Book Willow Novels & Stories

“That is something else entirely.” Bram scowled, gripping his GreatSword. “And let me guess, we don’t have a choice.” “We never did,” Myrra muttered, studying the dark symbols. “If the book led us here, it means this is the only way forward.” Rael swallowed hard. The book still burned faintly in his hands, its pages shifting like restless ghosts. It wanted them to enter. No, it needed them to. Elior sheathed his blade. “Then we go.”

Hello, my Lovely Readers, I know many of you have been patiently waiting for Willow's story. Well, I have some great news! Starting on August 1, Willow's story will follow this author's note. The title of this next book is The Lycan King's Assassin.

Willow I wake up tucked into my bed, with a small bouquet of white flowers by my side and a bower or silvery blooms overhead. A note on my bedside table in a slanted script has my name on top. I open it and read: Willow, I hope you have slept well. I left you some sweet blossoms to ease any sorrows and remind you of me. There is elixir for strength and recovery in the refrigerator and herbal tea next to your mug. The herbal tea is a human blend that tastes good and soothes the nerves, but isn’t magical. Call me if you need anything, anything at all. I hope to see you at the grand opening, but will understand if you want to stay away from the club.

But then, another challenge arises. Willow is flattered by Jim's attention, but she doesn't want to betray her husband or damage her friendship with Jim. She's not sure how to handle the situation, and she doesn't want to hurt anyone. When Willow talks to Jim, she explains that while she appreciates his friendship, she's not interested in pursuing a romantic relationship. She tells him that she wants to continue helping him get back on his feet, but she doesn't want to lead him on. Jim is disappointed but understanding. He's grateful for her honesty, and he promises to respect her boundaries.

As they crossed above the first village— Maya saw them. Three children. Trapped beneath collapsing timbers. A dragon's shadow swept across them. Its claws descended. "No!" Without thinking, she reached outward. Not with her hands. With her heart. The willow trees lining the frozen river answered immediately. Their roots burst through ice. Branches shot upward impossibly fast. Long emerald limbs wrapped around the children like protective arms. The dragon's claws crashed harmlessly against living wood while the children disappeared safely inside the woven branches.

"Just a vital reminder, sir—keep your posture perfectly relaxed so the rival packs do not deduce that your legs have fully recovered their alpha combat movement." On the absolute brink of clearing the threshold, I suppress my burning fury once more, my jaw tightening as I ask, "Is the carbon wheelchair secured inside the rear compartment?" "Affirmative," Driscoll confirms. Resolved to hunt, my boots quickly head for the secret back door. Hearing my freezing remarks echo through the front entrance hall makes Sienna’s heart sink straight into the dirt. She had dragged her feet to my stronghold solely because Tess Afolayan had gone to confront Brook inside his private territory office. Tess had

I dial the number and it goes straight to voicemail. “No answer” I say. I’m just going to cut my loses and go home. This obviously wasn’t meant to be. “What’s the number, I’ll send them a text” he says. “I should just leave” I begin, “you were here first and obviously this is some kind of mix up.” “Where are you coming from?” He asks. “My name is Liam by the way.” He offers out his hand and I shake it. “I’m Willow and I am coming from near Toronto” I say still a bit nervous.

A small smile crept across my lips. One of the treasures I gained from helping that foolish woman… Morrisa. I hovered the amulet against the wound. Warm energy spread through my arm. The flesh began knitting itself together. Few minutes later… The wound was gone. Just as the healing finished, a howl echoed through the forest. Not one of mine. Celdor’s wolves had found my scent. I chuckled darkly. “Good.” I reached beneath my cloak and pulled out a small bottle, then drank its contents slowly.

I pulled one free and settled onto the rug in my small meditation corner. The familiar scent of old paper rose as I opened it. Our bloodline has always carried unusual gifts. The words were written in my mother’s careful script. Some subtle. Some dangerous. Some misunderstood. I traced the edge of the page lightly with my finger. “Sounds about right,” I murmured. Outside the small window the campus had grown quiet as evening settled over Rosewood. I read for another hour before finally closing the book. The whispers still echoed faintly in my mind. But they felt… farther away now.

And she thought of the adults in the house, the friends outside, and the way each action, each word, could ripple outward. Gemma’s pen finally touched the page, moving almost of its own accord. She wrote of the porch, the wind, the laughter, the quiet moments and sharp edges. She wrote of the things people didn’t say, the secrets they carried, and the truths that were waiting, patient and unyielding.