Beneath Atlanta’s glittering skyline, a centuries-old werewolf pack is tearing itself apart. Viktor — the Alpha whose grief has curdled into tyranny — rules through silver and fear. His heir is running out of reasons not to stop him. His fiercest wolf has fallen in love with a human. And a district attorney with an unsolvable murder case is about to discover that the city’s most powerful predators don’t show up on any database she can access.
The Savage Court is a dark, sensual paranormal romance series about the people — human and otherwise — who risk everything to defy the laws that were supposed to protect them.
Five centuries of survival. One rule: never love a human. Katerina broke it. Now the Alpha who rules Atlanta’s pack with silver-tipped cruelty knows her secret — and the price of forbidden love is measured in blood. A dark werewolf novella about the devastating cost of crossing boundaries that exist for a reason.
District Attorney Isabella Santos doesn’t lose cases. She doesn’t compromise evidence. And she definitely doesn’t fall for murder suspects. But Mikhail Volkov — charismatic, dangerous, and hiding something inhuman beneath his tailored philanthropy — is making her break every rule she’s ever sworn to uphold. The evidence says he’s guilty. Her body says something else entirely.
The Big Bad opens the Savage Court series with a perspective on justice that fuses supernatural and human angles, making Isabella’s relentless pursuit of truth both thrilling and emotionally resonant.
The romance blossoms slowly yet powerfully, evolving from a tentative connection to a fierce, protective partnership that drives the narrative forward.
Isabella Santos, a tenacious district attorney, navigates deep corruption and supernatural threats with sharp instincts — while her bond with Mikhail, Alpha of the Atlanta Pack, feels instantaneous and fated.
The characters are richly developed, keeping readers engaged and easily visualizable as a TV-series cast.
Beneath Atlanta’s glittering skyline, a centuries-old werewolf pack is tearing itself apart. Viktor — the Alpha whose grief has curdled into tyranny — rules through silver and fear. His heir is running out of reasons not to stop him. His fiercest wolf has fallen in love with a human. And a district attorney with an unsolvable murder case is about to discover that the city’s most powerful predators don’t show up on any database she can access. The Savage Court is a dark, sensual paranormal romance series about the people — human and otherwise — who risk everything to defy the laws that were supposed to protect them.
Five centuries old. Green-eyed. Copper-haired. Rides a motorcycle and knows the balance weight of a sixteenth-century Hungarian cavalry saber by feel. The pack’s fiercest female — the one Viktor watches because she’s the only wolf willing to growl back. She broke the oldest rule in pack law: she fell in love with a human. A bladesmith who smells like cedar and metal and doesn’t flinch when she tells him not to like anything about her. He didn’t listen. Neither did she.
Tall, broad-shouldered, with a craftsman’s scarred hands and a dimple in his left cheek that appears when he’s about to say something too charming for his own good. Authenticates medieval weapons for the Atlanta History Museum, forges reproductions in a converted cotton-mill loft, and believes that blades are the most honest objects in the world — their purpose clear, their function unambiguous. Then a woman with green eyes and an Eastern European accent walked into his exhibition and spotted a curatorial error in a fourteenth-century baselard. He’s been in trouble ever since.
Nine centuries of pack law say the Alpha’s word is absolute. Mikhail has watched his uncle Viktor twist that law into something unrecognizable — grief weaponized, cruelty rebranded as protection, blood spilled in the name of a dead mate who would have hated every drop. He’s the heir, the diplomat, the one who stands in doorways counting heartbeats and calculating how many more will bleed before he acts. The question isn’t whether the confrontation is coming. The question is how much of the man he used to respect will be left when it does.
Thirty-two. Latina. Built a career on ironclad evidence and the kind of moral certainty that doesn’t bend. Then the claw-marked bodies started showing up across Atlanta, and the only lead pointed to the city’s most prominent philanthropist — a man whose background evaporates fifteen years ago, who moves like something that learned to pass for human, and whose proximity makes her forget every professional instinct she’s ever relied on. The evidence says he’s guilty. Her instincts say something worse: he’s telling the truth.