Bone Flowers Novels & Stories

“Don’t you ever resist me again,” he breathed, his words brushing my skin like fire. One hand held my wrists captive above my head; the other traced the line of my throat, caging me against the wall. I looked up at him. My tormentor, my weakness, and the man I craved like sin itself. --- A fire stole her childhood. A contract stole her freedom. Now, a man dressed in a suit that costs more than her life is about to steal her heart. And possibly destroy what’s left of her soul. Evie remembers nothing before the fire, only the smell of smoke, the sound of screams, and a name she can’t forget. Years later, her life is a cycle of debt, slavery, and forced silence. She works herself to the bone while living in the shadow of her perfect cousin, never realizing she was born into a secret far darker than her life. Until the night she’s traded — like property to repay an old family debt — to a man no one dares to speak about. A man whose reputation bleeds power, cruelty, and blood. But instead of chains, he offers her a deal. Marry him, obey him. And never ask questions. Just business. But every time he touches her, the line between fear and longing blurs. His presence unearths flashes of her past, and memories that burn her alive. Because her husband is not who he seems. And the fire that destroyed her life didn’t happen by accident. As their marriage turns into a war of control and desire, Evie finds herself caught between the man who owns her and the truth that could set her free. But freedom comes with a great price. And love is the priciest thing she's ever had.

In the third year that I've been diagnosed with late-stage bone cancer, Xenia Jensen, the ex-girlfriend whom I have "abandoned" back then, barges into my rented apartment with the rest of her team that she leads as a police captain. Every day, I have to rely on large amounts of morphine just so I can force myself to stand like a regular human being. I can only twitch violently as I try to grab a pill bottle on the table, my skin completely riddled with needle marks. Xenia chuckles icily as she savors how pathetic I look. "Oh? It's been seven years since we last met, and yet I never thought you'd stoop so low as to become a drug addict. "Where did your gusto to get a better, richer girlfriend go? I can't believe you're willing to humiliate yourself just for some so-called medicine!" As soon as Xenia's words fall, I point at the pill bottle with a trembling finger. "Please, officer… Can you please give me my medicine?" Xenia chortles in response. She picks up the bottle before walking toward the bathroom, soon flushing it down the toilet. "You want your medicine? Go ask the peeps at the rehab for it! It seems both your heart and your body are rotten to the core after you left me for another woman!" I'm in so much pain that I'm convulsing violently right now. "Oh… Then… Am I going to die?" I curl up on the floor, hoping to tide over the latest wave of pain by using the method my doctor has taught me. But Xenia merely gazes at me coldly from the side. In fact, she starts recording me, saying that she wants to make me a living negative example.

When my best friend died, his wife, Mia Lewis, was eight months pregnant. Mia said she didn't want her baby growing up without a father. I owed my best friend my life. He saved me, literally pulled me from death's door. So I stepped up, marrying Mia and raising their son as my own. Mia loved her career, so I quit mine. Traded my job for diapers and school runs. For seven whole years, I cooked, cleaned, folded laundry, and handled the housework. Rain or shine, sickness or health, I was there—every single day. Mia, though? She stayed cold, distant. Her warmth only surfaced in the bedroom—and even then, it was a flicker, never a flame. Just soft sighs and breathy murmurs, like she was playing a role she couldn't wait to finish. Afterward, she would quietly check the condom, as if she couldn't trust me. Then came New Year's Eve. A snap. A tear. A broken condom. Her fury struck like a thunderclap. She locked me out on the balcony, left me standing in the freezing rain, soaked to the bone as the wind howled like a wounded beast. Teeth chattering, I shivered as I watched the door like a dog, waiting to be let in. Then I saw him. Our boy, Ethan Bailey. Six years old. My son, at least in name. He came running with an umbrella in his hand. For a second, my heart leapt. 'Maybe, just maybe…' But he didn't even look at me. Just walked past in silence and handed the umbrella to the nanny heading out. Right then and there, something inside me cracked. I knew it was time to go.

One of Ethan Sterling's closest friends got drunk and humiliated me. Called me a nobody orphan who married above her station, said I'd never be accepted by the Sterlings, that I wasn't fit to sit at their table. Ethan smashed a bottle over the man's head. He announced in front of everyone that if anyone ever disrespected me again, he'd make them pay. When I was pregnant and the morning sickness was so brutal I couldn't keep anything down, he went and scheduled a vasectomy. He didn't want me to suffer through another pregnancy. This was a man who loved me like I was his whole world. And yet — when I was lying on the operating table about to give birth, he was standing right in front of me with his arms around Iris, putting on a show for anyone watching. Iris was the daughter of another old-money family and she'd donated bone marrow to save Ethan's mother's life. The night before her own engagement, her fiance betrayed her, and the trauma wiped her memory clean. Now the only thing she knew for certain was that Ethan Sterling was her husband. In her world, I was the homewrecker — the scheming woman using the bastard in her belly to force her husband into a divorce. Ethan promised me it was all an act. Just repaying the debt for his mother's life. Once Iris recovered, he'd walk away from her immediately. But when I picked up the surgical consent form for him to sign, and his first instinct was to pull Iris behind him — to shield her — I knew. His heart had already drifted off course. The fairy tale of a Cinderella marrying into high society was over. Time to wake up.

After one year of marriage, Nadia Lincoln still remembered every good thing Quinton Zeller had done for her. Grateful for the life they shared, she worked herself to the bone to support his career and played the part of the perfect wife. In return, Quinton gave her a gift of his own. He got involved with an actress, got caught in a scandalous outdoor hookup that left them both nearly frozen to death, and turned Nadia into a joke among the city’s wealthy wives overnight. But Nadia was not about to play the victim. Without hesitation, she hit back where it hurt most and posted the intimate video of Quinton and that woman online. The couple who had once seemed so loving ended up tearing each other apart with the cruelest words. He tried to force her to raise his illegitimate child as her own, then tried to drive her out of the Zeller family with nothing. Quinton was certain she would eventually come crawling back and remain Mrs. Zeller, obedient as ever. In his mind, he had only made the kind of mistake all men made. Besides, without him, Nadia had no one to rely on. But after all that waiting, he finally discovered that the woman he had once believed could only survive by depending on him was actually a world-class floral artist whose work had once been so exclusive that even the richest people in the world could not buy it. By the time regret finally caught up with him, Quinton was the one on his knees, begging her to spare the Zeller family. But Nadia already had another man by her side, someone who could crush Quinton into the dust without a second thought. All Quinton could do was watch as Nadia moved on, remarried, had children, and rose higher and higher, becoming someone he could never hope to reach again.

Bianca is dying. Acute myeloid leukemia, stage three. The family doctor told me on the phone—bone marrow transplant, only option, perfect match. Identical twins share ninety-nine percent compatibility. I crushed the diagnosis report. My name was at the top: Gemma Blackwell. But the doctor trembled, whispering apologies. A clerical error. The sick twin was Bianca. The cure was me. I had to get home. Rain lashed the taxi windows. I rehearsed the scene: Father setting down his cigar, Mother gasping, me explaining the mix-up. The report has my name, but the blood work is Bianca's. I can fix this before it's too late. My phone lit up. Family group chat. Father's message was short: [Gemma is terminal. Bianca forbidden from donation. Family decision.] My blood turned to ice. They had seen the misdelivered file. They thought I was the one dying—and they had voted to let me rot. When I pushed open the door and saw Father, I felt it— the temperature drop, the world freezing around me. Tears burned my eyes. I couldn't stop them. "Father," I said, my voice barely steady. "I have a question for you." He looked up from his cigar, annoyed. "If it were Bianca dying," I whispered. "Would you have made me give her my marrow?" The room went silent. He set down the cigar. A long pause. "No," he said finally. "Of course. We have resources. We would find another donor. We would never ask you to take that risk." I smiled a little. Just a small, sad smile. "Good," I said softly. "That's exactly what you said. Don't regret this."

*Warning* Explicit Content Included. Adults only. They killed my parents. Turned my underaged sister as se* slave. Sold me to a brothel. It’s been 901 days until the soon to be alpha made the highest bid on my auction night. ** “You,”He leered and smirked at us. “Both of you. Get up.” I shook my head, shuddering, “Please… Please don’t–” He grabbed me by my arm and dragged me up to my feet. He grabbed Angelia with his other hand and proceeded to drag us towards the door. Angelia had gone all but silent as she was pulled along like a ragdoll. Her eyes seemed glazed over. My heart raced. “P-Please. I can give you gems! Jewelry! What about lunar flowers? We have them all. If you’d just take us back–” “How are you going to bargain with something that’s not yours anymore?” He scoffed, “Move it. The boss doesn’t like to be kept waiting.” Tears streamed down my face. We were brought out of the dungeon into another section. There were no windows and the scent of sweat and tears filled the air. The man who brought us there shoved us inside and closed the door behind us as a fat, whale of a man turned towards us. I could tell by his stature and his scent that he was either human or his wolf was weak. He chuckled and licked his lips as he approached. He stopped at me first, grabbing my chin and leaning close to take a deep breath of my scent. He chuckled as I recoiled and shuddered in disgust. Then, he stopped at Angelia, tracing a hand over her cheek. “I love the obedient ones. Welcome girls, to my dungeon. You will call me, Dan.”

After working for five years, I finally get to purchase my favorite penthouse in Rainville. Tessa Boston, my younger cousin who has just graduated from high school, tells me she wants to stay with me during her summer break. I want to reject her at first, but my mom claims that we're all relatives here, and that I shouldn't act all high and mighty just because I'm richer now. So, everyone drops Tessa off on my doorstep without even consulting me. But after Tessa starts living with me, she frequently sings loudly and makes a lot of noise in the middle of the night. I can't get a good night's sleep because of her. After that, she even invites her old high school classmates over to the penthouse and throws a party there. Tessa tells her classmates that this is the smallest residence she owns. Apparently, this is a gift she has received to celebrate her 18th birthday. Everyone is envious of her and calls her an actual heiress of a wealthy family. But these punks completely mess up my penthouse. My neighbors begin lodging noise complaints against me. Unable to take it anymore, I warn the youngsters to keep their voices down. But Tessa thinks I've humiliated her, so she begins harboring a grudge against me. When I'm watering my flowers on the balcony, she uses that opportunity to lock me outside. It's an insanely hot day. I'm stuck on the balcony from morning till night. By then, I've already died from the heat. When I wake up again, I've returned to the day Tessa tells me she wants to stay with me.

{SUPPORT = MOTIVATION = MORE UPDATES} Valery Hale ~ All I ever wanted was a comfortable life for me and my brother, Derek. With no parents, I had to work hard to put food on our table. Derek needs to go to school, and I need money for the never-ending bills. Just when life starts getting good, fate decides to throw in a box of scorpions. I can barely make ends meet every month, as if that isn’t hell enough. How am I supposed to make the CEO of a multibillion-dollar company fall in love with me? Did I mention he’s also an Alpha Lycan?   Nathaniel Kress ~ For generations, KressCo. has met the needs of The BloodFlame Pack. Being the next Alpha, I am to also take over as the CEO of the company, but my father won’t let me until I claim someone to replace my deceased Mate. I don’t believe in second-chance Mates and even if I did, not Valery. I should've rejected her from the start because now I can’t get her out of my head. If only I knew she wasn’t the innocent lamb she was so good at pretending to be... -- Jaden points the loaded gun at me. “Valery, you have three months to get the bastard to marry you. Succeed, and you’ll get your brother back in one piece. Fail.” My heart skips a beat at the click sound the gun makes in his hands. “Fail, and I’ll break every bone in his body, then feed him to my sharks.” He threatens with his hand outstretched to me. “It’s simple enough, so do we have a deal?” The Mafia Lord asks, his lips curving to form an evil grin. Like I have a choice. “Yes.” --

My grandma and I were on a perfect beach in Golden Bay. The sun warmed my skin, the sand was soft beneath my feet, and she was resting peacefully nearby. Suddenly, a sharp pain shot through my mind. A mind link. It was Brenda. Assistant to my mate, Gideon, the Alpha Heir. The image she sent was horrifying. An old woman in simple clothes, lying in a pool of her own blood. Deep gashes, down to the bone, from a silver-laced weapon. Brenda's voice echoed in my head, dripping with arrogance. “Cora, do you Omegas do anything but freeload?” “Gideon just bought this estate, and you’re already letting your pack-leeching relatives squat here? As the Alpha’s assistant, it's my duty to protect his land from trespassers.” “This is what happens when you trespass on an Alpha’s private property!” I froze. I looked over at the sun umbrella. My grandma, Maria, was napping peacefully. I replayed the image from the link. My blood ran cold. That face… bloody and broken, but I knew it. I would never mistake it. It wasn't my grandmother. It was Eleonora. Gideon’s grandmother. A rival pack had attacked her months ago. Her wolf was weakened. She was in a pack clinic. Her mind-link was damaged. She could only receive, not send. Today… she was supposed to come home. I pushed back against the link with all my strength. “Brenda, are you insane? Look who you hit! That's Eleonora! Gideon's grandmother!” Brenda cut the link. Her last words were cold and stupid. “Gideon made it clear. Your family is your problem. His family is his. He doesn’t claim trash like them.”