Novel-novel oleh Katie Haddad

Nyxara POV The moment Rowan grabs my wrist, I understand the truth I’ve spent centuries avoiding—survival isn’t always about hiding; sometimes, survival is about choosing the wrong person to stand beside and hoping you don’t regret it. --- His hand wraps around my wrist like he has already decided something my body hasn’t agreed to yet, his grip warm and firm in a way that should not feel grounding, that should not feel like anything other than an intrusion, because touch has always been the quickest path to vulnerability and vulnerability has always been the first step toward extinction. I should rip free. I should disappear into shadow the way I have done a thousand times before, letting distance swallow consequence, letting silence erase evidence, letting the world forget I was ever here. But above us the theater groans with movement, the fragile bones of the abandoned building complaining under the weight of human boots and heavy equipment, and I can hear the pattern

Nyxara POV The moment silver pierces Rowan Varkas, time fractures into something fragile and unbearable, because I have lived long enough to know exactly how easily creatures like him are erased. --- The sound of the gunshot arrives after the impact, as if reality itself hesitates before acknowledging what has already happened, and for a single suspended moment the world seems to narrow into the space between Rowan’s body and the silver that has just torn through it. I see the instant it connects. Not because the movement is slow, but because my senses have always existed differently than human perception allows, stretching moments into something wider, something heavier, something impossible to ignore. The silver round slices into his side with violent precision, not grazing, not hesitating, but burying itself deep enough that I feel the shock of it through the air itself, as if the world recognizes the intrusion of something unnatural into flesh that was never meant t

Nyxara POV I have watched empires fall. I have watched entire species vanish. But nothing terrifies me more than humans who learned how to hunt gods. --- The first thing humans learned was how to stop being afraid. The second thing they learned was how to make us afraid instead. I feel them before I see them. Not Rowan. The hunters. Their presence moves through the city like infection beneath skin—slow, precise, inevitable. Humans walk past them without noticing, blind to the quiet violence hidden beneath tactical armor and silver-lined weapons. But I notice. Creatures like me always notice. Because creatures like me learned the hard way that humans stopped being prey a very long time ago. I stand in the alley, every instinct alive beneath layers of restraint, every nerve sharpened by centuries of survival. Rowan Varkas stands behind me, close enough that I feel his heat, his breath, his existence. Too close. Wolves were never meant to stand this clos

Rowan POV The woman standing in front of me does not smell like prey. She smells like something that survived extinction. --- I notice her before she notices me. That alone tells me she isn’t human. Humans are loud in ways they don’t understand. Their heartbeats race without reason. Their breathing shifts with emotion. Their bodies betray every instinct. They exist like fragile prey pretending they aren’t prey at all. She doesn’t. She moves through the street with controlled precision, her pace steady, her breathing even. Her scent— I inhale slowly from the shadows, trying to identify it. Nothing. Not human. Not wolf. Not anything. It’s like trying to smell absence. My wolf stirs immediately, restless beneath my skin. Alert. Interested. That alone puts me on edge. Interest gets wolves killed. Interest gets packs destroyed. I step into the alley after her anyway. Because survival also requires knowledge. And she is something I need to und

Nyxara POV The moment his eyes lock onto mine, I know survival is no longer guaranteed. --- Humans didn’t just win the war. They reshaped the world so completely that creatures like me became something impossible. A mistake. A myth. A ghost wearing skin. I walk through the city beneath artificial light that never dims, never flickers, never allows true darkness to exist anymore. Humans learned quickly that monsters prefer shadow. So they built a world without it. Or at least, that’s what they believe. Streetlights stretch endlessly down concrete roads. Surveillance drones hover silently above crowded intersections. Cameras perch on every corner, watching, recording, analyzing. Hunting. Always hunting. I keep my head down as I move with the crowd, matching their pace, matching their breathing, matching their fragile illusion of safety. Humans surround me on all sides, their heartbeats loud in my ears, their warmth radiating throug