Apothecary Diaries Fanfic Novels & Stories

“You forget I’ve seen the way you overfill the shelves. You’d have dropped it halfway through the door and then the twins would start an herb fight.” I gave him a stern look, but it didn’t stop him from smiling. Kael had a way of teasing that softened the edges around him, a quiet warmth that belonged in this place. I sighed and let him have the small victory. My apothecary smelled of cedar and honeyed tea, herbs drying overhead in neat, suspended bundles, a lot like my cottage. Sunlight broke through the frost on the windows, gilding the shelves of jars and tinctures. We’d fallen into an easy rhythm these past two years. But there was an unspoken tension at times.

Dear reincarnation. If you’re reading this, congratulations. You have finally unlocked all the secrets I had managed to keep and you have also been mated to Jacob as well. Thank you so much for digging deep and going through all lengths to be with our mate, after so long. I know that there were a lot of hardships and prejudice regarding your relationship with Jacob and I want you to know that I am proud of you. This book contains more information about me and Jacob back in the days, it’s my diary of some sort. It also includes some steamy scenes between us for your entertainment. Enjoy! Love, Ameris.

"Every tincture, every draft, every single visit made to the lower-tier quarters in the last fortnight. Now." The head apothecary, a man who usually smelled of dried lavender and nervous sweat, scrambled to comply. We spent three grueling hours poring over the vellum sheets. I personally checked the inventory for Nightshade and Silver-dust—the counts were perfect, down to the milligram. I cross-referenced the names of every authorized healer and mid-level apprentice. Nothing.

Just quiet. His car was spotless, the scent of pine and leather lingering as I buckled in. No evidence of the fight we had in it just two days ago. The apothecary sat at the edge of town, tucked between an old bookstore and a tiny café. Inside, it smelled of dried herbs, honey, and dust. Rows upon rows of tiny jars, labeled with what looked to be duct tape, lined the walls. “Feverroot,” I read aloud from the list.

We could divorce, and end the marriage, but I didn't want that. I wanted to keep her close. She was my mate. I was never going to let her go. I swung open the door to the Apothecary, instantly enveloped in the musky smell of ancient books and herbs that made my nose tingle. Diana was perched on the counter as if she had been expecting my visit. Striding towards her with hands in my pocket, she flashed me a grin, like she was glad to see me. “Look what the cat dragged in,” she said. I took out the seat at the counter and sat, my hands on the table as I watched her.

“Oh, you guys are not going to believe this. Our little spy is a massive freak.” I adjusted my posture, holding the diary up to the ambient light of the limo. “‘If he pushed me against the bookshelves, I wouldn’t even fight back,’” I read, my voice dripping with dark amusement. “‘I want him to take control. I want him to rip this stupid sweater off me. I can practically feel his hands gripping my thighs, bruising my skin, pushing his huge dick inside my tight and wet aching pussy while he whispers my name…’”

The room was dim until Cain moved past her to light a lamp on the heavy central worktable, and the light spread outward to catch on shelved jars, leather book spines, copper instruments gone green with age. A healer's workshop. She'd never seen one — she'd been too young when the Ashford home burned, and whatever her mother had kept had burned with it. But she'd read about them in the books she'd stolen during her years at Blood Moon. She'd memorised the descriptions: the worktable, the drying racks, the journals, the apothecary organisation of a hundred small jars. This was that. This was exactly that. "How long has this been here?" she heard herself ask.

“Behind the old healer’s cottage. After I was taken. She said if she couldn’t save me, she’d save others.” Of course she did. I crush the moonvine with mortar and pestle, mix it with charcoal and honey. It turns the paste black as night. “This will hurt,” I tell Alaric. “You keep saying that,” he murmurs. “Do it.” I pack the wound. Force the paste into his mouth. Make him swallow. He convulses. Back bowing. A sound tears out of him ,half wolf, half man. And then. He vomits. Black. Thick. Reeking of poison.

- Final Solution* Beatrice Caldwell? Quickly, I pull out the folder. The folder is thin and contains only a few documents. I open it. And the first words I see on the first document instantly drags me down memory lane. *Nightshade acquisition, 50 packets. Supplier: Morgan’s Apothecary* Apothecary? Nightshade? Nightshade was Beatrice’s favourite tea brand, but to have it gotten from an Apothecary? What the hell is going on? Hurriedly, I bring out my phone and begin taking pictures. Now is not the time to ask questions. I take photos of all the documents before closing the folder and putting it back into place with the others inside the cabinet.

The air in the cramped apothecary back room was thick enough to taste, a cloying mix of dried feverfew, sharp ozone, and pure, undiluted hatred. Zara, the human clinic’s head physician, had her hands planted flat on the scarred wooden table, her knuckles white. Across from her, Ronan, the lead mender for the city’s shifter coven, leaned against a shelf of trembling crystal vials, a smirk playing on his lips that made her want to commit acts of profound violence.