Ash Anderson Novels & Stories

Asher flash one of his well-practiced soulless business smiles. Jackson Brown is Asher's only friend and business partner, one of the few people he's allowed into his life, the few he can almost be himself with. Jackson is a tall, dark-skinned African-American, with sharp handsome features, and a fun, lively character, the complete opposite of Asher. They met while in college and had stayed friends ever since. "Your morning that bad?" Jackson asked, he'd never seen Asher so bleary-eyed so early in the day.

but she really did not expect Ash to react so furiously . Hmm it Ash afterall ..at time he forgets what people did for him , well Yolanda did those for herself though .. Urghh ..what should I do ? What should I do? Umm should I kill her ? No no ..Ash’s first doubt will go on me Firstly how the Ash fell for her ? my baby Ash was ruthless and god damm obsessed with his work , fitness , family and his stupid friends .. His life had limited members ..how did she enter all of a sudden

Driver guy looked amused again, "Well, would you like to introduce yourself first, or shall we?" He seemed to have something of an air of authority to him, like the other two let him take the lead naturally. He was also the tallest, and bulkiest of the three, though they were all easily over six foot and heavily built, with well-defined muscles. She smiled awkwardly, "Uh.. well, I'm Ashallia," she said quietly, her nervousness coming through in her voice, "Most just call me Ash or Asha, though."

CHAPTER 1 THIRD PERSON'S POV The wind howled through the trees like a grieving widow, low and sharp as it swept across the borderlands. Aria Ashborne stood on a jagged outcrop of stone, her cloak snapping around her ankles as she surveyed the distant shimmer of firelight in the valley below. Another rogue camp. Another reminder that the world she once knew had turned its back on her She hadn't been Alpha-blood in years-not since the day they dragged her father into the Council pit and branded him a traitor.

The wind scattered the ashes, and the rain soaked them, washing them away little by little amidst the flowing water. Sheila fell out of her wheelchair and hit the ground. Ignoring the pain, she crawled toward the drain, desperately trying to gather the ashes with her hands. It was hopeless. "My baby… My baby..." She could only watch as her child's ashes slowly disappeared. There was nothing she could do. It felt as though someone had torn her heart apart. She knelt in the mud, sobbing as she reached deep into the drain again and again. Her hands quickly became caked with filth, but she kept searching.

She simply slipped on her coat and headed toward the elevator. Italy waited. Milo waited for his mom. A war waited when she comes back. And Ethan Cade— that arrogant, scheming, pretty-faced bastard— was about to find out exactly what happened when you poked a sleeping storm. She closed the door behind her. Kaylee watched them shut. And whispered— “Come back in one piece.” But Amara Voss? Amara Voss had never been in one piece. She was shards held together by intention. And she was flying straight toward the place she’d buried her past.

Curious looks are thrown at me but I don't care. Nothing of human nature applies to Battista Cattaneo, AKA Ash Thunder. If Grant is a human, then Ash is a god, a hurricane, his nature unpredictable, the totality of his being as beautiful as it is understated, perilous, and unrelenting. A brave man who never fears the fire, never fears death. I craved the wills of the tempest when I sought him out but I didn't know the extent of the storm I was getting myself into as at the time.

“No. But I should have. Guys like you usually bring them with you.” I smirked. “Guys like me?” “Leather, tattoos… gunshot wound,” he said dryly. “You scream of trouble.” He wasn’t wrong. “And you don't want any of that?” “Name’s Ash,” I muttered when he didn't reply and finally regretted it. Where were we? Tenth grade? I was watching him move around the small room tending to my wounds with precision. “Noah.” He finally said, not looking up. “Thanks, Noah.”

“You weren’t authorized.” The man grins. “I never am.” I recognize him before he speaks again. Not by face—by weight. By the way the city pulls away from him like it doesn’t want to be noticed. “Name’s Ash,” he says. “Protagonist, depending who you ask.” Jonas’s voice goes flat. “You’re supposed to be off-grid.” “Yeah,” Ash replies. “So are ghosts.” He looks at me then. Really looks. No reverence. No calculation. Just recognition.

Anything related to his was something that his uncle took seriously. His Aunt patted his arm gently. Although her action remained demure and elegant, the gleam in her eyes was the telltale sign that she was genuinely happy. “Henry, you can contact Asher, right?” Henry nodded. Asher—his aunt’s child—was a free-spirited man who disdained being an heir and pursued his lifelong passion in photography. Now, Asher was a renowned photographer who usually travelled all around the world to capture images that the world marveled all the time due to its spirituality and uniqueness. His pursuit to his dreams did not come without obstacles. As an heir to the multinational conglomerate, he made his father