Novels by Moonchild

Dear Readers, I can’t believe we’ve reached the end of Kelly’s story. Writing this book has been an emotional rollercoaster, and I know many of you have felt the highs and lows just as deeply as I have. Kelly’s journey wasn’t easy, there was pain, heartbreak, and moments where it seemed like happiness was out of reach. But through it all, she found strength, love, and a future worth fighting for. To everyone who stuck by this story, who cried, laughed, and rooted for Kelly, Aiden, Adrian, and even the complicated characters like Anderson and Kate, thank you. Your love and support mean everything. Though this book has ended, Kelly’s story will always live on in our hearts. And who knows? Maybe one day, there will be more to tell. But for now, I hope this ending brings you the closure and warmth that Kelly fought so hard to find. With love and gratitude, MOONCHILD.

Kelly The sun is warm against my skin, the sky a perfect colour of blue. A soft breeze carries the scent of roses and fresh-cut grass. The sound of distant laughter and murmured conversations fills the air, blending seamlessly with the soft notes of a violin playing somewhere nearby. It’s perfect. Everything about this day feels surreal, like stepping into a dream I never dared to imagine. A real wedding. Not a hidden ceremony. Not a desperate attempt to silence rumors. Just love. I close my eyes for a brief moment, taking it all in. The gentle rustling of the trees. The faint sound of conversation. The quiet presence of everyone who matters. Adrian’s family is here. After months of resentment and distance, they came. His mother, his father, Olivia, both watching with cautious but genuine smiles. Susan is here, standing with them, her expression warm, proud. And in the distance, I see Aiden straightening his suit, looking nervous and determined at the same time. Harper,

KellyNine months. Nine long, exhausting, emotional months. And now, I’m here. In a hospital bed, drenched in sweat, gripping Adrian’s hand so tightly that I’m sure I’ve cut off his circulation. My body feels like it’s being torn apart, and yet, I push. “Just a little more, Kelly!” the doctor encourages. Easy for them to say. They aren’t the ones feeling like their body is being split open. Adrian leans close, his lips brushing my forehead. “You’re almost there,” he murmurs, his voice steady, calming. “I’ve got you.” Tears sting my eyes. I don’t know if it’s from the pain or the overwhelming feeling that this moment is actually happening. And then, a sharp cry fills the room. My breath catches. The world seemed to stop. The doctor lifts a tiny, wriggling body into the air. “It’s a girl!” A sob escapes me. I collapse back against the pillows, my whole body trembling. Tears slip down my temples as I hear my daughter’s first sounds. I did it. She’s here. Adrian presses a

Kelly The morning is cold, the kind of D.C winter chill that seeps through the layers of your clothes and lingers deep in your bones. I clutch my coffee cup tighter, trying to soak in the warmth as I step out of the café. The city is alive as always, cars honking, people hurrying past, lost in their own worlds. And then I see her. At first, I didn't recognize the figure crouched near the side of the building, wrapped in an oversized hoodie, the fabric frayed at the edges. Her hair is tangled, falling over a gaunt face. Her fingers, red from the cold, clutch a small cardboard sign. ‘Hungry. Please help.’My breath catches. Kate. She’s thinner than I remember. A shell of the woman she once was. She sits with her knees pulled close, gaze darting to every passerby, but no one stops. No one even looks at her. And I realize, this is what rock bottom looks like. For a long moment, I just stood there. Then, before I can talk myself out of it, I move. She doesn’t notice me at fir

Kelly It happens on a quiet afternoon. Adrian and I are sitting on the couch, Harper curled up between us, absentmindedly flipping through a picture book while Adrian scrolls through emails on his phone. It’s peaceful. And then, I see his posture stiffen. I glance at him. “What’s wrong?” His brows are furrowed, lips pressing into a thin line as he reads whatever message is on his screen. For a long moment, he doesn’t answer. Then, finally, he exhales, setting the phone down on his thigh. “My parents,” he says, rubbing his jaw. “They want to talk.” I blink. I wasn’t expecting that. “Talk… as in?” “As in dinner. A sit-down conversation.” He shakes his head slightly, as if he’s still processing it himself. “They sent an invitation. No conditions. Just… a request to see me.” I can’t tell if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. His parents and I became a sore subject, one of the few places where his love for me had cost him something. I know how deeply it hurt him when they rej

KellyThe call came in the middle of the night. I wake up to the sound of my phone vibrating on the nightstand. My first thought is that it’s Adrian, maybe he’s checking in from the living room where he sometimes falls asleep after reading. But when I grab my phone and see Susan’s name glowing on the screen, my stomach twists. I answer on the second ring. “He’s gone,” she says softly. Two words. Just two words, and for a second, I feel absolutely nothing. I sit there in the dark, the phone pressed to my ear, my mind blank. I should have expected it, Anderson’s health had been failing, and yet… hearing it, knowing it’s real, knowing there will never be another word, another regret-filled gaze, it’s different. Susan stays quiet, as if she knows I needed a moment. Then, like a wave finally crashing, it hits. A sharp, aching weight pressing down on my chest. My throat tightens, my vision blurs, and before I can stop it, I let out a small, choked sob. I feel Adrian shift be

Lucian I sank into the plush leather armchair by my office window, swirling the remaining amber liquid in my glass. The scotch glowed under the early dusk light, casting honeyed reflections across the Italian marble floor. Outside, the city skyline rose in jagged steel silhouettes, bathed in blood-orange sunset. But none of its beauty reached me today. My phone buzzed atop the glass table, rattling slightly against the crystal decanter. I ignored it at first, staring blankly at the shifting horizon. When it buzzed again, insistent, I snatched it up with an irritated sigh. “Speak,” I snapped. “It’s Julian from Ristov PR,” came the crisp voice. “Apologies for the late update, sir, but I thought you’d want to know immediately. There’s talk spreading through the upper design circles today.” I felt a familiar tightening in my chest, an ancient predatory tension. “What talk.” “It appears Damon Grey has been showing… unusual interest in Eloise Sinclair’s upcoming collection,” Julian co

Damon I stepped out of my black Jaguar, the engine purring into silence as I pulled the key fob from the ignition. The crisp air hit my face, sharp and biting, carrying the faint scent of croissant from the vendor down the street. Eloise’s atelier sat nestled between a pottery studio and a minimalist flower shop, its matte milk facade different against the row of sandstone townhouses. I adjusted the cuffs of my burgundy coat, brushing a stray lint off my lapel, and headed towards her door. Through the glass panel, I caught a glimpse of her silhouette, hunched over her drafting table, pencil moving in quick, desperate strokes. Even from here, she looked frayed around the edges—like threads pulled tight. I knocked softly before entering. A faint chime rang overhead as I stepped inside. The warmth of the atelier enveloped me, scented with sandalwood candles and the faint mineral tang of copper filings. Eloise didn’t look up at first. Her pencil paused mid-line as she sensed me, then

Mike I sat in my office with the blinds half-closed, the morning sun slicing across the dark desk. My hands itched to type out emails, to approve invoices, to call Eloise just to hear her voice steady me. But instead, they drummed an anxious, frustrated rhythm against the leather armrest. She hadn’t replied to my last text. She hadn’t replied to any of them since last night’s dinner. Dinner with Damon Grey. I clenched my jaw and forced myself to breathe evenly. Damon had always had that effect on people, men or women, it didn’t matter. His presence alone could shift the temperature in a room. Make powerful CEOs sweat under their ties. Make billionaires lean forward to listen. Make someone like Eloise…look at him like he was offering salvation itself. I replayed every second of that dinner. The way she’d visibly softened at his words. The way her eyes had brightened with something I hadn’t seen in weeks, hope, curiosity, maybe even attraction. And the way Damon had watched her, h

Eloise I dabbed a drop of foundation beneath my eyes, smudging it in with trembling fingers. My reflection in the bathroom mirror looked composed enough, hair swept into a loose bun, a silk sage blouse tucked into black wide-leg trousers. But under the surface, my veins pulsed with raw dread. Mike’s text had come that morning. Small PR dinner. Just you, me, and a potential consultant ally. Think of it as therapy with wine. I didn’t want wine. I didn’t want therapy. I wanted peace and silence. A night without strategising my survival or rehearsing polite lies to hide my fractures. But here I was, stepping out of my Uber into the warm haze of Upturn’s private rooftop dining lounge. The hostess greeted me by name, leading me past sculpted palms and glass lanterns flickering against the Manhattan dusk. Fairy lights looped along the terrace railing, casting golden webs across ivory tablecloths. Mike spotted me first, standing from his seat and lifting a hand in silent greeting. Beside

Damon The morning sun filtered through the tinted glass of my Maserati as I pulled into the underground lot beneath Donovan’s Capital’s headquarters. The familiar rumble of the engine settled into a purr before I cut it off, silence folding around me. I checked my watch. 9:17am. Early enough to catch Mike before his day spiralled into back-to-back crises, late enough that the interns wouldn’t be clogging up the espresso machine in the executive lounge. The elevator ride to his floor was quiet. Polished brass mirrors reflected my clean-cut navy suit, crisp white shirt open at the throat, and the faint scar across my jawline, a reminder from years back, another life I rarely revisited. The doors slid open to reveal Donovan Capital’s minimalist reception, all slate floors, white marble counters, and hushed conversation. Mike’s assistant, a petite woman with braids coiled tightly against her scalp, gave me a polite nod. “Mr. Damon Grey to see Mr. Mike,” she said into the phone, her

Lucian The soft buzz of my phone broke the rhythmic scratching of my Montblanc pen against legal documents. I glanced at the notification: an encrypted message from Eliza, my PR relations manager. All ready. Photographer briefed. Pickup scheduled for 1pm. I smiled faintly, my thumb tapping the phone case as I leaned back in my office chair. Sunlight filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting clean golden beams across my polished mahogany desk. The city lay beneath me like a chessboard, each block and skyscraper a piece under my control. “Micah,” I called, my voice echoing through the partially open office door. Micah appeared almost instantly, his suit immaculate, posture rigid. “Yes, sir.” “Move my 1pm investor check-in to tomorrow. Have the car ready in thirty minutes.” Micah didn’t blink, merely inclined his head. “Yes, sir.” I watched him leave, then turned my gaze back to the city, imagining Max’s small, trusting eyes lighting up when he saw me waiting outside

Zara Midnight…. The clocks tolled, each heavy note vibrating through the silent halls of my room like a pulse. I crept from my room in stockinged feet, every nerve straining at the faintest sound. My heart beat so loudly in my chest I was sure the sentry wolves patrolling the eastern grounds could hear it. My fingers curled around the invitation now in my pocket, crumpling its black paper edges.I changed into a simple robe and slipped outside. Talia’s words haunted me with each step, echoing beneath the hush of the moonlit corridor. But my curiosity burned hotter than fear. Hotter than guilt. I climbed the stone stairwell to the East Tower, each step icy against my soles. As I rose higher, a strange warmth curled around me, thick and perfumed. My throat tightened. When I reached the landing, a door loomed before me. Carved oak darkened by centuries, with a brass handle polished to a golden gleam by generations. I hesitated. Shadows flickered beneath the crack of the door, danci

Zara I was halfway through translating my Herbal Theory notes into clean scripts when I heard her approach. Her footsteps were quick, purposeful, the soles of her black shoes clicking softly against the marble library floor. I didn’t look up. I didn’t have to. Her scent – rose, honey and citrus – drifted before her. “Zara,” Alex said softly, too softly. I kept writing, ignoring how my fingers trembled slightly against the pen. The east library was mostly empty at this hour, golden light pouring in through its long stained glass windows. Dust motes floated like spectres in the dying sun. She slid into the seat across from me, dropping her satchel on the table with a dull thump. I watched from the corner of my eye as she pulled out a sleek black envelope, identical to mine. Her nails were painted silver today, short and neat, as if she’d filed them freshly for this conversation. “It’s not that deep, Zara,” she said, leaning back and crossing her arms casually. “The Halves isn’t som

Zara I hadn’t realised how accustomed I’d grown to the ache in my ankle until it was gone. Three days later, the healer’s concoctions had erased every bruise, every swelling, every hint of my failure in the forest. My leg felt light again, almost too light, as if it no longer belonged to me. But Talia refused to let me walk alone. Each time I stood, she appeared by my side, fingers curling into mine, her head brushing my shoulder, like she was terrified I’d vanish without her noticing. Breakfast was a quiet affair. Rain pattered against the high glass windows, streaking outside in blurred silver. Students murmured sleepily over bowls of oats and blood fruit(watermelon). I poked at mine with a fork, watching the pink juice seep into the grains until it looked like shredded flesh. I pushed the bowl away, my stomach curling. “Eat,” Talia said softly. “You’ve been skipping meals.” “I’m fine.” I forced a smile and reached for my water instead. She watched me for a moment longer before

Zara When I opened my eyes, all I saw was grey light filtering through the thick canopy above me. For a moment, I thought it was still night. But the shadows had softened into an ashen dawn, fog weaving through the trees like ghosts returning to their graves. I felt weightless. My head lolled against something hard yet warm, my cheek pressed to a broad chest that rose and fell steadily. The smell of rain-dampened cotton, scented laundry soap, and pine scent wrapped around me. My body shivered against the cold air biting at my soaked uniform, but his arms tightened around me, pulling me closer against his warmth. Atlas. I knew it was him before I even registered the silent fury in his clenched jaw, the stubborn set of his brows, the subtle scowl twitching at his lips as he walked. His strides were fast, purposeful, each step jolting my bruised leg painfully, but I didn’t complain. I couldn’t. My lips were numb, my tongue felt like lead. The pain in my ankle was a dull throb compar

Atlas’s POV We broke the hug. I watched her face change, her eyes widening in shock, the dim silver moonlight catching on the tears streaming down her cheeks. The rain hammered against the forest canopy above us, soaking my hair flat against my forehead. Thunder rolled, deep and rattling, shaking the ancient trees around us. I knew it sounded insane. Even to me. But every word I’d just said was true. “I care about you,” I repeated, my voice low and raw. “I really do.” Her lips trembled. She winced, shifting her leg away from my touch, her gaze dropping to her ankle. Even in the gloom, I could see how swollen it was, the skin around it already turning a dark, mottled purple. I frowned, kneeling on the wet mossy ground to get a better look. The mud soaked through my sweats, cold and cloying against my knees. “Shit,” I muttered under my breath. “It’s already bruising this bad.” Lightning forked across the sky, illuminating her tear-streaked face. She was staring at me with this lo

Zara’s POV The results came out at dawn. The air was sharp with frost, mist curling around the notice boards. Students gathered in hushed clusters, their breaths fogging as they scanned the parchment pinned under glass. My stomach twisted as I pushed through them, ignoring Nova’s smug smirk and Seraphine’s quiet giggle. My eyes flicked down the list until they landed on my name: Zara Blackwood – PASS (Remedial Trial Required) Remedial Trial. My heart sank into my shoes. “How did it go, huh?” Nova purred behind me, her syrupy voice cloying against my ear. “Heard you screamed so loud the whole forest woke up.” I ignored her and walked away. Talia called out as I passed. “Zara—hey, don’t let it get to you, okay?” I gave her a tight smile, but it fell before it reached my eyes. Inside, I felt numb. I’d done everything they asked, fought shadows and ran until my lungs bled, yet it still wasn’t enough. Just because I didn’t return with my partner? 🜃 Pairing Announcement That afte

Ronan The hotel room was dimly lit, washed in the muted glow of the bedside lamp. Heavy gold curtains were drawn tight over the windows, muffling the sounds of the city below into a queit, distant hum. The air smelled of expensive perfume – rose and vanilla layered so thick it clung to the back of my throat. Lila and I decided to meet here, since it was safer for her. She sat on the edge of the bed, one long leg crossed over the other, her crimson dress hitched up to reveal the smooth pale line of her thigh. I closed the door behind me quietly, the latch clicking into place. My heart pounded in my chest, a deep thrumming that rattled my ribs. My wolf prowled beneath my skin, restless, and needy. It knew. It had always known. But tonight, it roared: Mate. The word burned through every nerve ending, branding me from the inside out. Her eyes flicked up to meet mine, shadowed with mascara and framed by thick lashes. There was something unreadable in her gaze tonight – something sof

Jaxon How long could I go? On and on with this? I tried so hard to forget those blank cold stares she gave me the last time. Those empty stares and polite nods didn’t shred through what was left of my pride. Watching her walk past me in the halls with her shoulders straight and chin high didn’t ignite a rage so wild it threatened to burn me alive from the inside out. Everyday I was hanging on the thinner side of my last straw. I watched her from my study window, hidden behind the gauzy curtains. She crossed the training courtyard, Cassian at her side like a silent hound, matching her stride with a quiet ease that twisted something dark in my gut. She wore her hair up today, twisted into a knot high on her head, exposing the graceful column of her neck. The dawn sun caught on the copper strands threaded through her dark hair, making them glow like embers. She laughed at something Cassian said – not a full laugh, not the one that used to light up her whole face, but a small huff of

Celina I never liked snooping. It wasn’t my style. If anything, I’d spent most of my life wishing people would mind their own business when it came to me. But here I was, crouched in Brielle’s room, staring at the half-open wardrobe with a growing sense of unease prickling down my spine. I hadn’t meant to look. I’d only come in to leave the recent cooking shift on her desk, stacked neatly with a yellow ribbon so she’d know they were urgent. Brielle was gone for the morning, maybe to get food stuffs at the market, though her absence offered silence rare in this wing of the tower. But as I turned to leave, something caught my eye. A corner of leather, dark cherry-red, sticking out beneath a pile of pastel cardigans. Curiosity pulsed before I could crush it down. I set the paper aside and walked back, kneeling on the thick cream carpet. My fingers hesitated at the pile. I could smell her perfume here – faint jasmine layered over vanilla musk – and for a second, I almost withdrew. T

Deric I didn’t sleep. The sun was barely cresting the hills, casting my room window in gold, but I’d been up for hours, pacing the length of my room like a caged animal. My wolf snarled and snapped at my insides, refusing to settle, no matter how many times I pressed my fists against my ribs to calm the ache. Traitor… The word had burned itself into my thoughts all night. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw my father’s face, he had been laid to rest, but he seemed restless even as a ghost. I saw Carlton’s satisfied smirk as he took the deeds, the records, every scrap of paper tying Shadowfang to its centuries of hard-won independence. Sold. I’d sold my ancestors’ blood and sweat for a promise he wouldn’t hurt her. For the hope Ava might be free, that she will see how far I’m ready for her. But as dawn light filtered across my bed, illuminating the torn papers I’d tried to burn in rage hours earlier, the truth settled heavy and unmoving in my chest. She hadn’t called since she le

Elvira The moonlight poured through the window, silvering the room in melancholy. I sat cross-legged on the cold stone floor, my hands spread over my thighs, fingers trembling with restrained fury. The visions hadn’t stopped. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw them, my fallen ancestors or so I thought. But beneath the visions… there was rage. Rage that cracked my veins, hot and biting, coiling tighter every time someone called me “Elvira” like they knew who I was. They didn’t. They never had. Felen’s face hovered behind my eyes. Her beauty, her cunning smiles, the way her voice dripped honey even while commanding executions. I could almost hear her now. “You’re nothing without me.” My nails dug into my thighs until I felt wet warmth bloom beneath my fingertips. Nothing without her? She raised me to serve her schemes. She married off her own daughter. She twisted truths until no one remembered where right ended and wrong began. I wouldn’t let her keep her title. Not anymore.

Elvira’s POV The cold of the night seeped through the walls, but I barely felt it. I sat cross-legged on the rug in my room, hands trembling as they hovered over the cracked pendant my mom had given me when I was seven. I had just found out the reason I had that sliver thread on my wrist, it was because my pendant was triggered by something I couldn’t remember. Mate bond? I couldn’t tell! But the silver thread meant something else. The pendant shimmered faintly beneath my fingers, that strange power I’d been trying to ignore now pulsing stronger than ever. I hadn’t slept in days. I couldn’t. Every time I closed my eyes, the visions returned — brighter, louder, impossible to outrun. And now, I wasn’t sure I wanted to. My heart pounded in my chest, the weight of what I’d seen so far pressing down on me. But something told me this wasn’t the end. The truth wasn’t finished revealing itself. I exhaled slowly, my breath fogging in the cold air. “Come on,” I whispered, voice cracking. “