Semua Bab CHASING MONSTERS: Bab 1 - Bab 10

Sophie stood alone in a sea of people. She had not one person she could claim cared about her, in this room or anywhere. Off to the right of the stage, her spine was straight, chin lifted, face arranged into something blank and cold. Controlled. Untouchable. Her classmates had dubbed her The Ice Queen, a name spoken with equal parts resentment and grudging admiration. Onstage, their lead trainer raised the microphone, unable to suppress his 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 hall. “She has shown promise since day one, rising above every challenge thrown her way.” “She,” Pandora rolled her eyes nearby, “it’s obviously Little Miss Perfect, riding on granddad's coattails.” A few graduating Hunters snorted in agreement. Sophie didn’t flinch. Pandora Vale was twenty-one, beautiful, charismatic, adored. Everything Sophie wasn’t allowed to

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, as everything in her life was. A classic black evening gown that clung to her athletic frame before falling in a clean, severe line to the floor. Elegant. Restrained. Designed to impress and to control. She would have traded it without hesitation for her hunter’s uniform, for fitted pants, boots, and weapons at her sides. In those, she felt capable. Grounded. Dangerous. In this, she felt displayed. Her reflection stared back at her from the tall mirror lining the hall. Full lips painted a muted rose. Green eyes sharpened by dark liner. Her hair braided neatly back, exposing the graceful line of her throat and collarbone. She looked older than seventeen. Too composed. Too finished. And yet, never enough. Pandora would have thrived i

The chandeliers lay in shards across the marble floor, crystal glittering like fallen stars. Smoke curled from the gaping hole where the doors had once stood, thick and choking. Snarls and screams collided with the frantic discord of musicians abandoning their instruments mid-song. “HUNTERS! TO ARMS!” Rufus bellowed, his voice booming through the chaos. But most of them had none. The Ball had been designed for politics and spectacle, not blood. Gowns, not armor. Goblets, not weapons. A blur of fur and snapping jaws lunged at Sophie through the smoke. She barely had time to pivot before something gleamed in the air. “Catch!” Johnny’s voice rang out, wild with exhilaration. Sophie snatched the silver sword from midair on instinct. The weight of it settled into her palm like an old memory. She drove it forward without hesitation, straight through the rogue’s chest. The wolf’s momentum carried it another step before it collapsed at her feet. Blood splattered across her dres

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 Rivers border, rattling the earth beneath Sophie’s boots. Shockwaves rolled through the ground, knocking loose soil from tree roots and sending birds screaming into the night. Smoke surged in thick, choking waves, and from the treeline came the answering chorus. Howls. Not wild, feral cries, but layered voices rising together, mournful and furious, like war drums echoing through bone and blood. Sophie’s chest tightened. The sound slid under her skin, settling somewhere deep she didn’t have words for. “On me!” Jax’s voice boomed over the comms. Wolves poured from the darkness. They came fast and hard, bodies blurring between shapes, claws flashing, fangs gleaming white in the firelight. Sophie drew her swords and fell into step beside Shiloh without a word. There was no need for one. They had already aligned, instincts snapping into place. The first wolf lunged. Sophie met it midair, steel