Indigo Ridge Novels & Stories

We were hunting. I stood in the war room, watching the map Micah and Camerin had updated with red pins, drawn trails, supply drops, suspected sightings. Leo’s broken whisper gave us just enough the name of a ridge, a partial memory of fire and stone, and the phrase “between the bones.” Old wolves knew that phrase. It was territory long forgotten, dangerous terrain marked by cliffs and burial grounds. And perfect for hiding something unholy. I slammed my hand on the edge of the table. “That’s where we start. The ridge near the Crescent Graves.”

Two Weeks Later — Obsidian Ridge Obsidian Ridge had not seen this many wolves gather in centuries. The land itself seemed to know it. Basalt cliffs rose like the ribs of an ancient beast, black stone veined with silver mineral seams that caught the sun and fractured it into shards of light. The air hummed—thick with anticipation, old magic, and the restrained power of thousands who understood they were about to witness something that would be spoken of for generations. This was not a children's ceremony.

CALLUM The Cedar Ridge ski resort is a winter tourist trap that sits just outside the edge of the six-pack’s territory, owned and operated by the six shifter packs that reside within. Since we generally keep to ourselves, the ski resort was built as an income stream to keep our towns afloat, as well as the Cedar Ridge brewery just down the road. The ski resort is shuttered in the summer months, but the brewery is open all year round so we have consistent revenue. It’s a smart setup, but it also tempts us into wandering off-territory more than we probably should.

“This is just for Moonstone. Now hush.” I couldn’t tell him the truth. That his father’s choices had left a wound too deep to ignore. That trust didn’t come with shared blood, not anymore. The High Ridge was windswept and raw, perched on the spine of the Moonstone lands like a crown. Here, the trees thinned out entirely, giving way to bare rock and hardy grasses that clung to cracks in the stone. The wind came in steady currents, lifting the edges of cloaks and carrying the mingled scents of pine, smoke, and something older—something wild.

The dawn broke over Silent Ridge like a shroud of silver mist, cloaking the ancient forest in an unsettling silence. The name—Silent Ridge—had been earned through centuries of quiet, a place where the usual chorus of birdsong was conspicuously absent, and even the wind seemed reluctant to stir the leaves. This eerie calm, however, was not by chance. It was the breath before the storm.

Inside, I am bracing for impact. Brandon shifts in his chair, leaning a little closer. “Silver Mountain Ridge.” The name hits like a blow to the chest. Silver Mountain Ridge. Small. Remote. Not a threat to anyone. Not part of any political mess. A pack that keeps to itself, tucked away near the mountain passes. There is no reason, and I mean no reason, for Maddox to target them. Unless they were just… convenient. Disposable. My jaw clenches. My stomach twists. Brandon must sense the shift in me, because he frowns. “Are you okay?”

“Me too." Now that I thought about it, hadn’t I smelled that apple and woodsmoke scent before? I searched my mind for where I had smelled it. It had been so long, but not so long that it could have been from my father. If Gareth was as much of a womanizer as I figured him to be, it definitely wasn’t from Eason. I opened the file. Ironfang Ridge was a resort. Most of the report talked about the high number of women in the territory and how much traffic they had in and out of the territory. It was small. There was no way that it would ever be eligible for a Senate spot based on where it was. The mountains that surrounded it were basically unliveable, but the valley in which Ironfang Ridge was

"They keep their secrets well." My grip on his arm loosened slightly, an acknowledgment of his dilemma. "Just tell me what you know. I need any lead, no matter how small," I urged, my tone imploring. He looked down, his gaze distant as if retracing the path they had taken. "The Northern Ridge," he finally breathed, his voice carrying a mixture of dread and certainty. "It's a secluded area, heavily guarded. Swiftclaw believes it's the perfect place to keep her hidden."

“Baby this is Chance, he’s a Shadow Warrior and he’s going to take you to see Zach,” Ridge said, leading me outside to a yard. Obviously my mate was the sexiest thing I’d ever seen … but this guy … was … exotic? He was tall, clean shaven head. He was dark tanned almost golden, his eyes were almost … purple. He wasn’t extremely tall, maybe six feet, but he was a solid mass of muscle, he looked like he could pick up a car and throw it. He wasn’t a wolf, but he was mouth watering sexy.

Lightning stepped forward, clapping a hand on my shoulder. "Good job," he said, his voice low and firm. "The Wild Ridge doesn't tolerate betrayal." As the group started to disperse, I felt a hand on my arm. I turned to see Jax. "You good?" he asked quietly. I nodded again, though the weight of the day was starting to settle in. "Yeah. I'm good." Jax smiled as he said, "Well, go get cleaned up then. You actually look like death!" He eyed me up and down, amusement flickering in his eyes.