Novels by Ella Wealth

The clearing was a graveyard of chaos—torches guttering out, bodies strewn across the blood-soaked ground, the air thick with the metallic tang of death. My side burned where claws had torn through, each breath a sharp reminder of how close I’d come to not making it. Lucian’s arm stayed around me, steadying me as we staggered toward the hall, the pack trailing behind in a ragged, weary line. The bond between us pulsed, raw and insistent, grounding me even as my vision blurred at the edges.Killian limped ahead, barking orders to the trackers—secure the perimeter, check for stragglers. His voice was hoarse but firm, like he was holding himself together through sheer stubbornness. I knew the feeling. The adrenaline was gone, leaving only pain and a nagging sense that this wasn’t over, no matter how dead Veyra was.Inside the hall, the warmth hit like a slap, the fire roaring in the hearth. Pack members who hadn’t fought crowded in, their faces pale, questions tumbling out. Lucian raised

The cheers of the pack still echoed in my ears as Lucian and I stepped off the platform, the cord still binding our hands, the bond thrumming like a live wire between us. The torchlight danced across his face, casting sharp shadows over his jaw, and for a moment, I let myself feel it—the weight of what we’d just done, the wild, unsteady rush of it. The pack pressed in, their voices a roar of celebration, but something gnawed at the edge of my senses, a prickling unease I couldn’t shake.Lucian felt it too. His grip on my hand tightened, his body shifting subtly, like a predator catching a scent. “Stay close,” he murmured, his voice low enough that only I could hear.I nodded, my free hand brushing the hilt of the blade at my hip. The ceremony was over, the mark sealed, but the night felt unfinished—too charged, too fragile. The crowd parted as we moved toward the main hall, Killian falling in beside us, his grin fading as he caught Lucian’s tension.“Trouble?” he asked, his voice casu

The decision hung in the air like smoke after a fire—lingering, heavy, impossible to ignore. I’d said it, and Lucian had accepted it, but as I left his study, my stomach churned with a mix of resolve and dread. Together. It sounded solid, final, but it didn’t erase the questions clawing at me. What did this mean for us—for me? I’d spent so long fighting the pull of him, the pack, this life. Now I was stepping into it, eyes open, and it felt like jumping off a cliff without knowing how deep the drop was.The next morning, the compound buzzed with a different energy. Word had spread—whispers turning into murmurs, then full-on conversations. The ceremony was on, set for tomorrow night under the full moon. I caught the glances as I walked through the hall—some wary, some relieved, a few even warm. It was strange, being seen like this, not as the outsider or the fighter, but as something more. Lucian’s mate. The title still sat uneasy on my shoulders, like a coat that didn’t quite fit.I f

Sleep didn’t come easy. I drifted in and out, caught between the ache in my body and the tangle in my head. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Ragnar’s scarred face, heard Killian’s warning, felt Lucian’s hands on me—steady, warm, too real. By the time the first light crept through the window, I gave up, rolling out of bed with a groan. My muscles screamed in protest, but I ignored them, splashing cold water on my face from the basin in the corner. The mirror showed a mess—bruises darkening my arm, a scab forming on my lip—but I looked alive. That was something.Downstairs, the hall was already buzzing. Pack members milled around, voices low but urgent, piecing together what had happened in the night. I caught snippets— Bloodfangs, ambush, Ragnar’s death —and felt their eyes on me as I passed. Not hostile, not anymore, but curious, maybe even respectful. I wasn’t just the outsider now. I’d fought with them, bled with them. It shifted something, and I wasn’t sure how to feel about it.

The aftermath was a haze of exhaustion and adrenaline, the kind that leaves your bones heavy but your mind buzzing. The Bloodfangs’ camp was a wreck—tents torn, fires smoldering, bodies scattered across the clearing. The air stank of blood and smoke, sharp and acrid, clinging to my clothes. I wiped my blade on my pant leg, the motion automatic, my hands still shaky from the fight. My lip throbbed where Ragnar had hit me, and every breath stung, but I was alive. We all were.Lucian stood a few feet away, barking orders to the trackers—secure the perimeter, check for survivors, gather anything useful. His voice was steady, but I caught the tension in his shoulders, the way his fists clenched when he thought no one was looking. He’d killed Ragnar, ended the immediate threat, but I could tell it wasn’t over for him. Not yet.Killian slumped against a tree nearby, wrapping a strip of torn fabric around the gash on his arm. He caught my eye and flashed a tired grin. “You look like you could

The forest was eerily quiet after the Bloodfangs’ retreat, the kind of silence that presses against your ears and makes every rustle feel like a threat. Killian sat propped against the tree, his breathing ragged, his wrists still bound with coarse rope. Lucian loomed over him, a storm of tension radiating from his frame. I stood a few steps back, my blade still in hand, my mind spinning with Killian’s words. *They want you most of all.*“Why me?” I asked, my voice cutting through the stillness. It came out sharper than I meant, but I didn’t care. I needed answers.Killian’s head tilted toward me, his bruised face catching the faint light filtering through the trees. “Because you’re the key,” he said, his voice rough but steady. “The Bloodfangs don’t just want revenge on Lucian. They want control—over this pack, over the region. And you? You’re the leverage.”Lucian’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t interrupt. His eyes stayed locked on Killian, dark and unreadable.“Leverage for what?” I