards. By sending assassins. By nearly destroying the city?” “The city was always collateral.” Adrian spread his hands almost lazily. “The Heart only wakes for true Veyra blood bound to a shadow heir. You gave us both.” Us. The word made Lyra’s gaze snap toward the silver-eyed woman beside him. Her cousin stood half in shadow, expression unreadable. Not hatred. Something worse. Conviction. Cassian’s

The first arrow missed Lyra by less than an inch. It buried itself in the bookshelf behind her with a violent thunk, sending splinters and loose pages flying into the dark. For one stunned heartbeat, all she could hear was her own breathing. Then the library exploded into motion. Cassian shoved the overturned table higher, turning it into a shield as more arrows punched through the shattered windows. Glass rained across the carpet in glittering red shards, painted crimson by the blood moon climbing outside. “Stay down,” he snapped. Lyra pressed herself lower, pulse hammering so hard it hurt. The air smelled of old paper, smoke, and the metallic bite of danger. From the corridor came the clash of steel and the cries of guards. Someone screamed. Someone else hit the floor hard enough that she felt the vibration through the marble beneath the rug. The tower was under attack. Not from outside. From within. Cassian seemed to realize it at the same moment. His ey

The mirrors would not stop whispering. Even after Cassian led Lyra out of the chamber, their voices seemed to follow her up the spiral stairs like cold fingers trailing the back of her neck. Choose the billionaire… or bury the city. The words looped in her mind until they no longer sounded like a warning. They sounded like a sentence. By the time they returned to her room, dawn had begun to bruise the sky beyond the tower windows. Velmora stretched below in silver mist and scattered lights, the canals glowing faintly blue as the city dragged itself toward morning. Lyra stopped near the fireplace and turned sharply. “What did you mean when you said the crystal belonged to my bloodline?” Cassian remained by the door, one hand resting on the frame as though he expected her to bolt. “Exactly what I said.” “Don’t do that.” Her voice came out sharper than intended. “Don’t speak in those cold little fragments and expect me to stitch the truth together myself.” For a m

Lyra had always imagined that if powerful men ever came for her, it would happen with noise. Shouting. Panic. The crash of overturned stalls. The Hollow District loved a spectacle too much for anything else. Instead, the market went deathly silent. The kind of silence that carried fear in it. Every merchant nearby suddenly found something else to stare at. The dream seller turned away so quickly one of her glass bottles rolled off the table and shattered. The boy with the cursed lockets ducked behind his cart. Even the thing growling beneath the sewer grate seemed to sense the shift in power and fell quiet. Cassian Vale stood in front of Lyra’s tiny stall like midnight given human shape. Without the silver mask, he was somehow worse. Too sharp. Too controlled. The kind of face sculptors would ruin themselves trying to recreate. His gray eyes held no panic at the prophecy she had just spoken, only calculation. That frightened her more than fear ever could. The guard’s fingers

The Hollow District never truly slept. Even at midnight, the streets breathed. Not with peace, but with hunger. Blue fire lanterns swung above crooked alleyways, their flames hissing against the cold mist crawling up from the canal. Magic sellers shouted over one another from crowded stalls. A woman with silver eyes sold bottled dreams beside a boy hawking cursed lockets that pulsed like tiny hearts. Somewhere deeper in the maze of stone and shadow, something growled from beneath a sewer grate. Lyra Noctis pulled her hood lower and adjusted the velvet cloth over her little round table. Her stall was laughable compared to the others. A cracked crystal orb. Three moon cards. A brass candleholder with only one candle left. Still, people came. Because even in a city like Velmora, where floating palaces glittered above the clouds, fear made fools of everyone. And fear paid. “Tell me if my husband is cheating.” The woman across from her smelled of expensive rose oil and o