Novel-novel oleh Julia Davis

The next day, the kingdom was peaceful, truly peaceful, for the first time in years. The war scars were still visible, the rebuilding far from complete, but the threat of rogue attacks had passed, at least for now. Children played in the streets, packs trained without fear, and families worked side by side to restore what had been lost. It was a peace we hadn’t known in a long, long time. But there was still one more task, the Triad Sisters. They had recuperated fully under the healers’ care, their strength returning, their magic flickering brighter with every passing hour. They were ready to leave, to reclaim a life that had been stolen from them for far too long. My heart twisted at the thought of saying goodbye, but I knew this moment had to come. I met them at the edge of the forest where Xavier had arranged transport. The sisters stood together, frail but dignified, their eyes carrying the weight of centuries of imprisonment, yet now shining with quiet power. Even in their weak

I stood by the window of my shared room with Xavier, the wind tousling my hair, the first true calm I had felt since the war. My pack was rebuilding, the realm was slowly recovering, and for the first time, I could breathe without the weight of impending battle pressing down on me.It was a full moon, the scent of wet earth and pine filled the air, mingling with the faint smoke from the village fires as families rebuilt homes, rebuilt lives. I was watching it all unfold, when I started feeling it, a tightness in my lower stomach. "Goddess seriously?" I didn't want to call him but knew that it would get bad. I was on heat my wolf was beyond horny. I texted him.Me: Can you come to the room.Xavier: In a meeting with some of the pack Alphas, it's about allocating supplies to the packs.I sighed and waited for him. What he was doing was important, I know I should be there with him, but my body wanted him.A few minutes turned into half an hour. I was just about ready to storm down there

The days after the war felt almost unreal. Packs that had once fought tooth and claw now worked side by side, Shadowfang aiding Moonspire, Ironclaw rebuilding Bloodmoon’s outskirts. Warriors lifted timber, mothers cooked for neighboring families, and healers tended to wounds that had once been inflicted by rivals. Even the Lycan King himself oversaw supplies, ensuring no pack went without. The air was thick with smoke from cooking fires and the scent of fresh timber, but also with a sense of something the realm hadn’t felt in centuries: peace.Silvermoon, now without a leader, held a quiet council and chose Trevor,.Elliot’s cousin, as their new Alpha. His mate, Samantha, became their Luna. Both were steady and compassionate, and the pack welcomed them wholeheartedly. For the first time in years, Silvermoon felt safe. I was glad for them, especially because they were kind to me when I worked at the palace and how bravely they had fought beside us, even in the wake of Elliot’s betrayal.

The war ground had already been claimed long before we arrived. An open stretch of scorched valley between Blackridge Cliffs and the Ashen Plains, a place no pack ever dared to settle. It was neutral land, dead land, chosen by both sides for the battle that would decide the fate of every supernatural alive. Our tents were already raised, torchlight flickering against the night wind. Soldiers sharpened blades and checked armor, the air thick with the sharp, metallic taste of fear and adrenaline. They all looked to us the moment we entered. Xavier walked ahead, broad shoulders squared, voice steady, the kind of steady that grounded a trembling world. “You’ve trained for this,” he told the men. “You’ve bled for this. And you will win this.” Travis echoed the same words to the warriors under him, firing them up, reminding them of the packs who depended on us. And then I felt Xavier’s hand close around my wrist. “Come with me,” he said quietly. He led me away from the crowd, past

The room was heavy with fear when I stood up. Every Alpha stared at me as if I held the only light left in a collapsing world. I forced myself to breathe. If I broke, they would break. “My people,” I began, my voice calm but firm, “I know the losses tonight have shaken our hearts. I know fear is whispering that the rogues are stronger. I know we have buried sons and brothers, warriors we love.” Silence fell like a weight. “But hear me, we are not defeated.” Several heads lifted. “We have the blessing of the Moon Goddess. We have the strength of every pack united. We have the Lycans at our side. And most importantly… we have each other.” A faint murmur rippled through the hall. “The rogues want us divided, hopeless, broken. They want us to surrender our thrones, our homes, our children’s future. But we will not bend. Not now. Not ever.” My father watched me with an expression I had rarely seen on him, awe. And my in-laws, the famed Aetheris royals, nodded slowly, pride softe

We buried our dead at dawn.The sky was gray, the earth still wet from the night rain, and the smoke from the pyres carried the scent of loss across the camp. No one spoke. No one needed to. Grief hung over us like a second storm, heavy and suffocating.By midday, every Alpha still alive gathered.The air was tense, sharp, almost brittle. Even the strongest among us looked worn. Beaten. Shadows under their eyes, dried blood still on some of their clothes.I took my seat beside Xavier, feeling the weight of every life depending on us. When the meeting started, it didn’t take long before the first voice of doubt cracked the room.Elliot.He stood slowly, rubbing a hand over his face like he could erase the truth he was about to speak.“We are losing,” he said quietly. “All of us. And even with the Goddess’ blessing… even with the Lycan king's sacred land protecting us… the rogues...” he swallowed, “they’re still stronger. Their magic is overwhelming our defenses. We can’t win like this.

Gerrard drew in a breath. “About what happened in the past…” I lifted a hand gently, trying to spare him the weight of it. “Gerrard, you don’t have to...” “No,” he said, shaking his head. “Please. Let me clear this.” I nodded, quietly waiting. “I never stopped loving you,” he said. “Not for a second. Even after finding out the truth, about who you were, why you came, I was angry, yes. I was hurt, and I felt betrayed… but the love never left. When we found your father during the raid on the Santorini Syndicate, I… God, I just felt so much. I realized how much pain you carried all alone... I knew I couldn't blame you, you did what you had to to survive” He paused and took a breath, his voice catching a little. “But I was a coward. I couldn’t accept you, even though you accepted me, for all that I am.” My eyes brimmed before I could stop them. I opened my mouth to say something, but he kept going, his voice low and urgent. “And when you left, trust me, Annabelle, I wanted to hold

I stood at the edge of my kitchen floor, the polished tiles warm under my bare feet, and for a long, quiet moment, I just let myself feel it all. The clinking of glasses, the laughter floating in from the terrace, the soft jazz curling through the air like smoke. The scent of rosemary, butter, garlic, and slow-roasted dreams wrapped around me like an embrace. Rivera Cuisine. My restaurant. My soul. My home. Named after my father, Philip Rivera; the man who taught me how to peel garlic and how to stand tall in a room that tried to shrink me. I wanted his name to live on, not tied to sorrow, not as a footnote in someone else’s story, but as something that meant warmth, comfort, healing. Something beautiful. The sign outside caught the light just right, the gold cursive glowing softly against the evening. And inside, warm woods, soft lighting, clean lines. Nothing loud, nothing flashy, just honest, just me. I had done it. After a year of intense training at Le Cordon Bleu, lon

It had been a full year since I first walked into the Amari Grace Project building, nervous and unsure, with barely more than a suitcase and a cracked heart.Twelve months later, I was no longer the same woman.I had rebuilt myself, slowly, steadily. Piece by piece. No longer shaped by fear or control, but by freedom, by healing, and by choice.Therapy wasn’t easy. There were weeks I cried more than I slept, and moments I nearly walked out. But I stayed. And for once, I didn’t run.I learned how to breathe again. How to trust my own voice. How to say no without guilt. I began to dream, not for someone else, not to survive, but for myself.And somewhere in that journey, I found my passion again.Cooking.I had always loved it, the rhythm of it, the creativity, the way food could bring comfort when words failed. At the Grace Project, they noticed. I was encouraged to train, to explore it professionally.And I did.From catering the weekly women’s circles, to hosting community brunches,

That night, I went back to the hotel where I had stayed after Gerrard left me stranded on the roadside.Everything looked just the same, the dimly lit hallway, the soft hum of the air conditioner, the faint scent of old furniture and citrus-scented cleaner. But something inside me was different now.I curled into the unfamiliar sheets, staring at the ceiling, my thoughts spinning.For the first time, I saw my life for what it had been.I had never really lived for myself. I’d been passed from one man’s will to another, used, shaped, controlled. Bruno, Gerrard, Sammie. Even my father, in the quiet ways he’d taught me to shrink and please and stay silent.I had never truly owned my story.But now… I would start.A small, brave smile crept onto my face.And for the first time in a long while, I slept in peace.---The next morning, I woke early, my heart steady with quiet purpose.I opened my purse and pulled out the business card I had kept tucked away for months.Dante Amari.I stared

When I got home, I couldn’t find Sammie at first, but his car was parked out front. The house was quiet, too quiet. Eventually, I found him on the rooftop, standing by the edge, a glass in his hand. He was staring down at the city below, still and brooding. He must have seen me come in. Without turning, he spoke. “You went to see Gerrard, didn’t you?” I didn’t answer right away. The wind carried the scent of his drink, whiskey, sharp and bitter. He turned to face me, eyes dark with frustration. “I’m doing everything for you,” he said, his voice rising. “Everything. But no matter what I do, you keep crawling back to the man who threw you away.” I stood still, jaw clenched. “You embarrassed me today,” he snapped. “You said no. In front of everyone. After everything I’ve done for you. I gave you a home, safety, love. I’ve been patient, I’ve waited—God knows I’ve waited.” I still didn’t say a word. I was too angry, too disappointed to speak yet. He took a step closer, his tone

I decided to pick up the pieces of my life. It was slow, achingly slow, but every morning, I got up. I tried. I brushed my hair, sat by the window, and breathed. That was something. There wasn’t much to do, though. Sammie wouldn’t let me. He hovered constantly, wouldn't even let me cook for myself. He treated me like something delicate, something on the edge of breaking. I knew he meant well, and part of me appreciated it. But another part, tired, restless, grew irritated. I wasn’t fragile, I had been through fire. I could handle my own life, and yet, here I was, tiptoeing around someone else's version of care. One afternoon, Sammie came home looking lighter than I’d seen him in weeks. “I’ve wrapped up the business with Gerrard,” he said, grinning as he loosened his tie. “We’ll be heading back to Germany soon.” I forced a smile. “That’s good news.” He walked over and kissed my forehead. “We’ve done everything we needed to here. It’s time to start fresh.” But something in me re