Novels by Jennifer Writes

The night of the full moon was ablaze with magic and love. The air was filled with the sweet scent of blooming flowers, and the sky was painted with hues of crimson and gold. It was the perfect night for a wedding, and Kimberly and Nicholas were ready to seal their love forever.Clark, with a warm smile, led Kimberly to the altar, where Nicholas awaited her. The ceremony was a beautiful blend of human and werewolf traditions, with the binding of the treaty being celebrated simultaneously. Aaron stood by Clark's side, a symbol of their newfound peace and unity.As Kimberly and Nicholas exchanged their vows, the full moon rose high in the sky, casting a silver glow over the gathering. The pack, a sea of familiar faces, watched with tears in their eyes as their beloved alpha and luna-to-be promised to love and cherish each other.With a final pronouncement, Kimberly and Nicholas were declared husband and wife. The pack erupted in cheers and applause as the newlyweds shared a tender kiss

Kimberly, still wailing on the ground, caught sight of Nicholas going about his killing spree, now about to kill her brothers, Clark and Aaron. "No!" She screamed, her voice hoarse from crying. "Enough! Please!" She begged, scrambling to her feet and rushing towards Nicholas.Reluctantly, Nicholas turned to look at her, his brows furrowed in confusion. "What's wrong, Kimberly?" he asked, his voice still laced with the fury of his bloodshed."Enough of the killing!" Kimberly pleaded, grabbing his arm and holding him back. "Enough of this unending war, this carnage, and massacre! We've lost so much already!" She looked at Clark and Aaron, her eyes welling up with tears. "My father, Levi... how many more lives must we lose?"Nicholas's expression softened, and he looked at Clark and Aaron, who cowered in fear. "You want me to spare them?" he asked Kimberly.Kimberly nodded vigorously. "Yes, please. I want us to end this war, to find peace. We can't keep living like this, always looking o

Arnold, Rebecca, and Aaron sat huddled and bound together with chains, their eyes fixed on Kimberly, Levi, and Nicholas, who stood before them with the remaining two werewolves. Arnold's gaze darted around the room, his eyes widening in agitation as he realized Clark was missing."Where's Clark?" he demanded, his voice rising. "What have you done to my son?"Kimberly's expression remained calm, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Calm down, Arnold, he's fine. He'll probably join us soon."Arnold's face reddened with anger, he leaned forward saying; "We spoilt you too much, look at you calling me by my first name. Spoilt brat." He spat.Kimberly's eyes sparkled with amusement as she turned her back on them, focusing on Nicholas, who lay injured and breathing heavily on the ground. "Oh, would you rather I called you Father? Daddy? Papa?" She chuckled dryly, her voice laced with mockery.As she tended to Nicholas, her voice softened, and she whispered quietly, "You're okay, you're okay," r

With a sinister sneer, Kimberly raised her hands, and her fingers danced in the air, weaving intricate signs that shimmered with a malevolent glow. Her voice was low and hypnotic, chanting enchanting words in ancient languages that sent shivers down the spines of the Silversmiths. The air seemed to vibrate with dark energy, and the three werewolves within the magical bubbles instantly vanished from sight, leaving the Silversmiths stunned, confused, and disoriented."Just tie them up, I'll let Nicholas decide what to do with them," Kimberly instructed in English, her voice dripping with malice. The Silversmiths exchanged fearful glances, knowing they were being hunted.As the magical bubbles dissipated, the Silversmiths launched a frantic barrage of bullets and arrows, firing wildly into the air. Clark, Arnold, Aaron, and Rebecca unleashed a hail of projectiles, but they kept missing their targets, as if the werewolves were phantoms.Suddenly, Arnold yelped in pain and vanished into th

The hours ticked by quickly as Kimberly meticulously outlined the plan to rescue Nicholas and Levi. Her eyes scanned the room, meeting the gaze of each werewolf as she spoke. "I know the layout of the Silversmith's house," she reminded them. "I was once their captive, and I know exactly where they'll be keeping Nicholas.”The werewolves listened intently, their faces set with determination. They were ready to put an end to the Silversmith hunters once and for all.With the plan in place, the group set out, their movements swift and silent. After a two-hour drive in their various cars, they reach the heart of town, where the Silversmith residence was located. As they approached the Silversmith house, Kimberly's heart pounded in her chest. The moment they stormed the crossed over the fence, the alarm system blared to life, and the sound of gunfire echoed through the air. Men dressed in black, armed with silver arrows and guns, poured out of the house, firing at the werewolves.The batt

What was thought to be a week's training, turned out to be a 72 hours non-stop training for Kimberly. Given her unyielding determination and resolve, she worked so hard until swift transformation became nothing short of remarkable. Under Hannah's guidance, she harnessed and possessed incredible power, her magic growing exponentially with each passing hour with and with each passing practice. Hannah took great delight in teaching Kimberly, who proved to be a fast and eager learner.As the hours turned into days, Kimberly's abilities continued to astound Hannah. She demonstrated a natural affinity for magic, mastering complex spells with ease. Her powers were raw, yet refined, and Hannah found herself intrigued by the depth of Kimberly's potential.Their training sessions were intense, with Kimberly pushing herself to the limit. She practiced tirelessly, honing her skills and perfecting her technique. Hannah watched with pride, knowing that Kimberly was destined for greatness.Finally,

SerenaThe warmth came first. And she felt it along her bare arms, trailing up her legs and along the curve of her spine. However, it wasn’t sunlight or the hum of electricity, it was busy heat from last night, coupled with a strong scent that wasn't hers.She woke up alone in her bed. But she remembered everything. The cold marble floors. Marco’s hands. His mouth. The tangle of clothes they never picked up. How his body had pressed against hers, hard and strong, and how she had fallen asleep wrapped up in his arms, her cheek resting on his chest as he breathed into her hair.She sat up slowly, the silk sheet slipping from her shoulders. Her thighs ached slightly from the night before. A slow smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. Her hair was a complete mess, her lips tender. There was a lazy soreness between her legs, the kind only one kind of night could leave behind.Then came the smell, and her nose flared.Something warm, buttery, and crisp. Bacon. Toast. Eggs. And the sharpne

Morozov Morozov stood at the edge of his private armory, fingers drumming against the table, eyes sharp and unblinking as he stared at the screen before him.His family. Their life in the hands of Stefano De Ricco.The image on the screen flickered slightly, grainy surveillance footage relayed from a drone his men had scrambled. But it was enough. He could see his son shifting in his sleep. His daughter curled up against her mother’s side. Lorenzo stood like a shadow behind them. A traitor. A coward.“You’ve seen enough,” said Sokolov, one of his lieutenants, standing nearby with a rifle strapped across his back.Morozov didn’t move for several seconds. His jaw clenched.“I’m not letting that bastard touch my son.”Sokolov said nothing.Morozov turned to the rest of his men gathered around the planning table. A dozen trained killers. All of them veterans of the cold operations from Syria to Serbia. They knew what had to be done.“We act like we’re surrendering,” Morozov said. “No wea

The kiss deepened until it was impossible to tell where her breath ended and his began.Serena gasped as Marco lifted her up effortlessly from the balcony railing, his hands firm around her waist. The sea roared below them, waves crashing like a private orchestra playing according to their intimate rhythm. Not like either of them could hear it though. The only sound Serena could register was the wild thump of her own heart and the slight, trembling exhale that left Marco’s lips as he laid her gently on the cold marble floor.The tiles beneath her were smooth, kissed by the moon and wind, but they were no match for the heat spreading beneath her skin.They were already halfway undressed.Her hair sprawled around her head like a halo, and her nightgown rode up with a single sweep of Marco’s hand. He hovered above her, shirtless now, eyes burning into hers as though trying to memorize this moment. Every breath, every movement, every inch of her counted.“Tell me to stop,” he said again,

The third night came colder than the first. Yet, they were no calls, no messages. Nothing. Just ear deafening stillness.Serena stared up at the ceiling above her bed, the soft Roman artwork now familiar and distant all at once. Red velvet sheets cocooned her, but they offered no warmth. The shadows on the walls stretched longer tonight, deeper, heavier.The silence was maddening. Stefano hadn’t reached out. Not even Marco had knocked or hovered nearby like he had the day before. It was as though the entire villa had become a breathing tomb with silk sheets and million-dollar paintings. A gilded cage in the middle of nowhere.The digital clock on the nightstand blinked 2:43 AM.She rose and abruptly got off the bed.Still wearing the satin nightgown, pale silver with lace that clung too softly to her healing skin, she padded barefoot across the warm wooden floor. The bandage along her ribs itched, but she didn’t care. Her thoughts buzzed louder than her pain.Through the winding hallw

There was little left of the captured Russian named Lorenzo Ivanovich, that looked human, by the time Stefano was done with him.He was bound to a metal chair inside a windowless room; concrete walls, blood-stained floor, and a single overhead light that flickered like it was trying to look away. Stefano leaned forward slowly, the barrel of his silenced Glock tapping Lorenzo’s knee in slow, deliberate beats.“You have two choices,” Stefano said, voice flat. “You take me to Morozov. Or I kill your family. One by one.”Lorenzo was missing three fingernails. His face was swollen, one eye sealed shut with blood and skin. But he still had enough strength to mutter something in Russian under his breath, something defiant.Stefano didn’t respond with words. He nodded to one of his men. A door opened.The screen flickered on the wall. Stefano had made sure of the setup beforehand; remote access to the feed, full surveillance. Lorenzo’s grandparents sat in their modest kitchen, visibly shaken.

StefanoStefano hadn’t slept since the explosion.His suit was gone. Now, he moved in black tactical gear, sleeves rolled up, boots laced tight, the holster under his arm weighing heavier with every passing hour. His body was a vessel of rage, his veins coursing with only one thing: vengeance.The penthouse in Milan had been reduced to ash and twisted steel. Twenty men died. Loyal men. Two of his lieutenants were hospitalized. Serena had nearly bled out in his arms.And someone had orchestrated all of it with terrifying precision.He couldn’t let that stand. He wouldn’t.Stefano stood in the center of an underground war room carved beneath one of his lesser-known safehouses just outside the city. Giant screens lined the walls, displaying grainy satellite footage, thermal imaging, and street surveillance. Strings of code scrolled in the background like a mechanical language he no longer had patience for.“We combed the entire grid,” Matteo, one of his tech leads, said. “CCTV cameras ne