Novels by Aninda Cronje

Liora POVThe oracle’s words cling to me like damp mist, heavy and impossible to shake. Two days have passed since the grove, yet everything feels tilted, as though the ground beneath my feet has shifted without warning. The packhouse carries on—warriors training, omegas laughing, pups chasing each other through the halls—but inside me, a storm churns. The blood moon looms three weeks away, a silent countdown to a ritual I barely understand, and Aria remains caged, her presence a faint, frustrated pulse that grows stronger only when Kai is near.This morning, the Alpha office is a blur. My hands move on autopilot, sorting patrol logs and border reports, the familiar scents of ink and old leather doing little to ground me. I keep circling back to the oracle’s voice: The Silver Dagger… hidden where silver meets shadow… it holds the echoes of your ancestors. A relic that could strengthen my bond with Aria without awakening the curse. A key to who I really am.By noon, my stomach growls l

Kael POVThe Blood Moon Pack’s training yard is a world away from the rogue camps I scraped by in—no jagged rocks, no broken bottles underfoot, just packed dirt circles ringed by sturdy wooden posts, the morning sun glinting off training weapons that actually look maintained. Last night’s swearing-in still hums in my veins, Kai’s blood mixing with mine under the full moon, the pack link a new, faint buzz in my mind—some voices warm and curious, others sharp with distrust, like thorns hidden in fur. My hair is tied back in a messy knot, borrowed leather gear creaking with every shift of my weight. Veyra paces restlessly in my chest, claws itching to prove we’re more than the rogue label still clinging to me like old smoke. The air is crisp, laced with pine, sweat, and the sharp tang of steel, but it’s Dax’s cedar-and-storm scent that slams into me first, every damn time. Moon Goddess, this mate bond is a relentless pain in my arse.Dax is across the yard, barking orders at a cluster of

Kai POVThe packhouse clearing glows under the full moon’s silver gaze, the night air crisp with the scent of pine needles and damp earth, the kind that stirs the blood of every wolf gathered in a wide circle around the ancient stone altar at its centre. Torches flicker along the perimeter, their flames casting dancing shadows on the faces of my Blood Moon Pack—warriors standing tall and proud, omegas with arms linked, pups wide-eyed and hushed against their mothers—all gathered around the ancient stone altar at the heart of the clearing. The altar itself is weathered granite, etched with runes older than any living wolf, symbols of loyalty and blood that seem to pulse faintly tonight, as if the Moon Goddess herself leans close to witness what we do. Atlas paces within me, his massive presence a low rumble of pride laced with wariness – this swearing-in is a gamble, binding a former rogue to our core, but my word is law, and the pack trusts me to turn uncertainty into strength.Dax st

Kael POVHe leads me up the stone stairs, Dax’s broad back a solid shadow I follow, his cedar-and-storm scent wrapping around me like a tether I can’t—don’t want to—shake. The cold, damp air of the cells fades with every step, replaced by the warmer currents of the packhouse: pine from the polished floors, faint leather from old furniture, the lingering sweetness of fresh-baked cookies drifting from the kitchen we just passed. Veyra stirs in my chest, a low, excited growl rumbling through me, her quirky energy buzzing at the shift from chains to freedom. Freedom on a leash, sure, but still freedom.Dax stops at a door just down the hall from what I’m guessing is his own room—smart move, keeping his rogue “trouble” close enough to watch. He pushes it open, gesturing me inside with a tilt of his head, his dark eyes tracking my every move like he’s half-expecting me to bolt. I step past him, brushing close enough that our scents tangle, honeysuckle and storm, and Veyra purrs traitorously

Leila/Liora POVThe packhouse kitchen is a warm cocoon, its worn wooden counters dusted with flour, the air rich with the buttery sweetness of fresh-baked bread and the sizzle of melted butter in a skillet - a sanctuary that soothes the raw edges of my nerves after days of rogue attacks, the oracle’s chilling revelations, and those haunting dreams of Marcus’s betrayal. This room feels like a deep breath, a shield against the shadows closing in. Aria stirs faintly in my chest, a soft vibration, not yet free from the silver’s curse but closer, like she’s waking to the comforting scent of Miss Ophelia’s warmth and the familiar rhythm of home. I stand at the counter, my hands clumsy with a mixing bowl, trying to follow Miss Ophelia’s patient orders as she bustles around, her calloused hands deftly shaping dough, her eyes crinkling with mischief.“Girl Child, you call that mixin’?” Miss Ophelia chides, her voice warm but teasing, her flour-dusted apron brushing my arm as she leans over to

Kai POVThe packhouse library is a sanctuary of forgotten tomes and flickering light, the air thick with the musty scent of aged leather and ink, a quiet refuge from the storm raging in my mind. Dust motes dance in the slivers of afternoon sun filtering through the high, arched windows, casting long shadows across the towering shelves lined with volumes that whisper secrets of packs long gone. The oracle’s words echo like a curse—Liora of Shadow Ridge, the lost heir, Silver Blessing and Shadow Curse—each syllable carving deeper into my chest, the weight of her revelations pressing like silver chains. Leila—Liora—the princess I’ve protected without knowing, her silver-proof blood a gift that makes her a target for every rogue, witch, and ambitious Alpha lurking in the shadows.I sink into the worn leather armchair by the stone fireplace; its cushions moulded from years of Alphas seeking solace here before me. A dusty volume on Shadow Ridge history lies open on my lap, the pages yellowe