All Chapters of The Fierce Little Thing And Her Five Mates: Chapter 41 - Chapter 50

Kai is still buried deep inside me, his forehead resting against mine as our breaths mingle, rough and uneven. The grass beneath me is damp with dew and crushed beneath our bodies, but I’ve never felt more grounded. More real. I’m still catching my breath when I hear the sound of someone clearing their throat. Loudly. Deliberately. Kai tenses above me. I freeze. A beat of silence.“Well,” Dylan says, from a very close distance, “I was coming to tell you dessert is ready, but clearly someone already ate.”I groan, covering my face with my hands as heat floods my cheeks.Kai doesn’t even flinch. He just grins wickedly and slowly, obnoxiously, rolls off of me, stretching like a smug cat. “You’re just mad you didn’t get seconds.”“Oh my gods,” I mutter into my hands.Dylan lets out a huff of laughter. “Trust me, I felt enough of it to need a shower. Thanks for the mental images. Truly.”Kai smirks up at him, completely unrepentant. “You’re welcome.”“You’re both the worst,” I mumble, sitt

DylanThere’s a stillness when Layah steps into the center of the clearing. It’s not quiet. The wind still whispers through the trees, birds still call from overhead, and Kai is still muttering beside me about his singed shirt. But everything else, the air, the earth, even the light feels like it’s holding its breath. Then Layah exhales, and her body begins to glow. It starts at her feet, a golden shimmer that races up her legs like morning sunlight. Her boots vanish, and when the light fades, she’s barefoot, toes sinking into the grass as if she belongs to it. A white dress, soft and flowing, wraps itself around her like magic heard her say "something deadly, but make it beautiful." Her blonde hair spills down her back in loose waves, catching the light like spun gold and then the wings appear. Not soft or gossamer. Blades. Huge, multi-coloured translucent wings, sharp as razors and glowing with shifting hues, violet, gold, silver, green. Each edge refracts the light like a prism but

The morning comes all too soon. The sun barely crests the horizon, casting lazy gold across the edges of the windowpane, but it doesn’t feel warm. It feels like a countdown. Final. Sharp around the edges. I lie still for a moment, wrapped in the heat of blankets and the scent of my mates lingering on the sheets—smoke, embers, and something faintly sweet, like wild mint. It’s the most comfort I’ve known in years, and it makes getting up that much harder. I’m used to running. To waking up in a different place every week. To not unpacking my emotions, or my bags. But here, surrounded by soft laughter, burnt toast, enchanted unicorns, and the quiet weight of love, I let myself be still too long. Comfort, I’m learning, is a dangerous thing. With a slow exhale, I pull myself from the sheets and begin the process of becoming the version of me the world needs today. The Slayer. The infiltrator. The spark that might burn the vampire council to the ground. Black pants. Reinforced boots. My old

JordanThe problem with ancient vampire estates? Too many damn hallways and not enough exits. Henry and I creep down a corridor lined with stone statues, each one bearing the same smug, angular face. Jonathon Vize really does love himself. Which means we’re close. I gesture toward a sconce flickering oddly against the far wall. “There. Behind it.”Henry nods, pressing a small rune-stone into the wall’s groove. The illusion blinks away, revealing a stairwell spiraling downward like the throat of some monster.“This the right path?” I ask.He tilts his head, listening to the air. “Wards are thinner here. If I were hiding a comm hub, this is where I’d do it.”I exhale, gripping my twin daggers tighter. “Alright. Let’s gut their eyes and ears.”We descend in silence, silent, but not quiet. Vampires might not breathe, but stone does. It groans. Settles. Watches. My hand brushes against the necklace tucked beneath my shirt. A tiny charm Layah gave me for luck. If there’s ever a day I need i

It’s not entirely surprising that the males standing outside her door are guarding it like sacred treasure. That in itself is infuriating. I can hear the screams echoing down the corridor, bones snapping, blood splattering the walls, but I can’t see her. I can’t witness what she’s doing. She’s slaughtering my people, and somehow, I’m intrigued. I peel myself from the shadows, cloaking myself in movement so fast it blurs the world around me. My boots are soundless against the cold stone floor as I close the distance between us. Two of them stand like sentinels. One is taller, broad shoulders, bronze skin and a tattoos that hum with faint magic. A dragon shifter. The other, more wiry but radiating a different kind of menace, his dark eyes glinting with hellfire. A hellhound. I’ve known his kind. Dangerous. Loyal to a fault. But their presence here, guarding her, strikes a nerve. I step closer. Too close. And I’m rewarded when they tense, throwing small sparks of warding magic at me, chi