A Stepmother's Marchen Novels & Stories

"I bet they make you crawl. Make you service them on your knees like the little whore you are." "Stop—" "How long do you think you'll last?" My stepmother tilted her head, studying me like I was an insect. "We had a bet, you know. I gave you three months before you end up like their other wives. Dead and buried." "I said six months," Luna added. "You always were tougher than you looked. So fucking stubborn." "The year's not over yet," my stepmother said, her smile vicious and cold. "Plenty of time for you to join your whore mother in the ground. I wonder if they'll even bother to bury you, or if they'll just toss your body in a ditch somewhere."

she spits at me, her voice shrill. “Me?” My voice wavers, equal parts fury and despair. “Do you think I could actually defeat a Beta?” I press a hand over the mark, feeling its steady thrum beneath my palm, protective and unyielding. “It’s because of the mark. Can’t you see? It isn’t mine to control.” "You little slut, who have you been spreading your legs for this time?" My stepmother steps closer, lips curling as her eyes sweep over the golden light. For once, her mask slips. Raw envy flickers there, ugly and green, before she schools her features again.

“Did you miss me?” Her auburn hair darkens. Her face shifts, aging slightly. And suddenly I’m staring at my stepmother—the woman who died when Alistair attacked our pack. Except she’s not dead. She’s very, very alive. And she’s a witch. “No,” I breathe, my legs going weak. “No, this can’t…” “I’ve been playing you all like puppets,” Kate, my stepmother, continues, her voice dripping with satisfaction. “Orchestrating every tragedy, every betrayal, every death.”

The memories from the conversation with my stepmother began to flood back, and I felt myself slipping into that terrible moment again, replaying her words in my mind as they resurfaced in painful clarity. Flashback I recalled the way my stepmother had looked at me—her gaze predatory, filled with a cruel satisfaction that sent chills down my spine. She had smiled as if savoring a long-awaited victory, her voice a cold whisper. “You were lucky back then, you know?” she said, her tone almost playful. “Those three rogue wolves… they should’ve killed you. Imagine my disappointment when they failed and you somehow escaped to this pack.” The realization of her intent hit me hard. “The rogues… You s

My trembling hand reached out and clasped my mother's limp hand, begging her to hold on. "Mother," I choked out, my voice breaking. "Please, don't leave us. Fight this. I need you." Tears streamed down my face as I watched her pale features. Her eyes, once vibrant and full of life, were now clouded and distant. She struggled to speak, her voice barely a whisper. "Listen to your stepfather, my dear," she gasped weekly. "He will guide you, protect you... always." I looked up at the king, my stepfather, seeking answers that seemed to elude me. "Who would do this to her?" I demanded, my voice filled with fury. "She is pure light, loved by all."

No matter how much I wish I could. As soon as I step out, the knock on the door is deafening. My mother’s voice follows, shrill and commanding. “Emma, get the damn door open this instant!” Her anger cuts through me, making my heart race in my chest. I unlock the door slowly, and she shoves it open with an urgency that feels almost violent. I step back, and she marches in, her eyes locked on me, full of fury. I close the door behind her, my chest tightening as I cross my arms, trying to appear calm.

Her stepmother stood a few steps away, holding her glass of wine, her expression calm… almost amused. “Do you really think you’re that important?” she asked. The words were quiet. But they hit hard. Elara’s brows pulled together. “What did you say?” Her stepmother took a step closer. “I asked,” she repeated, tilting her head slightly, “do you really think you deserve everything just because your late mother left you here?” Elara froze. Something inside her chest tightened painfully. “My mother” “That woman,” her stepmother cut in smoothly, “was weak. And look at you… you turned out just the same.”

mode. I couldn't even look at myself in the mirror. I also thought about the text message sitting on my phone like a live grenade. The stalker had seen us. He had seen Chadwick pinning me to that desk, he had seen me unraveling under my stepfather’s touch. But how? how did he see us? I just didn't understand it. "I see you are your stepfather's slut. I want you too. We should meet." The threat against my mom was still the leash around my neck, but after last night, after the way Chadwick had looked at me with such cold dismissal once he was done, I felt a sudden, sharp spike of defiance.

His mother yelled at me, scorn dripping from her voice. My mother pressed me tightly to her. “Laraba, don’t do this…” my mother pleaded softly. “Don’t let these brothers grow up in hatred.” “You haven’t seen hate yet, Miriam.” My stepmother hissed. “You took my husband under the covers of the dark. Weaseled your way into our home with your bastard son. And you think there will be peace and love?” She closed the space between herself and my mother, her voice dropping lower. “Well, think again.”