Bowsette Novels & Stories

Not thinking much of it, he entered his closet, dressed, and came out. Buttoning his cufflinks, he called, “baby girl, wake up. Time for your breakfast,” he picked up his Rolex and wrapped it around his wrist. Seeing that she wasn’t waking up, Azazel thought this was another one of her tantrums. He sat next to her on the bed, “Athena, wake up,” he picked her up and felt her hands fall limp onto her sides.

Owen smiled and clarified, "Ms. Solace, the Hamilton Group has a lot of subsidiaries. We dabble in many areas. Le Printemps is one of our assets." "What do you want to buy?" inquired Ambrose. "Uhm..." Larissa looked at the mannequin. She turned meek. "I wanted to buy this outfit for you." "For me?" Ambrose couldn't believe what he heard. "Yeah..." Larissa twiddled her thumbs. "I passed by the boutique, and I thought you would look good in it." Naturally, Ambrose was pleased by the response. The chubby man understood and volunteered to present the outfit.

Ronke Badmus and who had, in the three weeks since their initial call, developed her starfish concept into something that now encompassed the table centrepieces, the cake topper, the ring bearer cushion, and, most recently, the groom's boutonniere. Zara read the email twice. Then she called Adaora. "The starfish boutonniere," she said. "I know," Adaora said, from the other room. "She wants" "I know what she wants." "Adaora, a boutonniere is a flower. It has been a flower since boutonnieres were invented. It is not" "A starfish." "It is not a starfish." "I completely agree." A pause. "What are you going to tell her?"

A quiet, private certainty that made her chest feel full. The dressmaker circled Sophie like a general inspecting a battlefield, tugging a seam here, smoothing a fold there. Two assistants handled the fabric with reverent care. No one else touched the gown. Betsy had been banned from “helping” after she’d nearly stabbed a pin through an assistant’s sleeve and then argued it was “for morale.” A makeup artist leaned in, holding a palette of soft shades and a set of brushes arranged like surgical tools. Another artist worked on Shiloh’s hair, curling and pinning.

Somewhere a whistle blew three sharp notes and an answering chorus rose: not quite a howl, not yet—but the throat of one. In the armory, the smith fitted a crescent breastplate to me that rode smooth against my sternum, leather gussets sewn where iron would bruise. She tightened straps with deft, gentle hands, and when she finished she pressed a charm into my palm—bone carved like a feather. “For steadiness,” she said. “For landing on your feet.”

Christine heard Grote but didn't care at all. She swayed her hips, pushed out her chest, and hooked her arm through his. She cooed, "Honey, do you think this set of jewelry looks good on me? Don't be upset. "I'm sure Ms. Bowers would want me in a good mood. She wouldn't be stingy about letting me wear this. Think of it as being for our pup, okay?" Grote looked at her. For some reason, the nausea churning inside him grew stronger. He swallowed it hard and, in the end, said nothing.

She adjusted her grip on her measuring tape and looked toward my grandfather, hoping for approval. “This is the Blossom of the Valley,” Madame Vivienne said, pointing to the structured waistline. “It has a tight, bone cinched corset that will make the Princess look small, delicate, and entirely harmless to the other Alphas. It is traditional for young pack females to look sweet and submissive for their debut, because it signals to the bachelor Alphas that she is ready to be claimed.”

"If it must be one of us, let it be me." Maya's gold eyes move from me to Cael, and the knife in her hand glows with the same light as the tree. Roran bends down and brings his mouth close to my ear. His breath is cold. "Run, little wolf," he says, and the voice he uses is Maya's. The roots snap around my wrists and pull my arms wide. The bone knife rises from Maya's hand on its own, floats toward my throat, and stops just close enough for me to feel the cold of it against my skin.

It was meant as a way to draw her into the conversation, but she seemed so distracted, she didn’t even realize he was talking to her for a few seconds. “Uh... some weird bracelets. We’re not sure what they do yet, but I have them.” She patted her leather jacket pocket. “And a crossbow that shoots molten silver nitrate.” A few of the guys gawked at the idea of such a weapon, uttering, “Cool,” and “Wow,” etc. Cadence looked back at Aaron, obviously wanting out of the conversation. “Thanks. I have the crossbow. I probably won’t use it unless I have to, though. It seems pretty dangerous.”

“Uh you flatter me, dear one. Come.” They went inside Christine’s office. The witch went in first and start rummaging on her cabinet. “Oh this is taking too long!” she complained to herself. She snapped her fingers once and before them, a familiar bow came to view. Azrael was shocked to see it again. It has been a long time since she saw it. Without even realizing she found herself saying… “The Crescent Bow…” Christine only smiled. The bow was a shining silver the shape is like the crescent moon in the night sky.