All Chapters of CHASING MONSTERS: Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

Sophie stood alone in a sea of people. Off to the right of the stage, her spine was straight, chin lifted, face perfectly blank. Cold. Controlled. Untouchable. Her classmates had dubbed her The Ice Queen—a name whispered with both resentment and awe. Onstage, their lead trainer spoke with thinly veiled excitement. “This year, we honor a student who has shattered records—achieving the highest merits seen in over three centuries at Wildbourne Academy.” A murmur rippled through the crowd. “She’s shown promise since day one, rising above every challenge thrown her way—” “She,” Pandora hissed nearby. “We all know who it is. Little Miss Perfect.” Sophie didn’t flinch. When her name was called, she moved toward the stage with mechanical precision. Every step rehearsed. Every breath measured. She accepted her silver ring—the symbol of her place among the elite wolf assassins. Most didn’t graduate until twenty-one. Sophie was seventeen. She hadn’t had the luxury of time. Her smile,

The grandfather clock in Lucian’s study struck six, each chime echoing through the vast halls of the mansion like a tolling bell. Sophie stood at the top of the staircase, hands smoothing the fabric of her gown. The dress had been chosen for her—a classic black evening gown that hugged her athletic figure, flowing sleekly to the floor. It was elegant, severe, and utterly unlike her. She would have traded it gladly for her hunter’s garb of pants, boots, and silver swords. In that uniform, she felt powerful. In this dress, she felt trapped. Her reflection in the hall mirror showed full lips painted rose, green eyes sharpened by dark liner, hair swept into a braid that revealed the line of her collarbone. She looked older than seventeen. Too old, and yet never enough. Pandora would have thrived in such a gown. Pandora, with her golden curls and sunlit laugh, was everything men dreamed of. Sophie was not Pandora. She was admired, feared, respected—but never adored. The knock came, fi

The chandeliers lay in shards across the marble, smoke curling from the gaping hole where the doors had been. Snarls and screams clashed with the panicked music of the fleeing musicians. “Hunters! To arms!” Rufus bellowed. But most had none. The Ball was meant for politics and pomp, not battle. A blur of fur and teeth lunged at Sophie—then something gleamed through the smoke. “Catch!” Johnny’s voice rang out, wild with exhilaration. She snatched the silver sword from the air just in time to drive it through the rogue’s chest. Blood spattered her dress, hot and acrid. Johnny laughed, fighting three at once with reckless glee. “Why the hell would these idiots attack a ball full of hunters?” Sophie had the same thought—until she looked closer. These wolves weren’t calculating. Their eyes were glazed, foam caked their muzzles, their movements uncoordinated yet vicious. Too rabid. Too far gone rogue to have planned something this bold. Something else was at work. She cut another d

The sting of the whip woke Sophie before dawn. Not the strike itself—it was only memory now—but the fire it had left behind. She sat on the edge of her bed, the sheets damp with sweat, and carefully peeled her dress away from the wounds. The mansion was silent above her. Lucian slept, or brooded, in his study. Sophie dipped a cloth into cool water, biting back a hiss as she cleaned the welts. She wrapped herself in fresh linen, hands steady despite the tremors in her chest. She would not show weakness. Not for him. Not for anyone. By the time the sun breached the horizon, Sophie was dressed. Black cargo pants. Black singlet. The double silver swords strapped to her back, throwing stars cinched at her waist. Her hair tied in a sharp ponytail. A warrior’s reflection stared back at her in the mirror. Not Lucian’s granddaughter. Not the girl who bled in silence. A Hunter. Her mind wandered as she checked her gear. All the lessons from Wildbourne Academy, etched into muscle memory: t

The forest erupted in fire. Silver-charged explosives detonated across the Spring River border, rattling the earth beneath Sophie’s boots. Smoke rolled in waves, and from the treeline came the answering chorus—howls rising like war drums. “On me!” Jax’s voice boomed over the comms. Wolves poured from the darkness, claws flashing, teeth glinting. Sophie drew her blades and fell into step beside Shiloh. The first wolf lunged—Sophie met it midair, carving across its throat. Shiloh pivoted smoothly, catching another across the belly, the two women back-to-back, steel and instinct moving as one. They became a rhythm. Shiloh’s sword thrust forward—Sophie ducked, spinning to catch a wolf at her knees. Sophie slashed left—Shiloh slammed right, blades weaving silver arcs through the night. Each kill was clean, precise, merciless. Blood spattered their faces, streaked down their arms, but neither faltered. “Push to the house!” Jax barked. “Copy,” Shiloh snapped, shoving forward, Sophie at