Forbidden Love Short Stories & Novels

It’s been five years since my mother married into the Sterling crime family, and my relationship with my stepbrother, Louis, is still ice-cold. He’s arrogant, aloof, and wouldn’t give me the time of day. I know better than to even try. Until I saw it: a birthmark on Louis’s body, identical to the one on my online boyfriend, Rowan. I thought about the messages Rowan had sent me every night for the past two years, the ones that made my face flush and my heart race: Baby, I can only fall asleep thinking of you. I need to see you. I’ll show you how much I want you. I’m going crazy thinking about you… I just couldn’t square the man in those messages with the cold-as-ice Louis. To make matters worse, I had just lied to Rowan, telling him I’d failed to get into Harvard and wasn't good enough for him, before breaking up with him. If he finds out it was me who dumped him, I’m pretty sure he’ll tear me to pieces. I was already packing my bags, ready to bolt. But then Louis appeared, blocking my path. He leaned in, his low laugh a menacing rumble in my ear. "Think you can play me and just walk away? Who gave you the balls?"

"Stop it, Daddy. Don't shove anymore. You're going to break me…" In the bathroom, my stepfather, Fabian Cox, tears my skirt away forcefully. My name is Lily West, and I am a freshman in college. I have a breathtakingly pretty face, coupled with a voluptuous figure and long, slender legs. The moment I step onto the campus, many young men are instantly attracted to me. However, I don't dare to date any of them. I've just turned 18 years old, and I have a condition that I'm highly ashamed of.

After my parents died in battle saving the Alpha, Theron Blackwood, the Blackmane Pack took me in as an orphan. To repay them for saving his life, Alpha Theron laid down a rule: whoever became my mate would be the next Alpha. Growing up, I always believed that person would be Damian Blackwood. He was Alpha Theron's chosen heir and the man who had pulled me away from Redfang's silver blades twelve years earlier. I loved him, loved him enough to believe him without question, no matter what he said or did. But on the night of the blood moon, when the groom who looked exactly like Damian pushed back his hood, I instinctively reached for the mole at the corner of his eye. The ink wasn't dry yet. The mole smeared. I froze, realizing that the man at the altar, the man who had just exchanged vows with me, was not Damian. He was Damian's youngest uncle, Adrian Blackwood, identical to him except for the missing mole at the corner of his eye. Damian had thrown our mating contract, and me, to someone else. He was certain I loved him more than life itself, certain he could switch everything back before long. But this time, I was done bending to his will. So the first thing I did that night was wipe away the painted mole, along with twelve years of love.

Caelan Hanson takes three bullets for his ice-cold, beautiful foster sister, Misty White, before her grandfather, Joel White, finally agrees to let him marry her. However, while Caelan lies unconscious from his injuries, Misty announces that the man she intends to marry is Ezra Caldwell, an impoverished student who's sponsored by the White family. This announcement sends shockwaves throughout the entire city. After all, everyone knows just how ruthless Caelan is, the wolf cub Misty had raised with her own hands. Ezra's merely an intern reporter at Portside Press Holdings. He's nowhere near worthy of being on this scion's radar. Hence, when Caelan shows up at Misty and Ezra's engagement party, almost every guest is certain that this spoiled little tyrant, who has fallen hopelessly in love with his mother's goddaughter, is about to wreak havoc. Misty's expression, too, hardens. Instinctively, she shields Ezra behind her and warns him, "Know your place, Caelan!" However, he flashes the two of them with an extremely bright smile and responds obediently, "Congratulations, Misty! You've found yourself a fine fiance."

I've been able to smell people's emotions since I was a child. Affection smells sweet. Sorrow smells bitter. Disgust and anger smell spicy. I'd been with Bruce Dawson for ten years, and the scent that clung to him had never changed. It was always sweet, cloyingly so. The only thing that ever shifted was the day my older sister left the country. That night, when he came home late, his scent had turned bitter enough to make me frown. But I never connected the two. Not until three years later, when my sister came home to get married. That day, his scent was bitter laced with something spicy, a mix I'd never smelled on him before. It struck me as strange. Without thinking, I followed him when he stepped away from the reception, and outside in the stairwell I heard his voice, low and pained. "That's enough, Jasmine! You'd rather marry a stranger just to make me give up on you?" My sister's voice cracked as she cried back at him. "What else can I do? You're my brother-in-law. Rosalie is my sister. We can't keep doing this to her!" I froze in the doorway, my whole body shaking with shock, my heart wrung out like a fist closing around it until I couldn't breathe. That was when my phone lit up with a reminder: my wedding to Bruce was next week. I stood there blank for two seconds. Then I called the hotel and canceled the wedding.