Novels by Kristina Angels

Irene The third night tastes of copper and rain, though the sky is dry. Lanterns sway like tired stars, their light pooling over the roots in soft halos. The fruit hangs above us, smaller now—still pink, but faded, as if dawn forgot its own color. We’ve stopped pretending we aren’t counting heartbeats. Every flicker of light becomes a ledger line. Every silence, a debt we can’t afford. We keep vigil anyway. Rowan settles against the trunk, sword across his knees, eyes half-lidded but listening to everything. Kevin is a shadow at the perimeter, walking the ward lines with the patient anger of a mathematician who refuses to accept that the universe doesn’t answer to chalk. Elias warms honeyed water on a low flame, testing the temperature against his wrist like a father would. Tobias moves quieter now, laying herbs around the base in a pale ring—yarrow, angelica, white lavender—his garden songs little more than breath. Cassian stands near me, close enough that I feel his heat a

Irene Morning creeps in quietly, pale and thin, as if afraid to touch the grove. No one speaks when the light arrives. The fire has burned down to ash, the lanterns flicker out one by one, and the only thing that still glows faintly is the fruit. It’s smaller than yesterday. I feel it before I see it — a hollow ache behind my ribs, as if my own heart shrank to match. Cassian stirs beside me, brushing soot from his sleeve. His eyes are red around the edges. “Did you sleep?” he asks. I shake my head. “You?” He doesn’t answer. That’s answer enough. The others begin to wake in fragments. Rowan pushes himself upright with a low groan. Tobias blinks like a child who forgot how mornings work. Kevin’s first movement is to reach for his notes. Elias only sighs and stares at his hands for a long time before flexing his fingers like a man who no longer trusts his own strength. The grove smells of tired bodies, smoke, and the faint sweetness of decay. Rowan mutters something about patrols

Irene The first night feels endless. Lanterns hang from the branches like captured stars, their flames swaying in rhythm with our breath. The grove smells of wet earth, honey, and smoke from the small fire we keep alive to warm the roots. We take turns watching the fruit, sleeping in shifts that never truly rest. Cassian assigned them — of course he did. He pretended it was strategy, but I saw the truth in his eyes: he just couldn’t bear for me to stay here alone. Rowan and Tobias guard first. Elias tends the small brazier, whispering words meant to heal the soil. Kevin marks the ward lines again, chalking the earth until his hands turn white. And me… I sit beside the Mother Tree, unable to move. The fruit glows faintly above, a fragile ember trapped in a world of shadows. I whisper to it. “I’m here, little one. You’re not alone.” It doesn’t answer, but sometimes the glow flickers, and I pretend that means something. Hours pass. Rowan’s pacing grows slower. Tobias hums softly

Irene I nod. Tears tease my lashes again. I’m so tired of crying. But there’s a kind of strength in it, too, the way the river is strong when it breaks itself on rocks and still runs with fury . The men return fast. Rowan with the ladder and strap. Tobias with linen, a clay bowl, and a bundle of herbs that smell like sunlight. Kevin with three extra cloaks and a tight mouth. Cassian with a small wooden figure I’ve never seen—a tiny wolf carved with care, smoothed by years of being held. “For luck,” he says, and tucks it into the crook of a branch. We work like a single body. Rowan secures the ladder and climbs first, steady as a mountain. He doesn’t touch the fruit; he measures the distance and ties the cradle strap to a higher limb, leaving a soft sling ready beneath. Elias mixes warm water with a lick of honey and murmurs to the mixture like healers have done for centuries. Tobias spreads the linen on the grass and arranges tiny bundles of herbs the way Elias taught him thi

Irene As i wake up, the sun already shines and the bed is cold. For some reason, my chest feels heavy, and is not because my boys are gone , it’s something else. The mother tree. I dress myself quickly and exit the house. I know something is wrong before I reach the clearing. The path smells different—less honey, more dust. The bees hum lower, a tired sound, as if their tiny bodies carry a secret they hate. Even the light feels thinner, stretched too far over too much morning. I start to run. Branches snatch at my sleeves. My breath shreds. The veil we wove over the grove recognizes me and parts, and then— No. The word rips out of me without sound. It’s only inside, like a knife that refuses to leave the wound. The pink fruit hangs where it should, small and perfect, but its glow is dimmed. The tender skin has lost its dewy sheen. At the base where stem meets branch, a sickly shadow has crept in, a bruise of gray. My knees buckle. I catch the trunk with both hands

Irene A week passes like a sigh between dawns. The world hasn’t stopped celebrating. Every morning, distant drums echo from other packs, and the air smells sweeter somehow—like even the earth is humming a quiet lullaby of forgiveness. The pink fruit still hangs beneath the Mother Tree’s highest branch, glowing softly each night as if it holds a tiny piece of dawn. Tobias, true to his word, becomes the happiest gardener anyone has ever seen. The first morning, he marched into the garden wearing gloves two sizes too big and a ridiculous straw hat that looked stolen from a scarecrow. “It’s called fashion,” he declared proudly. “Garden couture.” Rowan almost choked on his water. Elias laughed until he fell off the bench. Even Kevin—stern, composed Kevin—hid a smile behind his mug. Cassian only shook his head. “If the Goddess doesn’t strike him down for that hat, we might truly be forgiven.” But Tobias proved surprisingly dedicated. He learned the names of every plant by hea

Eva’s POV Sunlight spills across the room, warming the sheets as I wake beside Theo. His arm drapes over me, fingers brushing my shoulder, and for a moment, the world is still, quiet, perfect. I stir, letting him nuzzle my neck, breathing in his warmth. “Morning,” he murmurs, voice thick with sleep. “Morning,” I whisper back, pressing closer, savoring the simple intimacy. Then laughter—sharp, bright, irresistible—drifts from the garden. My eyes snap open. I frown, curiosity pulling me toward the balcony. Below, chaos unfolds like a scene from a painting I can’t stop staring at. Lenny is sprawled on the grass, Paris crouched atop him, roaring with laughter as he tackles him again and again. My young son—my heart wrapped in small human form—is gleefully squealing, delighted by every second. His name, my tribute to a man who once became like a father to me, feels weighty and full of meaning as I watch him. His tiny fists slap at Lenny’s shoulders as he giggles uncontrollably. Sonia

Eva’s POV The castle is buzzing, brighter than it has in decades. Every hallway smells of fresh flowers, incense, and a hint of warm honey from the kitchens. Theo has spared no detail. The coronation party is not just a celebration—it’s a declaration: I am his queen, and my place is beside him. I pace the corridor outside the grand hall, taking a deep breath, letting the energy of anticipation fill me. Sonia adjusts my veil, her fingers gentle but firm. “You look radiant,” she says, her smile soft but proud. I glance at her, at Trixie smoothing her own gown, at Samantha fussing slightly over the folds of her dress. “I feel like I’ve stepped into a dream,” I admit. Trixie grins. “Then let’s make it a perfect one. No fainting, no crying too early, just pure queen energy.” Samantha laughs, brushing a stray lock of hair from my face. “You are already perfect, Eva. No coronation could add more.” Just then, the doors swing open, and my heart skips. Mary enters, cradling her tiny

Eva’s POV The castle towers rise above the trees like a memory I once tried to bury. For so long, I thought I would never return here. And yet, here I am, and I am not alone. Our convoy rolls slowly into the courtyard, Theo at the forefront with Sonia and Michael hand in hand, Parker with Trixie, Lenny with Elias, all of us riding together, a united front. The engines cut off, and immediately, the castle’s inhabitants bow low in respect—warriors, servants, even children kneeling, heads lowered. The sight steals the air from my lungs. I glance around, taking in the familiar faces of my friends and mate, and the weight of home hits me full force. Sonia gives me a reassuring squeeze of her hand, Michael grins, Parker winks at Trixie, and Lenny leans slightly into Elias. I swallow hard, overwhelmed by how right it feels to be surrounded by them all. “Eva!” Samantha’s voice cuts through the quiet awe. “Carl!” My mother and father burst through the castle doors, running across the cour

Nathaniel’s POV The garden is quiet this afternoon. The sun filters through branches heavy with blossoms, and the air carries the faint perfume of lavender and rosemary. I follow the path between the hedges until I see them. Isabella sits on a stone bench, her hair loose over her shoulders, her fingers idly weaving a crown of daisies. Beside her, Simone kneels on the grass, laughing softly as a butterfly lands on her hand. For a moment, I stop walking. They look like a painting—mother and daughter, bound by blood and love, healing together. I clear my throat gently. “May I join you?” Isabella looks up, her smile blooming like the flowers around her. “Nathaniel. Of course.” Simone waves, her eyes bright. “Uncle!” She still says the word with wonder, as if tasting it on her tongue. I sit opposite them, folding my hands. “I’ve come with news. Good news, this time.” Isabella arches a brow. “Good news is rare from your lips. Tell us quickly before it changes.” I chuckle. “Your cove

Nathaniel’s POV The camp feels alive again. Children run between the cabins, sparring partners laugh as they drop their wooden swords, and the summer breeze carries the smell of pine and fresh bread from the kitchens. For once, there is no darkness pressing down on us—only anticipation. I stand in the training hall, sunlight slanting through the tall windows. Before me, chairs are set in a loose circle. Slowly, they fill. Samantha and Carl enter first, side by side, though Carl keeps glancing at her as if making sure she isn’t about to vanish. Selene and Zach follow, Zach’s hand resting protectively on her back. They sit across from each other, exchanging polite nods but also that nervous, shared curiosity that binds all parents when they wait for news. When the room settles into silence, I take a breath. “Thank you all for coming. I know you’ve been waiting, and today I can finally give you answers.” Samantha leans forward, her hands trembling in her lap. “It’s about Eva, isn’t i

Paris’s POV The engines rumble like restless beasts as four jeeps wait at the gate. The courtyard is quieter than usual, the laughter from yesterday’s feast already feeling like a distant echo. Today, my home will feel emptier. “Ready?” I ask, though my voice doesn’t quite hold steady. Michael throws his bag into the back of a jeep, rolling his eyes. “As ready as we’ll ever be. Beds, here I come.” Lenny groans. “Finally.” They try to lighten the air, but even their banter can’t cut through the heaviness pressing down on us all. Kostas stands stiff beside me, jaw tight, eyes burning holes into the ground. Lily hovers near him, her hand brushing his, steadying him in ways words can’t. Eva hugs Katerina first, then Nikos, then Kristina. When she turns to me, her eyes shine, though she blinks quickly as if to hide it. “Thank you,” she whispers. “For welcoming me. For making me feel… like I belong.” I place a hand on her shoulder, forcing myself to smile. “Family is not alw