Chaotic 5 Novels & Stories

Halsey mentioned that hatchlings will protect themselves from attacks from poisons and magic, not crazy women bent on killing their mothers. " Well, he'll be mine," she raises her hand with the dagger in the air and rushes towards me, but I kick her legs, and she ends up falling to the ground. I can feel my wolf strengthening me, and I attempt to pull the chain from the bed as River struggles to get up. She growls as she gets to her feet, but I kick her in the flank, this time with so much force that she hits her back across the wall; my strength surprises me. I hear footsteps approach the stairs, and I scream, feeling my hand burn with pain as I pull the chain bound to the headboard with a

Charlotte listened intently, her eyes fixed on mine. "So, what's the real reason for your excitement?" she asked, her eyes narrowing slightly. "Do you want Derick, or are you just hoping he'll be a distraction for Amihan so she'll leave Maxwell and you can have him for yourself?" I hesitated, caught off guard by her direct question. "I don't know," I admitted. "There's a part of me that wants Maxwell so badly and wants Amihan out of the picture so I can have Maxwell all to myself." She nodded, taking in my words.

She is feral when she took control of our bodies. Snarling and snapping at every wolf that nears her five paces, she is chaos walking. They stalked her, circling as though she was a rabbit in a hole when they realized a strike upfront would not do. That pestered her mind. She felt the great need to put these dimwits in their rightful places.

“We cannot risk detection by building a fire. Would you be so kind as to curl up around her and keep her warm? She needs to dry out and she needs some rest...” He watched as Foxfire did as he asked, “She does not know it yet, Foxfire, but tomorrow will be much worse for her. For tomorrow, I will only bring her more questions and very few answers.” Foxfire blinked as if to say she understood and felt for him. It was really all anyone could do now. Sighing, he curled up next to Foxfire and Evrah and fell into a fitful sleep of his own. Chaos was coming, and so were the hunters of death.

Vincenzo turned the following pages, his eyes scanning each line with growing unrest, as if searching for coherence within the absurd. Nothing made sense, and as though the existing problems were not enough, new secrets surfaced, adding weight to the fragile balance he was still struggling to maintain. “Cazzo,” Vincenzo muttered, releasing a heavy breath thick with disbelief. For a moment, he ran his hands over his face, as if he could erase what he had just read, wondering what else could possibly happen to drag the chaos into something even worse.

The curly-haired one behind him slipped a hand down his back, fingers tracing his spine before cupping his ass through his pants, squeezing the cheeks with possessive intent. A voluptuous slut with golden waves and a silk blouse unbuttoned just enough joined the fray, positioning herself to the side. She ran her fingers through his hair, tugging gently at the roots while her other hand caressed his neck, then down to his chest again, overlapping with the others. The touches overlapped in a chaotic symphony rubs, caresses, squeezes each slut claiming a piece of him without yielding ground. The athletic one's hands moved to his waist, thumbs hooking into his belt but not pulling, just rubbing

The constant buzzing in my ears and the daze in my mind are enough to drive any person mad. Three moons ago, the visions started changing. They became more vivid. The voices, the screams from the battle long ago, echo in my head on a constant loop. The dreams are all pushing me to the brink of my sanity. I stop behind my desk and stare at the journal again. At the words scratched in blood-red ink. Contain chaos. No matter the cost. My skin hums, light threatening to break through. The golden glow flickers beneath my veins like a warning flare.

Emma launches herself onto the cushion beside me, notebook already flopping open, pencil spinning between her fingers like she’s warming up for something athletic instead of math. “Okay,” I say, rubbing my eyes. “Homework first. Then whatever chaos you’re clearly saving.” “I’m not saving chaos,” she says, immediately kicking her feet hard enough that the lamp on the end table rattles. “Chaos just… happens to me.” “That tracks,” I mutter. She reads the first question, except “reads” is generous—she pauses halfway through to tell me that Jenny in the problem probably shouldn’t be giving away apples because what if she gets hungry later and then asks if apples rot faster in the fridge or on the