Seraphina Collection Novels & Stories

Lyra, half-turned toward the camera, Luna a blur at her hip, Rhea’s broad-shouldered silhouette behind them. “Have someone on that park full-time,” Seraphina said. “Different faces. No pack crests. If the child shows up again, I want better images. Gait, mannerisms, any sign of early shift.” Keller hesitated. “Early shift at that age is—” “Unlikely,” Seraphina said. “But I’m not in the habit of underestimating freak events anymore.” She closed the folder. “And Keller,” she added, as he gathered his laptop, “if you see Dr. Ren’s name popped up near Lyra’s again—clinics, labs, and mysteriously encrypted transfers—you let me know first. Before Victor. Before anyone.”

Seraphina simply smiled faintly and contacted the local charity. "Hello there, I have some clothes I'd like to donate to the underprivileged communities in the mountains." Soon, a representative from the local charity arrived in a vehicle. In the days Kaden was gone, Seraphina packed up her belongings into five huge bags of clothes and shoes. She donated every last item to charity, leaving not a single piece behind. Seraphina took everything tied to her identity as Seraphina, including her ID, the Luna's keepsakes, family records, as well as her daily essentials, to the pack's altar crematorium. She handed the priest some money and had it all burned.

Ragnar Hours passed. Night had already swallowed the sky by the time I finally stood from my desk. The packhouse had grown quiet. Most wolves were asleep. I walked slowly down the hall toward my chambers. When I pushed the door open, Seraphina was still there. Sitting on the edge of the bed. Still wearing the ceremonial gown. The crown rested on the table beside her. She hadn’t moved. Her posture was straight, but she looked exhausted. For a moment, I looked away. Then I forced myself to step closer. I stopped in front of her. “We need to talk.”

And for the first time in years… He smiled. It wasn’t kind. It wasn’t cruel. It was satisfied. Because finally… Justice had teeth. — Meanwhile: Seraphina. She didn’t sleep. Instead, she stood at the tall windows of her sitting room, hands gripping the velvet curtain, heart a quiet roar in her chest. The gown was gone. She wore silk again. Soft. Black. A slip that clung to her like steam in a winter mirror. She should’ve felt powerful. She should’ve felt victorious.

"Is that Seraphina?" I let out a heavy sigh. "Yes." Seraphina is the only pup of a powerful elder who controls the western trade routes and runs heavy business with the Lunar Dominion Network. She decided she loved me a year ago and tracked my scent across the territory for six months until I finally agreed to run with her just to make her stop barking at my heels. It was fine at first. She could actually run fast and speak intelligently about pack laws during the hunts. But by the third moon, everything turned into a nightmare.

He didn’t speak; he simply tilted his head, the gesture saying follow more clearly than any word. We moved past walls of smoked glass and walnut, past a library whose shelves climbed two stories high, leather bindings exhaling the scent of quiet threats and forgotten fortunes. My boots—scuffed, honest—sounded too loud on the marble. Seraphina materialized at the end of the hall like smoke given form: bare feet silent, merlot silk robe knotted loose, hair still damp from a shower that probably cost more than my camera. Thirty-eight, cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass, storm-gray eyes that locked on mine and refused to blink.

I said. “Well, what if we have a game just for the finals?” Seraphina asked me. This morning, her long black hair is in a high ponytail, making her eyes shine even in the sun. She sat beside me, a note in her hand and questions in her eyes, eagerly giving me insights and being more awake than half her teammates. Her short black skirt exposed her thighs, and I glanced at them, remembering the last time I put my head between them. Her soft skin, her voice when she has a wild orgasm.

I went down to the south library, where Renick had set up the cart's contents, and I sat at the long table, and I opened the crate marked Seraphine — operational. The crate was full of leather-bound notebooks. Twenty of them. One for each year. The notebooks were dated. The oldest was forty years old. The leather had cracked along the spine. The ink had faded in places. The pages were brittle at the edges. Seraphine had been writing in these notebooks for forty years, and she had kept them in the same order, on the same shelf, in a system that had survived four houses and two pack territories and a hunting cabin on the eastern border.

Her hair was pulled back with little effort. She seemed like someone who had found something and rushed over, without taking a moment to prepare herself. She carried a folder, and placed it on the table. "Sit down," she said to both of us. "Before I show you this." We both sat as Seraphina stayed standing. "I was going through my storage last week," she began. "After everything with Webb. After the legal situation. I was cleaning out things I had kept from when Jonathan and I were together. These are old letters, documents, things I should have thrown away years ago."

As if even a servant girl took a dislike to his looks in general, then surely even her own daughters would follow suit as well. "I'm not sure…" Seraphina mused, sat down on the matching chair in front of the dressing table, clearly away somewhere in her own thoughts. "Whatever you think may look nice and appropriate with my armour?" She then seemed to come back and break from her reverie, looking around to Lyla, "Have you seen any of them, yet?" She quizzed. A fluttering mix of anxiety and curiosity in her eyes.