Novels by Ella Wealth

The Cradle swallowed us whole, the tear’s violet light spitting us onto a plateau of black stone, its surface veined with glowing runes that pulsed like a heartbeat. The air was heavy, charged, not with the city’s metallic tang but something older—earth, blood, time itself. The mark on my chest burned, syncing with the dagger in my hand and the shard in Lyra’s grip, their symbols flaring in unison, tying us to this place, to the Veil’s first node, its forge. The bond with Lucian thrummed—his fierce resolve, my trembling courage, our shared defiance—but it couldn’t drown out the flame’s voice, it’s time, or the shadow’s distant laugh, a cold thread weaving through my blood. The trinity—lock, spark, flame—was here, and the Cradle was waking, its echoes stirring, ready to test us.Lucian stood close, his blade drawn, blood crusted on his arm, his silver eyes scanning the plateau’s edges, where cliffs dropped into a void—not sky, but chaos, stars and shadows churning, the Veil’s raw edge

The pack’s compound loomed ahead, its wooden walls scarred but standing, torches casting flickering light against the encroaching dusk. The forest was quiet now, the hum of the city’s bridge gone, the shadow’s scream—my scream—fading into memory, but the mark on my chest pulsed, a relentless tie to her, to the flame, to the Veil’s trembling heart. The dagger in my hand felt heavier, its symbols faintly glowing, syncing with the shard in Lyra’s grip—the other me, the spark, her blue eyes wide with the same exhaustion and fear I felt. The bond with Lucian burned—his steady resolve, my unraveling certainty, our shared fight—but it couldn’t silence the flame’s words: lock, spark, flame, the Veil’s trinity, to choose. A choice I didn’t understand, but one that held the world’s fate.Lucian led, his blade sheathed but his hand close, blood crusted on his arm, his silver eyes scanning the compound’s gates for threats. “We’re here,” he said, his voice rough, a mix of relief and tension. “The

The forest’s edge was a jagged line between us and the pack’s compound, its smoke curling into a sky bruised with fading violet, the last trace of the fracture’s glow. The mark on my chest pulsed, a steady ache tying me to her—my shadow—and now to the other me, the spark, standing beside me, her blue eyes mirroring my exhaustion, her shard glowing faintly in her trembling hand. The dagger at my hip was warm, its symbols dim but alive, a quiet reminder of the power we’d wielded—and the cost. The bond with Lucian thrummed—his fierce heartbeat, my fraying resolve, our shared determination—but it couldn’t silence the Architect’s voice, "bring them to me", or her laugh, "you’re mine", still echoing in my bones. We’d pushed them back, but the war was closing in, and we were running out of time.Lucian’s hand rested on my arm, his silver eyes scanning the trees, blood crusted on his face, his wounds raw but ignored. “We’re almost there,” he said, his voice low, rough from the fight. “The pac

The forest stood frozen in the aftermath, the glowing runes on the ground now ash, their light snuffed out like a dying star. The gate was gone, its collapse leaving only a faint hum in the air, a ghostly echo of the city beyond the Veil. My chest heaved, the mark pulsing with a dull, insistent ache, tying me to her—my shadow—and now to her, the other me, the spark they’d hidden, standing before me with my face, my voice, but blue eyes brimming with fear and a shard glowing in her trembling hands. The dagger in my grip felt heavier, its symbols flickering, as if unsure of the new presence—her shard, my dagger, two pieces of the same fractured whole. The bond with Lucian thrummed—his fierce resolve, my spiraling shock, our shared need to survive—but it couldn’t quiet the truth screaming in my mind: I was not one, but many, split by a ritual, bound to the Veil, and now reunited in a war I barely understood.Lucian’s blade stayed raised, his body a shield between me and her—the other me—

The valley’s stillness was a fragile mask, the air thick with the fading echo of the Architect’s voice and her scream—my scream—still ringing in my ears. The mark on my chest pulsed, a dull ache now, but alive, tying me to her, to him, to the Veil and its war. The dagger lay in my hand, its symbols dim but warm, a silent vow of battles yet to come. The bond with Lucian thrummed—his steady pulse, my fraying courage, our unbreakable tether—but it couldn’t erase the truth: I was the heart of a conflict older than the pack, older than me, and the city beyond the Veil was only the beginning.We stood in the mud, battered and bloodied, the stones behind us dark, their runes extinguished, the spiral’s glow gone. Lucian’s hand rested on my shoulder, his silver eyes fierce despite the blood streaking his face, his wounds untended but ignored. “We need to get back,” he said, his voice rough, cutting through the valley’s quiet. “The pack’s vulnerable, and we need answers—about the nodes, the Arc

The valley’s silence was a lie, a thin veneer over the trembling pulse of the Veil, still fragile after the core’s destruction. The mark on my chest throbbed, a faint but persistent echo of her—my shadow, my twin—weakened but not defeated, her presence a cold whisper in my blood. The dagger hung at my hip, its symbols dark, its hum silenced, but I felt its weight like a promise of battles yet to come. The bond with Lucian burned—his heartbeat a steady drum, my resolve a flickering flame, our shared defiance a shield against the truths I’d uncovered in the Between: I wasn’t just pack, wasn’t just Angel. I was the Veil’s lock, its key, forged in a ritual I didn’t remember, tied to a city that called me home.We trudged through the muddy pass, the storm’s remnants dripping from jagged cliffs, the air heavy with the scent of wet stone and something sharper, metallic, like blood. Lucian walked beside me, his blade sheathed but his hand hovering near it, blood crusted on his arm, his silve