Novels by Moonchild

Zara The world had a way of pressing its claws into me until I bled. And I was sick of bleeding. I’d spent weeks—months—walking around as though my skin were parchment, every new rumor searing me open, every lie carving deeper until I could hardly breathe. Alex’s whispers had become wildfire, spreading through the halls of Blackwood like smoke in the lungs. Wherever I went, eyes clung to me, not with awe, but with suspicion, hunger, glee at the idea of watching me crumble. I was done crumbling. If Alex wanted a villain, then she would get one. That thought sat inside me like poison at first, bitter and burning. But poison had its uses. Poison killed. Poison, when measured, was power. And I had nothing left to lose. . The day I returned to school after the break, everything was wrong. The corridors seemed narrower, the walls whispering with voices that weren’t kind. I could hear Alex’s venom dripping through the gossip: She used Jace. She staged the kidnapping for attention. S

Alex POV The moment I step back onto campus after break, I can feel it—the whispers, the tension, the way everyone is watching Zara as if she’s some tragic heroine. Their eyes flicker toward her as though she’s delicate glass, just waiting to shatter. It makes me sick. She walks in a step slower than everyone else, her driver having dropped her off at the gates like some precious doll that needs protecting. She tucks her hair behind her ear, pretending not to notice the stares. But I see her. I always see her. She thrives on it—the attention, the sympathy, the narrative that bends itself around her fragile shoulders. Almost kidnapped. Poor Zara. What a joke. The rumors already circulate in soft, pitying tones: how a black car tried to take her, how Zarek saved her, how she was so brave. Brave. As if she didn’t orchestrate the entire thing just to cement her place in this school, to glue herself tighter to the dragon boy’s side. And I’ll make sure everyone knows it. . The cafe

Jace POV The first morning back after the two–week break felt wrong. The air around Blackwood Academy was the same as always—but the energy wasn’t. It carried whispers instead of laughter. Rumors slithered across the courtyard like snakes, curling between lockers, slipping beneath doorways, burrowing under skin. And every whisper had the same name threaded through it. Zara. I leaned against the rooftop railing, arms folded, eyes fixed on the gates below. From up here, I could see everything, the students trickling back, the gleaming black cars lined up along the drive, the clusters of friends reuniting. I was supposed to feel relief that things were returning to normal. I didn’t. Because nothing was normal anymore. I heard it in hushed voices. Did you hear? Someone tried to take her. No way, not Zara— The dragon prince was there, wasn’t he? Maybe he staged the whole thing. Every rumor was poison, and I swallowed each one until they sat heavy in my chest. I didn’t need proof

Zarek’s POV The street was still scorched where my fire had touched it. Smoke curled lazily from the asphalt, mingling with the acrid scent of singed flesh. Zara’s breathing was still ragged, uneven, her body trembling even as she tried to steady herself. Talia hovered near her, torn between concern and fear—the kind directed at me. I couldn’t blame her. She’d seen what I was. And Zara… Her wide eyes burned into me. Not gratitude. Not relief. Something sharper. More of suspicion. I looked away before I could dwell on it, before I let the faint tremor in my own hands show. Control. Always control. “Go home,” I told Talia, my voice low, and clipped. She hesitated. “But—” “Now.” My eyes flicked to hers, a deliberate threat woven in. Not for her, but for anyone who thought of lingering. She swallowed, nodded, and after a glance at Zara, hurried away down the street. That left just the two of us. I spotted her leaning against the marble column, her shoulders tight, her knuckles

Zara’s POV The car suddenly went another crazy stop in front of us. Then quickly, the doors clicked open. One, two, three. Men climbed out, their movements too casual, too deliberate. At first, I thought they were just men. But then the wind shifted. The stench hit me like a slap. Sour and metallic, threaded with decay. A smell my wolf recognized before my mind could name it—rogues. My heart lurched into my throat. Talia’s body shifted in front of mine instinctively, protective without a thought. Her voice was steady, though I caught the tightness at the edges. “Zara… don’t panic. Just… keep walking.” But the men didn’t move aside. One of them stepped forward, his smile a parody of friendliness. “Evening, ladies. Out a bit late, aren’t we?” The words dripped with something oily. My hands clenched around my bag’s handles until my knuckles ached. “We don’t want trouble,” Talia said, her voice firmer this time. The man laughed, a guttural, coarse sound. “That’s the problem. W

Zara POV The days at home bled together like dull shades of gray. I’d thought coming back would give me a little peace after the chaos of the engagement party, but instead it felt like I was suffocating in my own silence. The walls of my father’s mansion carried whispers I couldn’t reach, secrets thick enough to clog the air. Aunty May tried—she really did. She’d bustle into my room, leaving fresh tea by my bedside, asking questions about my semester, my classes, my wolf run. But every time her words brushed too close to the truth, I swallowed mine whole. I couldn’t tell her about Atlas storming away from me, about the rogue wolf’s glowing eyes, about Jace showing up out of nowhere… about Zarek. Especially not about Zarek. But the silence was eating me alive. That morning, over breakfast, my tongue slipped before my mind could stop it. “Aunty May…” My fork clattered against the porcelain. “Do you know anyone named Mira Blackwood?” The name cut the air sharper than glass. For h

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

Dear Readers, This book has been the hardest story I’ve ever written. There were moments when I felt completely lost, wondering if the story I was writing even made sense, and yet, through every twist, turn, and late-night writing session, I pushed forward because of you, because of the characters you’ve grown to care about alongside me. I won’t pretend that finishing it won’t feel bittersweet. I’ve laughed, cried, and sometimes doubted myself, but now that it’s complete, I hope you feel the depth, the love, the heartbreak, and the joy I tried to pour into every page. Writing this story has been exhausting, terrifying, and exhilarating all at once, and while I may not miss the struggles, I will always treasure the world we created together. Thank you for sticking with me, for believing in Elvira, Jaxon, Deric, and all of Morrien. I hope you love this ending as much as I’ve loved writing it for you.

Elvira The night air carried a delicate hush, broken only by the soft rustle of leaves in the cool breeze. Moonlight spilled over the rolling countryside, brushing the treetops with silver and illuminating the small gathering outside the courtyard. A low fire flickered in the stone hearth, sending shadows dancing across the grass, and the scent of freshly baked bread and roasted herbs mingled with the earthy perfume of the forest. Elyra sat on the wooden swing I’d pushed gently earlier, her rounded belly swaddled in a soft, cream-colored shawl. Kale crouched nearby, his fingers tracing absent patterns over the edge of the fire pit as he murmured stories about the pack’s history. His deep voice carried a calm certainty, a reminder that despite all the chaos of the past months, life had a rhythm worth savoring. Tonight, though, the conversation circled around joy rather than tension, laughter threading the air as Elyra tried to guess the gender of the little life moving within her. I

Elvira TWO DAYS LATER… The moment the words left my lips, I felt the room tilt on its axis. My hands were trembling slightly, though I tried to steady them by pressing them against the wooden wardrobe. “Jaxon… I’m pregnant.” He froze, mid-step, his broad shoulders stiffening like a statue. I could see it in the way his dark eyes widened, that brief, raw flash of disbelief, then something softer, almost luminous, bloomed across his face. A smile, hesitant at first, then unrestrained. It was as though the world had narrowed until it existed only for the space between us. “Pregnant?” His voice was low, barely above a whisper, and yet it carried the weight of wonder, of disbelief, of joy too profound for words. He stepped closer, each movement measured, cautious, as though approaching something fragile, sacred. “El… you’re… ours?” I nodded, laughter spilling through the small tremor in my chest. “Ours,” I confirmed, my voice catching on the syllable. And the truth was, it didn’t feel

Elvira The Bloodmoon countryside stretched before me, a landscape of muted deep, sleepy greens. The wind whispered through the rolling fields, carrying the faint scent of late summer flowers. I gripped the car wheels tighter, my pulse quickening with every mile closer to Father’s house. I hadn’t been sure I would come. Not until I confirmed that Felen had no way of reaching him, that her venomous curiosity wouldn’t taint what little serenity remained in his days. I remembered the chaos that had followed her disappearance, the rumors, the hunts, the betrayal, how close everything had been to slipping through our fingers. I had survived that storm with Jaxon at my side, and now, here I was, seeking silence in a house that belonged to a man whose mind had begun to betray him. The car came to a stop over the gravel, the sound unnervingly loud in the silence of the countryside, and I wondered if Father was awake, if he remembered who I was. The house came into view, a modest structure s

Deric The waning moon cast a pale, silvery light across Morrien, softening the edges of the pack’s compound yet leaving long shadows in the corners. Even now, after some of Felen’s spies had been dealt with, the residue of unease lingered. I walked slowly, my boots crunching over frost-hardened leaves, my hands shoved deep into the pockets of my coat. I had a destination in mind, though my steps faltered the closer I got: Elvira’s quarters. I stopped outside the door, listening for any sign of her. Nothing. The faint scent of lavender drifted through the partially open window, familiar and grounding, yet it made the knots in my chest tighten. “Deric?” Her voice, calm yet sharp, drew my attention. She leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, gaze cautious. “You wanted to see me?” I swallowed, suddenly aware of how stiff I probably looked. “Yeah. I… I thought we should talk,” I said, my voice uneven despite my best effort to sound steady. She didn’t step back, just tilted her he

Jaxon First-Person POV The morning sun filtered through the towering windows of the council hall, casting long streaks of gold across the stone floors. I stood at the head of the room, surveying the faces of my pack: weary but attentive, some skeptical, others cautiously optimistic. After the chaos of betrayals, attacks, and power plays, Morrien needed direction, and it was my responsibility to provide it. Celina stood near the back, her arms crossed, her usual sharp expression softened just slightly by the events that had passed. For months, she had watched me, questioned me, doubted me, and in her eyes I could see the wheels turning as she tried to reconcile the pack’s survival with the strength of our bonds. Including the one between Elvira and me. “Today, we begin a new chapter,” I started, letting my voice carry over the murmurs. “In the past month we’ve grown past the fear that once enveloped us. We’ve rebuilt—not as individuals, but as a pack.” A few heads nodded, a ripple

I know some of you have been impatient, waiting, hoping, and silently rooting for Eloise from the very beginning. You saw her broken, you saw her fight, you saw her lose, and yet you stayed, turning each page, holding your breath, waiting for her to finally get her moment. This story wasn’t meant to be rushed. Eloise’s journey was never about instant happiness, but about clawing her way through betrayal, heartbreak, revenge, and resilience. Every tear, every scream, every whispered “I can’t anymore” was building toward this ending. To those who loved Eloise fiercely, thank you. To those who hated her at times but couldn’t stop reading — thank you. To those who sent me messages like “When will she finally win?!” I heard you, I felt your impatience, but I promise it made this ending sweeter. This isn’t just a love story. It’s survival. It’s revenge. It’s healing. It’s proof that broken doesn’t mean defeated. And now, Eloise finally has her victory. She has her freedom. She has her lov

Eloise I leaned back in my office chair, staring at the glowing computer screen but not truly seeing it. Numbers blurred into meaningless shapes, emails stacked in neat, demanding rows. The quiet tick of the clock on the wall was the only rhythm in the room, and still I couldn’t shake the restless thrum in my chest. It had been a month since everything, since the final confrontation, since Lucian had been cut clean out of my life, since the venom of betrayal stopped coursing through every breath I took. A month since Damon’s last failed attempt to claw his way into control. A month of rediscovering silence. A month of relearning who I was without constantly looking over my shoulder. But grief had a way of leaving footprints on your soul. Some mornings I woke up light, unshackled, free. Other mornings, I carried the old ghosts. I closed my eyes and pressed my fingertips against my temple. Just five minutes of peace, I told myself. Five minutes before diving back into quarterly repo

Eloise It had been days since Mike came to me with his apology, days of me tossing on my bed, clutching my pillow, wondering if forgiveness was too generous a word to give a man who had once gambled with my trust. The air in my house had grown stale from replaying the same memories: the sting of Damon’s words, the confusion that crawled into my heart, and Mike’s face when he admitted what happened years ago. I couldn’t carry it alone anymore. My pride was starting to feel heavier than my heart. So I picked up my phone and dialed the one person who never sugarcoated anything. “Ava,” I breathed when she answered. “You sound like a storm about to break,” she said, her tone already bracing for confession. “Can you come over? I…I need you.” She didn’t ask why. “Give me twenty minutes.” By the time she arrived, I had already made tea, though neither of us touched it once we sat at the kitchen table. Ava leaned back in her chair, crossing her legs, her expression the mix of friend and

Eloise – First Person POV The steam from my shower still clung to my skin, wrapping me in its lingering warmth as I padded barefoot across the hardwood floor of my apartment. Droplets slipped down my collarbone and disappeared into the neckline of my silk robe. My hair, damp and heavy, clung to my shoulders. For weeks, my mornings had begun like this, quiet, steady, predictable. Peaceful, people would call it. They didn’t know how silence could sometimes be the loudest noise in the room. Peace had returned, yes. The atelier glimmered again, its glass walls spotless, its display cases brimming with new designs that bore only my name. My funds were back in my hands, and contracts that had once been ripped from me were signed anew under Eloise Laurent, my rebranded name. Every magazine headline called me a survivor, a fighter, the woman who rebuilt herself from the ashes. And yet, not one of those glittering titles filled the void Mike had carved into me. Every time I let my thoughts

Eloise The next day…. I sat on the second row, hands folded over the leather strap of my purse, listening to the shuffle of shoes, the murmured chatter, and the squeak of pens dragging against notepads. It had been trial after trial, one courtroom after another, and my body had grown used to this place, almost as if my ribs had sprouted their own wooden benches. I didn’t mind. No, not anymore. So far every soul that had left scars on me, physical, emotional, spiritual, had been made to choke down their share of the poison they brewed. Today would be no different. Today belonged to Jennifer. She stood at the front, just beyond the polished oak barrier that separated the public from the professionals. She was thinner than before, her once-gleaming blonde hair dulled and tied in a hasty knot. She had tried to wear confidence like a perfume, but it didn’t stick. Her navy suit hung on her as though it belonged to someone else, someone more solid. She kept her chin tilted, eyes darting

Eloise I never expected victory to feel like this. Not light. Not triumphant. It was heavy, like dragging a chest of gold through mud, valuable, priceless, but soaked in sweat and grit, with bruises carved into my palms. I was close to the parking lot when my phone buzzed, once, then again. My lawyer’s name flashed across the screen. “Eloise,” I murmured to myself, steadying my breath, “this is it.” I answered. “Yes?” “Don’t leave yet.” His voice carried a pulse of electricity. “Something came in encrypted files from one of Lucian’s accountants. He cracked. We’ve got everything.” My throat tightened. “Everything?” “Everything he thought he buried. Offshore accounts, dummy corporations, cash slush funds. He hid properties under aliases, even tried to move shares into shell holdings. It’s all here.” The world stilled around me. The hum of people walking by, the echo of doors opening, the shuffle of case files, all of it dimmed until only the sound of my own heartbeat remained.