Kaylee Archer’s debut novel Witch of the Wolves arrives at a moment when the romantasy genre desperately needs new perspectives on old tropes. The book delivers a Victorian-era supernatural romance that weaves together witch lineages, werewolf politics, and the eternal question of agency versus destiny—though not always with the finesse readers might hope for.
A Heroine Caught Between Two Worlds
Cordelia Levine embodies a fascinating contradiction. She’s a Levine witch from a family notorious for refusing to follow Coven rules, secretly running an apothecary in London that serves supernatural clientele. When she’s abducted by the mysterious Bishop Daniels, she discovers a truth that reshapes everything she thought she knew about herself: her absent father wasn’t a French perfumer but a werewolf Alpha, making her a lycan with enhanced abilities.
This revelation transforms Cordelia from independent businesswoman to valuable commodity overnight. The novel excels in portraying her resistance to being treated as property—first by foreign packs seeking to exploit her unique bloodline, then by her own father who sees her primarily as a breeding vessel to produce powerful heirs. Archer captures the righteous fury of a woman who’s spent twenty-three years building autonomy only to have it stripped away by men who believe they know what’s best for her.
What makes Cordelia compelling is her refusal to play the damsel despite her circumstances. She negotiates, schemes, teaches a mute servant girl sorcerer magic in secret, and actively works to understand the political landscape she’s been thrust into. However, the narrative sometimes undercuts this agency by having her make impulsive decisions that feel designed to advance the plot rather than flowing naturally from her established character.
The Ruthless Alpha-in-Waiting
Bishop Daniels stands as both antagonist and love interest—a delicate balance Archer navigates with varying degrees of success. As the Alpha’s second-in-command and future heir, Bishop abducts Cordelia at her father’s request, positioning himself as the man she’s been promised to marry. The novel asks us to sympathize with a kidnapper, which requires considerable narrative dexterity.
To Archer’s credit, she doesn’t shy away from the problematic nature of this dynamic. Bishop is calculating, ambitious, and initially dismissive of Cordelia’s autonomy. The tension comes from watching him realize he’s misjudged both his capacity for cruelty and his ability to remain emotionally detached from his captive. The moments when his carefully constructed control cracks—particularly during confrontations where Cordelia deliberately provokes him—crackle with electric chemistry.
The romance develops through a slow burn that emphasizes intellectual sparring over immediate physical attraction. Bishop recognizes Cordelia’s intelligence and magical prowess, eventually treating her as a strategic partner rather than mere property. Their interactions sparkle when they’re matching wits, though the power imbalance inherent in their situation occasionally creates uncomfortable undertones the narrative doesn’t fully address.
A Gothic Estate Hiding Dark Secrets
Trevelyan, the pack estate, functions as almost a character itself—a sprawling Gothic manor deep in the forest that feels lifted straight from classic Victorian literature. Archer clearly loves this setting, describing it with the kind of loving detail that makes readers smell the ancient stone and forest loam. The house becomes a character study in contrasts: opulent public spaces mask the servants’ harsh realities, and grand dinners hide poisonous family politics.
The world-building extends beyond architecture to create a supernatural society with clear hierarchies and rules. Witches always female, sorcerers always male, and werewolves producing both sons who can transform and daughters who inherit only secondary traits—this sexual dichotomy creates interesting tensions. The novel explores what it means for Cordelia to be both witch and lycan, neither fully one nor the other, finding her own identity in the spaces between established categories.
Where the world-building falters is in the broader supernatural landscape. We hear about foreign packs, witch cabals, and ancient grudges, but these elements remain frustratingly vague. The threat driving the plot—foreign packs wanting to claim Cordelia—feels more abstract than immediate for much of the novel.
Supporting Characters Worth Remembering
The secondary characters breathe life into the pack dynamics. Julius, Bishop’s cousin and the pack doctor, serves as both confidant and voice of reason. Oliver, Cordelia’s uncle, offers kindness in a household starved of it. Marjorie, the head maid, reveals depths that subvert initial impressions—her eventual betrayal lands with genuine emotional impact because Archer takes time to develop their relationship.
Most poignant is young Tabitha, a mute servant girl who cannot cast spells due to her father’s cruelty. Through teaching Tabitha sorcerer magic, Cordelia finds purpose beyond her own predicament. Their scenes together provide emotional grounding and showcase Cordelia’s genuine compassion, distinguishing her from the typical “not like other girls” heroine.
Ann, another maid with her own tragic history, represents the pack’s darkest aspects. Once the beloved granddaughter of a previous Alpha, she’s been relegated to servitude—a cautionary tale of what happens to women in this world when powerful men decide they’re inconvenient.
Victorian Atmosphere With Modern Sensibilities
Archer demonstrates clear affection for Victorian settings, peppering her prose with period-appropriate details: bustles and corsets, London streets and botanical gardens, social calls and proper introductions. The language occasionally veers into contemporary phrasing that breaks immersion, but overall she maintains the atmosphere without becoming so bogged down in period accuracy that pacing suffers.
The prose itself reads smoothly with moments of genuine beauty, particularly when describing magic or transformation. Spell-casting sequences feel visceral and exhausting, emphasizing that magic demands a physical toll. Less successful are some of the romantic scenes, which occasionally tip into purple prose territory, though they remain refreshingly explicit for the genre.
Political Intrigue That Sometimes Stumbles
The novel’s central conflict involves Bishop’s plan to overthrow Cordelia’s father, the tyrannical Alpha Silas, who has ruled through fear and cruelty for decades. This political maneuvering provides the backbone for much of the tension, with Cordelia caught between her blood father and the man she’s developing feelings for.
Archer handles the moral complexity well—Bishop isn’t simply noble rebellion personified. He wants power, even as he also genuinely wants to protect the pack from Silas’s brutality. The question becomes whether his methods justify his goals, and whether Cordelia can trust someone whose plans initially involved using her as a pawn.
However, the pacing around this central plot sometimes drags. The novel spends considerable time establishing pack dynamics and Cordelia’s adjustment to captivity, which creates rich character work but occasionally sacrifices narrative momentum. When the action does accelerate in the final third, it comes almost too quickly, with revelations and confrontations tumbling over each other.
Themes of Agency and Identity
At its core, Witch of the Wolves explores what happens when women exist in worlds designed to control them. Every major female character—Cordelia, Marjorie, Ann, Tabitha—has been shaped by men’s decisions about their lives and bodies. The novel asks whether it’s possible to reclaim agency within oppressive systems or whether those systems must be destroyed entirely.
Cordelia’s journey toward embracing her dual nature as both witch and lycan mirrors this thematic concern. She’s neither fully one nor the other by traditional definitions, forcing her to forge a new identity. The novel suggests there’s power in existing outside established categories, in refusing to fit neatly into boxes others have built.
The romance between Cordelia and Bishop embodies this tension. Can genuine partnership exist when it begins with coercion? The novel argues cautiously yes, but only when both parties actively work to rebalance the power dynamics. Bishop must learn to truly see Cordelia as an equal, while Cordelia must decide whether she wants to stay for herself rather than because she lacks alternatives.
Areas of Concern
Despite its strengths, the novel stumbles in several areas. The love story occasionally asks readers to forgive Bishop too quickly for his role in Cordelia’s kidnapping and imprisonment. While the book acknowledges the problematic nature of their beginning, it doesn’t always sit with that discomfort long enough.
The broader supernatural threat remains nebulous throughout. We’re told repeatedly that foreign packs want Cordelia, but they feel more like plot devices than genuine antagonists until late in the book. When Cordelia’s grandmother and her witch cabal finally appear, they arrive with such sudden force that earlier pacing issues become more apparent.
Some secondary plot threads feel underdeveloped. Cordelia’s friend Audrey vanishes from the narrative after the abduction with only brief mentions, creating a sense that Cordelia’s entire London life was disposable. Given how much the novel emphasizes Cordelia’s love for her aunt Lenora and her independent life, this absence feels like a missed opportunity for emotional complexity.
Similar Reads for Fans
Readers who enjoy Witch of the Wolves should explore Sarah J. Maas’s A Court of Thorns and Roses series for similar themes of captivity evolving into partnership, though with a more fantastical setting. Jennifer L. Armentrout’s From Blood and Ash offers comparable slow-burn romance with political intrigue. For those drawn to the Victorian supernatural elements, Gail Carriger’s Soulless provides lighter romantic comedy within a similar historical fantasy framework, while Alix E. Harrow’s The Once and Future Witches delivers more feminist bite with its exploration of women’s power.
Kaylee Archer is the pen name of bestselling author Kelley Armstrong, known for her urban fantasy series. Readers familiar with Armstrong’s Women of the Otherworld series will recognize her skill at building supernatural worlds and writing strong female characters, though Witch of the Wolves marks a deliberate shift toward romantasy with more explicit romantic content.
Final Verdict
Witch of the Wolves succeeds as an engaging entry point to a new series, establishing a world rich with potential and a central relationship that grows organically despite its problematic beginnings. Archer demonstrates skill at character development and world-building, creating a heroine readers will root for and a romance that generates genuine heat.
The novel works best when focused on the intimate dynamics between Cordelia and Bishop, their verbal sparring and gradual trust-building providing the story’s strongest moments. The Victorian setting adds atmospheric charm without overwhelming the supernatural elements, and the supporting cast enriches the pack politics with genuine emotion.
However, pacing issues and underdeveloped external threats prevent the book from reaching its full potential. Readers seeking breakneck action may find the first half too slow, while those wanting deeper exploration of the moral complexities around Bishop’s initial actions may feel the novel moves too quickly toward forgiveness.
For fans of romantasy who prioritize character chemistry over plot velocity, Witch of the Wolves delivers a satisfying reading experience. It’s a promising series debut that establishes strong foundations while leaving plenty of room for growth. The ending sets up future installments with enough intrigue to make readers anticipate the next chapter in Cordelia and Bishop’s story, even as it resolves the immediate conflict.
Archer has crafted a world where women with power must constantly negotiate their place in systems designed to diminish them. That Cordelia refuses to be diminished—that she instead finds ways to reshape the world around her—makes her journey worth following. The romance may follow familiar romantasy patterns, but Cordelia’s sharp wit and Bishop’s gradual transformation from captor to genuine partner give those patterns fresh energy.
Witch of the Wolves won’t revolutionize the genre, but it offers exactly what romantasy readers crave: a smart heroine, a morally complex love interest, forbidden chemistry, and a supernatural world begging to be explored. In a crowded market, that’s no small achievement.