Novels by Moonchild

Mike I watched the lies go viral from the quiet corner of my office. The glossy headline blinked at me from my phone screen. Jennifer’s painted smile, all high cheekbones and glinting malice, stared back at me. “She and Eloise were once creative partners,” the article claimed. “Eloise left bitter, jealous, and has been trying to sabotage Jennifer’s success ever since.” Bullshit. I leaned back in my chair, rubbing my face with both hands. The truth wasn’t even in the same galaxy as that headline, but the public didn’t care about truth. They cared about performance. Pageantry. And Jennifer? She performed like her life depended on it. I scrolled further. There were comments, thousands of them, many siding with her. “Jealousy is ugly,” one wrote. “Team Jennifer,” another said. And yet, buried in the noise, were a few signs of doubt. A few people asking, If Eloise was such a villain, why isn’t she speaking out? Because she’s exhausted. Because the woman never wanted a war, just pea

Jennifer I always felt a thrill stepping in front of the crowd. The flash from cameras. The rustle of purses and champagne flutes. Tonight was no different. Lucian stood behind me, arms folded, suit like armor. The launch was going well, I could feel the momentum. I’d said we’d only drop an edit of what I’d done before, a refined version, something with less grit. People bought it. Devoured it. But I knew the real victory was still coming. Eloise’s indie dream was unraveling. Her fruit-of-the-soil magic wouldn’t last long. I knew how to manipulate attention. How to control a narrative. … The next morning, I met with Kristen Tully, fashion editor at Vogue Noir, at Rise & Grind Café. She’d been calling me for days, squealing about my line’s emotional depth. Perfect! I parted the vinyl-black curtains, catching Kristen’s eye. She waved, coffee in hand. “Jennifer, love,” she said softly when I sat, “everyone’s talking about your new direction. Emotional resonance, storytellin

Eloise The night before the launch, I couldn’t sleep. I sat by the window in my small apartment, legs curled under me, nursing a mug of chamomile tea that had long since gone cold. The quiet sound of the city below did little to ease my nerves. My dress form stood in the corner, clothed in one of my favorites, textured linen stitched with raw seams, the lines purposeful, almost confessional. It was the kind of piece you could only make after you’ve fallen apart a few times and stitched yourself back together. Max was asleep in the next room, finally, after asking one too many questions about his father again. I’d deflected with vague answers, promises I didn’t know if I could keep, Maybe soon. We’ll see. Let’s talk about it later, honey. But later always felt like a threat. Tomorrow was supposed to be my rebirth. Quiet, yes, an indie event located in a forgotten wing of the city’s old garment district. But it was mine. My story. My designs. My voice. So when my phone buzzed at 6 a

Lucian The numbers looked good. Better than good, actually. But behind the figures, behind the thin smiles and the forced champagne toasts, something kept crawling under my skin like a splinter. Eloise. It was laughable, really. After everything, she was still clawing her way back,quietly, subtly. I knew she’d never launch another line under her name again. Too much shame, too much baggage. But her signature? That part of her that bled into every jewel she ever crafted? It was unmistakable. And now it was back. Not in the form of precious stones or sleek gold bands, but in rawer, unpredictable fabrics, draped and chaotic, almost like grief woven into silk. I caught wind of the buzz through a fashion scout over lunch. He was sipping gin and muttering about some underground designer with “guts” and “grit,” someone whose fabric sketches were popping up on indie mood boards, worn by mid-tier influencers. I didn’t even need to ask the name. It reeked of her. I clenched my jaw and n

Mike I didn’t want to be right. When Eloise confided in me about Jennifer possibly copying her new designs, again, I told her I’d look into it just to calm her down. I figured maybe it was coincidence, maybe a stylist with a big mouth, or hell, maybe Jennifer was just that good at stealing from the past. But the way Eloise’s hands trembled the first time Jennifer stood her designs, the way her voice cracked when she said, “I just wanted to start fresh,” I knew I couldn’t write it off. I made a few calls. Quiet ones. The kind that don’t leave digital footprints or blow back to Eloise. The atelier she was working with was a modest one located into a narrow building on Rue Saint-Honoré. It was a normal underground building, exactly the kind of place that made it easy for someone like Jennifer to get their hooks into. My gut told me where to start, and sure enough, it didn’t take long to find the loose thread. Her name was Elise, one of the interns. She looked harmless enough. Big br

Eloise The fabric samples were spread across my dining table, chaotic but beautiful. Layers of chiffon, velvet, silk blends with textured patterns, each one holding a story I hadn’t told yet. I ran my fingers across a swatch dyed deep plum. It reminded me of how I’d felt the day Jennifer’s first stolen collection debuted, wounded but still surviving. This wasn’t jewelry. Not entirely. I had taken a risk and followed a different thread, literally. Sketches that once started as necklace pendants grew into abstract patterns, evolving into textiles, eventually blooming into a capsule collection of garments. The irony wasn’t lost on me; I wasn’t just dressing women anymore, I was dressing their pain, their resilience, their rebirths. My name wasn’t attached to the collection. That was the first rule I made with Tami, the owner of the atelier in Brooklyn who’d agreed to help me produce it. “It’ll be our secret,” she said that first day in her cozy backroom studio, her curls piled high

Kara The wind was relentless. Every step I took felt too light. Like the earth wasn’t sure if it wanted to hold me anymore. And still, I kept walking. I didn’t know what I was looking for. Only that I had to move. I had to get away from the memories, the look on Jaxon’s face when he ignored me, the laughter in Elvira’s eyes, the betrayal that still scraped at my insides like a knife. The trees thinned around a ridge. Smoke curled in the air. I crouched behind a rock, instincts sharpening. My eyes, now tinged with the silver sheen the Fae cursed me with, scanned the area. And then I saw him. A man. Tall, armed, with a smirk plastered on his annoyingly symmetrical face. He leaned against a boulder near a makeshift watchtower, watching the path like he owned it. His hair was dark, tousled in a way that made me instantly distrust him. His clothes weren’t Bloodmoon. Morrien. Which meant— Independent. Or worse. One of the Queen’s spies. I walked forward, ready to pass undetected.

Ronan The Council Hall loomed ahead. I hadn’t even planned to show up until the next cycle. But then Lila called. Frantic and urgent. “Ronan, please. It’s urgent. They’re voting on it now. You have to be here.” No specifics. Just her voice, panic rippling beneath each syllable. I didn’t question it. Now, seated in the Council chamber, with twelve pairs of eyes flickering from ancient tomes to digital screens, I regretted the blind trust instantly. The room buzzed with tense whispers. I caught the tail-end of Lila’s speech as I stepped in. “…what Jaxon is proposing would destroy the equilibrium. Kale could be next. You all know how close they are. He’s preparing a consolidation decree.” My boots echoed as I walked down the aisle. Lila’s gaze snapped to me, relieved, too relieved. “Thank the moon,” she breathed. “You made it.” “I don’t even know what this is about,” I muttered under my breath as she ushered me to a seat beside her. “Jaxon’s overstepping,” she whispered. “He’

Deric The gravel cracked under my boots as I walked up to Pack tower. The moon set low behind the clouds, and for the first time in years, I didn’t feel at home approaching this house, it felt worse as I stood at Jaxon’s office door. Everything I’d built, every secret I’d buried, was catching fire. I knocked once, hard. The door opened after a beat, but it wasn’t Jaxon who answered. Cassian. His eyes raked over me, and he didn’t move from the threshold. “Jaxon home?” I asked, trying to sound casual, like my entire life hadn’t been dragged through a shredder in the last forty-eight hours. Cassian leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. “Why? So you can finish what you started?” That hit harder than I expected. So he already knows. I frowned. “What the hell does that mean?” His stare didn’t waver. “It means the council is reviewing the footage. You’ve made enemies, Deric. But the worst part? You didn’t just betray us. You betrayed him.” “I didn’t betray Jaxon,” I snapped.

Elvira The city was unusually quiet for a Saturday afternoon. The sun set lazily above the sky, its golden hue failing to reach the growing cold that coiled in my chest. I stood across the street from the apartment complex, staring up at the third floor, at apartment number 307, the same one Rona told me when I asked him. He had asked me why I was going to see him and of course I lied that I had a package I was going to deliver personally to him. My fingers trembled around my phone. I had every intention of turning back. Of pretending I didn’t know. Of not pushing this further than it already hurt. But then the apartment door cracked open. A woman stepped out. Human. Brunette, tall, dressed in an oversized hoodie. My breath hitched. She giggled into her phone as she locked the door, and then tossed her hair, kissed her teeth, and strutted down the sidewalk like she owned the damn street. My feet moved before my brain caught up. I stormed across, fists clenched, each step echoin

Jaxon I’ve never liked the taste of blood in my mouth, especially when I’m angry. But when I crushed the glass in my palm, I didn’t flinch. Pain was a good distraction from betrayal. I stared at the shards embedded in my skin, blood trickling between my fingers and onto the polished obsidian table in the private room of the Pack Tower. Talon flinched, but the pack detective opposite us didn’t even blink. He’d seen worse. “You sure you want me to keep going?” He asked, gesturing to the blood dripping down my wrist. “I didn’t ask for your concern,” I said, voice flat. Talon stood from the corner, grabbing a cloth and pressing it into my hand with a sigh. “You’re hurting yourself.” The detective’s lips curled just slightly, like he was trying to suppress the satisfaction of being the bearer of this chaos. “I wouldn’t be here if this wasn’t critical. Believe me, I held off on this as long as I could. But it’s gone too far.” I waved my hand, urging him on. The man reached into the

Elvira I didn’t plan to be there. It started with a whisper in the library, a passing reference to a confidential report about Blood Moon movements in the west sector. Callan's name was now the head of discussions for patrollers. My heart stuttered. My instincts dragged me to the quiet corner of Pack Tower’s lower west wing, an annex that doubled as a liaison space for inter-pack relations and intelligence exchanges. It wasn’t a place I frequented. I saw the door crack before I heard the voices. “—Still no confirmation if the Blood Moon son in-law is active, but surveillance confirms Deric Voss has met with Verya twice, once at the hotel, and again near the human border. He’s either a fool, or he’s helping her.” My blood turned to slush. I pressed myself against the wall just outside the threshold, barely breathing. My skin prickled like it knew something my mind hadn’t caught up with. Deric? Meeting humans? And then that name. Verya. A thick shuffle of paper broke the silenc

Dear Readers, I can’t believe we’ve reached the end of Kelly’s story. Writing this book has been an emotional rollercoaster, and I know many of you have felt the highs and lows just as deeply as I have. Kelly’s journey wasn’t easy, there was pain, heartbreak, and moments where it seemed like happiness was out of reach. But through it all, she found strength, love, and a future worth fighting for. To everyone who stuck by this story, who cried, laughed, and rooted for Kelly, Aiden, Adrian, and even the complicated characters like Anderson and Kate, thank you. Your love and support mean everything. Though this book has ended, Kelly’s story will always live on in our hearts. And who knows? Maybe one day, there will be more to tell. But for now, I hope this ending brings you the closure and warmth that Kelly fought so hard to find. With love and gratitude, MOONCHILD.

Kelly The sun is warm against my skin, the sky a perfect colour of blue. A soft breeze carries the scent of roses and fresh-cut grass. The sound of distant laughter and murmured conversations fills the air, blending seamlessly with the soft notes of a violin playing somewhere nearby. It’s perfect. Everything about this day feels surreal, like stepping into a dream I never dared to imagine. A real wedding. Not a hidden ceremony. Not a desperate attempt to silence rumors. Just love. I close my eyes for a brief moment, taking it all in. The gentle rustling of the trees. The faint sound of conversation. The quiet presence of everyone who matters. Adrian’s family is here. After months of resentment and distance, they came. His mother, his father, Olivia, both watching with cautious but genuine smiles. Susan is here, standing with them, her expression warm, proud. And in the distance, I see Aiden straightening his suit, looking nervous and determined at the same time. Harper,

KellyNine months. Nine long, exhausting, emotional months. And now, I’m here. In a hospital bed, drenched in sweat, gripping Adrian’s hand so tightly that I’m sure I’ve cut off his circulation. My body feels like it’s being torn apart, and yet, I push. “Just a little more, Kelly!” the doctor encourages. Easy for them to say. They aren’t the ones feeling like their body is being split open. Adrian leans close, his lips brushing my forehead. “You’re almost there,” he murmurs, his voice steady, calming. “I’ve got you.” Tears sting my eyes. I don’t know if it’s from the pain or the overwhelming feeling that this moment is actually happening. And then, a sharp cry fills the room. My breath catches. The world seemed to stop. The doctor lifts a tiny, wriggling body into the air. “It’s a girl!” A sob escapes me. I collapse back against the pillows, my whole body trembling. Tears slip down my temples as I hear my daughter’s first sounds. I did it. She’s here. Adrian presses a

Kelly The morning is cold, the kind of D.C winter chill that seeps through the layers of your clothes and lingers deep in your bones. I clutch my coffee cup tighter, trying to soak in the warmth as I step out of the café. The city is alive as always, cars honking, people hurrying past, lost in their own worlds. And then I see her. At first, I didn't recognize the figure crouched near the side of the building, wrapped in an oversized hoodie, the fabric frayed at the edges. Her hair is tangled, falling over a gaunt face. Her fingers, red from the cold, clutch a small cardboard sign. ‘Hungry. Please help.’My breath catches. Kate. She’s thinner than I remember. A shell of the woman she once was. She sits with her knees pulled close, gaze darting to every passerby, but no one stops. No one even looks at her. And I realize, this is what rock bottom looks like. For a long moment, I just stood there. Then, before I can talk myself out of it, I move. She doesn’t notice me at fir

Kelly It happens on a quiet afternoon. Adrian and I are sitting on the couch, Harper curled up between us, absentmindedly flipping through a picture book while Adrian scrolls through emails on his phone. It’s peaceful. And then, I see his posture stiffen. I glance at him. “What’s wrong?” His brows are furrowed, lips pressing into a thin line as he reads whatever message is on his screen. For a long moment, he doesn’t answer. Then, finally, he exhales, setting the phone down on his thigh. “My parents,” he says, rubbing his jaw. “They want to talk.” I blink. I wasn’t expecting that. “Talk… as in?” “As in dinner. A sit-down conversation.” He shakes his head slightly, as if he’s still processing it himself. “They sent an invitation. No conditions. Just… a request to see me.” I can’t tell if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. His parents and I became a sore subject, one of the few places where his love for me had cost him something. I know how deeply it hurt him when they rej

KellyThe call came in the middle of the night. I wake up to the sound of my phone vibrating on the nightstand. My first thought is that it’s Adrian, maybe he’s checking in from the living room where he sometimes falls asleep after reading. But when I grab my phone and see Susan’s name glowing on the screen, my stomach twists. I answer on the second ring. “He’s gone,” she says softly. Two words. Just two words, and for a second, I feel absolutely nothing. I sit there in the dark, the phone pressed to my ear, my mind blank. I should have expected it, Anderson’s health had been failing, and yet… hearing it, knowing it’s real, knowing there will never be another word, another regret-filled gaze, it’s different. Susan stays quiet, as if she knows I needed a moment. Then, like a wave finally crashing, it hits. A sharp, aching weight pressing down on my chest. My throat tightens, my vision blurs, and before I can stop it, I let out a small, choked sob. I feel Adrian shift be