All Quiet On The Western Front Novels & Stories

That's how people on the edge of divorce should act. Worried Prof. Dalloz might go in harder, I leaned close. "Prof. Dalloz, we're on his plane. Maybe ease up a little?" Another cold snort. But he didn't say a word. Just stared out the window. "I'm gonna rest for a bit," he said, eyes drifting shut. That was the last time he did. He looked the same—head high, back straight. Even in death, he still carried that quiet pride.

* Zeina * The Western Front. Moments Before the Storm. The world was fire and fang. I stood on the blood-soaked earth of the battleground, wind slicing through my fur like knives. My wolf form towered above the fallen, silver fur matted with blood, some of it theirs, more of it mine. The moon, high and indifferent, watched from behind black clouds as if even it feared what was to come. Across from me, Celine.

But why would you give something that belonged only to me to someone else? Three days later, at dawn, five sleek black cars lined up neatly in front of the hotel. Harry held Chloe’s hand carefully as he helped her into one of them. From the corner of the street, I stood quietly, watching her gown glitter in the sunlight. The fabric swayed slightly with each step, catching the light like flowing starlight. It was breathtaking. As the motorcade pulled away, I grabbed my suitcase and left alone. Inside the car, Harry’s wolf was still growling in his ear.

"In it. Alone." She looked at him. At the water on his face. At the way his shirt stuck to his shoulders. At his eyes, watching her with that intensity she'd come to recognize. "We're not alone," she said quietly. "No." He met her eyes. "We're not." The rain hammered the ground. Thunder rumbled again, closer this time. The world narrowed to this doorway, this moment, these two people. Neither spoke. The silence wasn't empty. It was full. Full of everything they hadn't said. Full of all the moments that had led here.

LYRA War has a sound. It's not the noises. Not swords hitting shields or people screaming as they die. The real sound of war is quieter. It's in the thunder of marching armies. In the crackling of fires burning villages before dawn. In the silence when everyone in the room already knows the news is bad. That's the sound around me now. It's heavy. Endless. Alive. I stand on the walls with cold wind blowing through my silver cloak. The mist below the cliffs looks like an ocean waiting to drown the world.

His fingers dug firmly into her backside, guiding her weight and forcing her to keep moving forward. As they walked inside, Cassian leaned down, his breath hot against her ear as he whispered,"If you look out the window tonight, make sure you don't close the curtains so fast." She gasped, her eyes snapping to his as his pupils dilated, dropping to trace her parted lips before locking back into her eyes. How was she going to survive the night?

"Mr. Preston, Ms. Duffy's been treated. She's stable, but she's scared and keeps asking for you." "Okay," Manuel said. He looked back at Shiloh. "Get some rest. We'll go home tomorrow and say goodbye to Zach." The night dragged on forever. Shiloh lay awake until dawn. *** The funeral was the next day. The child she'd carried for nine months and brought into the world would be cremated, sealed in an urn, and laid to rest. Manuel showed up the next morning and drove Shiloh back to the Preston estate. The house had been turned into a funeral home. Black ribbons framed the entrance. White lilies filled the halls. The staff wore dark clothes.

At the DeLuca Family banquet announcing its new advisor, Matteo said he was going to end nine years of secrecy and finally acknowledge our relationship in public. I stood in the back row of the banquet hall, so nervous I'd crumpled my prepared speech into a ball. Over nine years, I'd cleaned up the port books for him three times, negotiated two cross-border shipping routes, and taken a bullet for him. Everyone knew the DeLuca Family had a female advisor who never showed her face, but no one knew I was that woman. I thought that after tonight, I would finally stop being his shadow. Until the screen at the front of the banquet hall lit up. There was no photo of us. Instead, there was only a si

Aron consented, his eyes never wavering from Athena's face. Athena's line of questioning delved deeper into Aron's emotional state, aiming to uncover the nuances of his current mood. As she asked him to rate his emotions on a scale of zero to five, Aron's voice twitched with a subtle undercurrent of tension. "Nothing," Aron responded, his voice carrying a hint of restrained turmoil. His eyes, once filled with playful allure, now held a flicker of uncertainty, revealing the inner turmoil that resided within him.

Taking a deep breath, I gathered my thoughts and maintained my composure, I held my head high and I approached the wolf with my heart pounding in my chest. I stepped my feet into Fenrir’s territory and the wolf turned around, his eyes blazing with fury. “Who dares step into my territory without my permission? Does that person have a death wish?” I gulped, as I recognized the wolf in front of me. This was none other than the greatest alpha in the whole of the lands, Alpha Fenrir. His voice was deep, and it resonated with power and authority, making me feel insignificant.