Novels by Chazminne Harrison

The classroom buzzed with the cheerful chaos of children at play. Laughter rang out as the twins, Elara and Sienna, darted between their classmates, their silver-streaked hair catching the light like liquid moonlight. Ms. Claire DuPont watched them closely, her wolf stirring with a strange, aching sadness as it always did when the girls were near.She couldn’t understand it. Who were these children, and why did they tug so insistently at her instincts?Throughout the day, Claire found herself watching them more than usual, taking note of the subtle but telling mannerisms they shared: the way they seemed to mirror each other without effort, the unspoken connection that made them move and react as if tethered by an invisible string. Something about them struck a chord of familiarity, though she couldn’t place where she’d seen it before.It nagged at her through math lessons, coloring time, lunch, and even during the brief moments of peace when the children napped. Claire tried to push t

The sound of tiny feet racing across hardwood floors echoed through the modest house Channary had worked so hard to make a home. The twins, Sienna and Elara, were bundles of boundless energy, their laughter ringing out like chimes. Channary, now twenty-five, stood at the kitchen counter, rinsing paint brushes she had used to restore a faded piece of art she had picked up from the local flea market. Her long hair was pulled into a messy bun, strands sticking to her neck as the late afternoon sun streamed through the curtains, bathing the room in a golden glow.“Mama!” Sienna cried, bursting into the kitchen. Her dark curls bounced as she waved a drawing in her hand. “Look! I made a wolf!”Channary dried her hands on a towel and leaned down to examine her daughter’s work. The crude crayon drawing did indeed resemble a wolf, though its proportions were cartoonish. “That’s amazing, baby,” she said, ruffling Sienna’s hair. “You’ve got real talent.”Sienna beamed, but her twin, Elara, peeked

The tension in the room was suffocating as Channary stared her father down, her heart hammering against her ribs. His words echoed in her ears—cruel, unforgiving, and final.“You’ve been nothing but a stain on this family’s name,” Roman spat, his eyes like shards of ice. “Your actions on the Blood Moon have brought shame to our entire pack. You’re not my daughter anymore.”Channary flinched, but only for a moment. Her jaw tightened as she forced herself to meet his gaze, refusing to let him see her break. Her voice, though trembling, carried a quiet, simmering rage.“You never wanted me, did you?” she asked. “Not really. You only tolerated me because I was your firstborn.”Roman’s nostrils flared, and for a moment, she thought he might deny it. Instead, he crossed his arms, his silence damning.“You wanted a son,” Channary continued, her voice gaining strength. “That’s why you’ve been trying outside of your mate, isn’t it? You think I didn’t know? You think the pack didn’t know?” Her

It had been another day and a half since Channary locked herself in her room, hiding from the world, from herself, and from the life that had been shattered that night in The Grove. She lay curled in her bed, surrounded by the heavy silence, the air thick with the scent of her own despair. Shadows crept along the walls, seeming to close in on her as if even the walls knew she no longer belonged here. Her father’s voice had cut through the house several times over the past days, demanding she come down, barking his orders like she was nothing more than a misbehaving pup.It was her mother who finally entered, her expression a mix of pity, frustration, and that strange sadness Channary had seen there for as long as she could remember. She stood silently in the doorway for a moment, her eyes scanning the mess of clothes scattered across the floor, her daughter’s unkempt hair spilling over her pillow, and the dull glaze that had taken over Channary’s once bright eyes.“Chan,” her mother sa

Channary’s world began to blur, the vibrant colors and sounds of the festival swirling into a dizzying whirl around her. She blinked, clutching her forehead, but the haze only thickened, pressing in until she could barely tell up from down. Heart pounding, she fought to keep her eyes open, to stay steady. The strange, tingling sensation coursing through her wasn’t what she had been expecting from the Unity Cup. This was supposed to be an ancient, almost sacred experience, a rite of the Blood-Moon—so why did her mind feel like it was wrapped in fog?Something was wrong. Her parents had described the mild effects of the Cup, a warmth, a sense of clarity—nothing like this strange disorientation that made her limbs feel both heavy and weightless. She stumbled, her body swaying with each step, a sour taste building in her mouth.“This… isn’t right,” she managed to whisper, her voice weak and shaky, though her mind screamed the words. She could barely focus, struggling to push down the risin

Channary had just put the finishing touches on her hair and makeup when her mother’s excited voice rang out from the bottom of the stairs.“Come on! You’re going to be late for the festival!” her mother called, sounding both thrilled and impatient.“Ma, I’m coming now… relax,” Channary replied, rolling her eyes and whispering the last word.“I heard that!” her mother called back, voice laced with mock irritation.Channary chuckled. “I love you,” she said, her irritation fading into a smile as she grabbed her slides and took one last look in the mirror.The soft glow of her bedroom lanterns reflected off her ash-blonde hair, which she had twisted into a perfect, messy bun, with short curls framing her round face. Her pale purple eyes sparkled, flecked with hints of silver—a distinct mark of being Moon-Kissed. Soon, she thought, her mate would see her as she saw herself: beautiful, unique, a prize worthy of any Alpha’s daughter.Heart racing with anticipation, Channary flew down the stai

Morning light filtered through the windows of the MacDonnell estate, casting a pale glow on Ailsa’s chambers. As she stretched and pulled herself from the warmth of her bed, a wave of weakness struck her. It wasn’t illness—not the sharp pangs of a cold or the feverish burn of infection—but a strange, pervasive fragility.Her reflection in the small, cracked mirror by her bedside startled her. The vibrant flush that normally colored her cheeks was gone, leaving her pale and gaunt. Her eyes, once bright with determination, seemed duller.“Are ye feelin’ ill, lass?” her mother asked when Ailsa joined her family for breakfast. The older woman’s brows furrowed with concern as she looked her daughter up and down.“Nae, Ma,” Ailsa replied quickly, brushing her mother off with a weak smile. “I just dinnae sleep well is all.”Her father chimed in, his booming voice filling the room. “Ye’ve been lookin’ a bit peaky these last few days. Ye sure yer no catchin’ somethin’?”“I’m fine,” she insiste

The third day dawned with a heavy, oppressive air. Within Finlay’s chambers, Moira lay curled on his bed, her body trembling with pain. Her skin, usually luminous and glowing, had taken on a pallor that unsettled anyone who saw her. Her golden eyes were dull, clouded with hunger and anguish, and the sharp angles of her face looked more severe in her weakened state.Finlay sat at her bedside, his broad hand resting lightly on her arm, unsure of how to comfort her. “Moira, lass, what’s happenin’ tae ye? Ye were fine last night.” His voice was low, filled with worry, but Moira didn’t respond.Her breaths came in shallow gasps, and she refused the broth and bread he had brought for her. The smell of food turned her stomach, and her only solace was closing her eyes and pretending the world beyond her pain didn’t exist.“Finlay,” one of the clanswomen called softly from the door, breaking him from his thoughts. “The laird needs ye doon at the hall. There’s a meetin’ with the other lairds.”

For three days, Moira stayed within the MacLeod hold, immersing herself in the life of the clan. Her days were spent exploring the grounds, observing the rhythm of the people’s lives, and learning the inner workings of the MacLeod clan. By night, she assisted the women in preparing meals, the warmth of the firelight casting shadows over her delicate features as she focused on learning Finlay's favorite dishes. Her determination to understand this world—and her place in it—was palpable.The MacLeod village sprawled across a valley, surrounded by hills dotted with patches of heather and bramble. Smoke curled lazily from the chimneys of stone cottages, and the air was rich with the mingling scents of freshly tilled earth and livestock. Children darted between homes, their laughter ringing out like bells, while men returned from the fields with weary smiles, axes slung over their shoulders. The hold itself stood tall at the heart of the village, a formidable structure of gray stone crowne

The air was thick with the mingling scents of pine and wildflowers as Finlay and Moira lay entwined on the soft grass of the clearing, their bodies glistening under the dappled sunlight filtering through the trees. Moira's golden eyes locked onto Finlay’s, a playful smile tugging at her lips. She trailed a hand down his chest, her fingers grazing the firm lines of his muscles, and leaned forward to place a lingering kiss on his lips."Ye ken," she murmured softly, her voice laced with both mischief and sincerity, "I called ye here fer more than just this."Finlay chuckled, brushing a stray strand of her dark hair from her face. "More than takin’ me apart wi’ yer sweet hands and lips? Hard to believe, lass." His voice was husky, still thick with the remnants of their passion.Moira swatted his chest playfully, laughing before her gaze grew serious. "I mean it, Fin. I want tae meet yer people. Yer kin. I want tae see the world ye've built fer yerself."Finlay stiffened slightly, the war

The clang of steel rang through the crisp morning air, echoing across the wide expanse of the MacLeod training yard. Finlay MacLeod swung his claymore with precision, the sword a seamless extension of his arm. Every strike, every pivot of his body, was fluid and practiced, like a deadly dance honed by years of experience. His dark hair clung to his damp brow, and the sheen of sweat glistened on his sun-bronzed skin, evidence of hours spent under the unforgiving Highland sun.He had been out here since dawn, pushing himself harder than usual. His muscles burned, and his hands ached from gripping the hilt of his blade, but he welcomed the pain. It distracted him, however briefly, from the frustration simmering beneath the surface.Moira had not called for him last night.The thought gnawed at him, each repetition of it in his mind sharper than the last. She had visited him so often, her voice a siren’s whisper in his blood, drawing him to her under the cover of darkness. Yet last night,

The morning sun poured over the Highlands, gilding the rugged terrain in molten gold. The jagged peaks stretched toward the heavens, their austere silhouettes softened by the warm hues of dawn. Rolling fields of wild heather and gorse painted the land in shades of purple and yellow, and the crisp air carried the faint, earthy scent of dew-kissed grass. At the heart of this untamed beauty stood the MacLeod estate, its stone walls weathered by centuries but as steadfast as the mountains themselves.Yet within those ancient walls, Finlay MacLeod sat by the window of his chambers, his gaze distant and unseeing. His heart was heavy with a longing that no amount of drink or distraction could ease.Moira.Her name was a siren’s call in his mind, each syllable stirring memories that set his blood alight. He could still feel the heat of her skin beneath his fingertips, the way her lips curved into a knowing smile as she whispered his name. She was an enigma, her dark allure a fire that consume