Novels by Sable Thorne

LIAMKalen hesitates, and in that pause I see the whole history of our kind, every story of madness and exile and some poor bastard clawing at the moon until he puts his own eyes out. My skin prickles with the memory of old stories, the ones the elders whisper when they think no one’s listening.Kalen’s voice shakes, but he muscles through. “My father loved my mother. More than the pack. The curse took him. Started slow—just little things. Forgetting meetings. Leaving the sides of sick wolves to go hunt. It got worse. First time he missed a coming-of-age, the Council started talking. Second time, they threatened to vote him out. Third time, he nearly tore out a Beta’s throat because the guy made a cheap joke about Luna’s gift.“Then my mother got sick. Nothing we did could keep her alive. When she died, he went… blank. Like the whole world

LIAMThe Rogue thrashes, curled fingers raking Kalen’s back like claws, but Kalen just holds on tighter, rocking it like a terrified child. I realize, in that moment, that this isn’t violence. It’s mercy. It’s goodbye.The Rogue sags in his arms, jaws working air, claws spasming at nothing. The two of them rock, and for a moment, it’s almost peaceful. Then Kalen wrenches his arms, hard and sudden, and there’s an ugly wet sound that echoes off the cave walls, and the body goes limp.For a second, nobody breathes.I see the Rogue’s face, slack and almost gentle in death, and something about the line of its jaw, the set of the brow, punches a hole through memory. Nightshade features. Not warped, not lost, just… changed.I get it then, with a clarity that scorches. The thing at Kalen’s feet isn’t just some random freak from the shadows. It’s the missing Alpha.His father.I want to vomit. Or scream. Or just run until I forget every fucked-up thing I’ve seen tonight. The world’s gone tilt

The trail Kalen left is plain as blood on snow. I move through the undergrowth silent, keeping low, keeping downwind. I don’t shift—not yet. I want my wits about me, want to see the world as a man before I lose myself in wolf-logic.He’s headed for the old Veil, the place where the trees crowd so tight you have to turn sideways to breathe. It’s suicide to run that line after dark. Which means he’s either lost his mind, or he knows I’m coming and wants to be found.I catch a glimpse of him at the treeline, and for a second he looks back. Just a flash of profile—jaw clenched, eyes hollow, a man running from ghosts or toward them.I think about Adelaide, about her words, about the taste of her perfume on the air. Then I think about Kalen, and the way my life has always orbited his, always subordinate, always less. I wonder if I could have taken him,

“Kalen,” my father rasps in the memory of a voice. “Took you long enough.”I can’t breathe. I can’t even scream. Every nightmare I ever had was softer than this. Not this. Anything but this.“You left,” I manage. “You died.”He coughs, a wet, rattling sound. “Everything dies. Even Nightshade Alphas.” His fingers move, clutching something close to his chest. I see it glint in the candlelight: a ring, silver and old, with our pack’s crest.“I needed… time,” he says. “To figure out the end. Before it takes me.”He gestures at the wall behind him, and I see it’s covered in scratches—names, dates, cycles of the moon, all written in dried blood and desperation.“This is madness,” I whisp

KELANHunting is supposed to clear my head. Instead, every snapped twig and fresh pawprint in the mud just knots me up tighter.And I smell it in the air. Him. The Rogue.I want to believe it’s Ethan. That I can catch him and take him down and find a loophole to legally claim Lyla.But the scent isn’t Blackwood, and as much as that would simplify things, I don’t think that’s it.I circle the cabin three times before I’m sure nothing is watching from the tree line—no rival pack, no council spy, no human trapper with a death wish. Only then do I relax enough to catch my breath and start prepping for the real reason I’m out here.The gear stash is hidden under a tangle of blackthorn at the edge of the clearing. I dig it out, inventorying every item with the attention of a s

It’s late afternoon by the time I make it back to the cabin, light slanting gold through the boughs, the air gone heavy and electric with the coming Blood Moon. Even before I reach the door, I know Lyla’s awake—her scent is spiked with adrenaline, and I can hear her pacing through the thin log walls.I open the door just as she’s on her third lap, and she startles, fist cocked before she recognizes me.“Miss me?” I say.She scowls, but there’s relief underneath. “You left before I woke up. Thought maybe you’d grown a conscience and decided to turn yourself into the council.”“I don’t do mornings,” I say, but I can’t keep the smile off my face.She looks past me, eyes going hard. “Who’s that?”I spin around just as Cassie steps in, arms crossed and satchel hanging on her shoulder, expression somewhere between wary and openly hostile. “I’m his parole officer,” she deadpans, then scans Lyla from head to toe.“Couldn’t wait?” I say dryly. “This is Cassie, our healer.”Cassie gives me a wi