Countdown To Halloween Novels & Stories

I begged Dylan Leveson three hundred and four times to take my dying dad on one last trip out to sea. Guess what? He bailed. I stood on the shore, watching the warmth fade from my dad's body, breath by breath—alone—while Dylan played Romeo in the highlands. Millie Stone—his forever flame—posted a cozy little selfie: [Far from the world, as long as I have you.] I accidentally hit like. Dylan popped up instantly. [How many times have I told you to leave Millie alone? Can't control yourself? We're getting a divorce!] Oh, the classic divorce threat. I'd lost count. [Cool. Divorce it is.]

The werewolves launched a massive invasion of the Elf Forest had been burned, half my people were dead, and my parents were missing. The Elf Queen asked me to go to Damien Thorne and make him stop the war. Damien Thorne. Alpha King of the North, my True Mate, the boy I'd grown up with. His sister Sera was the youngest of the three of us, and my best friend. A year ago, Sera vanished after a secret meeting. I walked out of the forest alive. He didn't — and to him, that was proof enough. He went mad. He burned the sacred trees, slaughtered my people, turned every drop of his hate on me. But he still loved me. So I went. He locked me in his study and fucked me for nine days. Even when I slept,his eyes full of something I couldn't read — madness, and pain. On the tenth day, he kissed his way down my spine, so gentle I let myself think it wasn't too late. The next second, the dagger went into my shoulder blade, straight through the root of my light-wing. The pain detonated from my spine to the crown of my skull. "Shh. Don't scream." He pressed my face into the pillow. "These nine days were the warm-up. Tell me where Sera is." He locked me in the dungeon. He used my people's lives as a leash. He married another she-wolf. The cold-iron whip came down. Each welt sealed itself shut against the iron-poison's burn, then split open again. Every strike felt like a red-hot brand pressed into my skin and ground in. It would never heal. But every time I came close to dying, it was him who tipped the antidote down my throat himself. His fingers shook. His eyes carried a tenderness he hated himself for. The night he got drunk, he crushed me against his chest. "You think I love you, so you can do this to me. Tell me where Sera is, and I'll let you go." I couldn't say it.The moment I opened my mouth, it would burn to ash. I wouldn't have to keep this secret much longer. An elf away from the forest for one full year is dead. No exceptions. I had two days left.

Married three years. Stood up three years. Today was the last time I bothered showing up. Surprise—he bailed again. Still clinging to hope like a total idiot, I called. One last shot. "A-Aurora, I'm busy. Just wait," he muttered. And then her voice cut in. All breathy and smug: "That old woman can't satisfy you, huh? Paolo, be gentle." Click. Right on cue, Marco Medici—loyal, patient, saint-like Marco—sent his 99th proposal. This time, I didn't leave him hanging. [Want to come over for bollito misto?]

In the Sinclair pack, I had always been different. Years ago, my grandfather saved the Elder’s life. To repay that debt, the Elder promised that one of his grandsons would become my mate. In my first life, on the night of the Blood Moon, he asked me, “Evelyn, who will you choose?” Blushing, I pointed to the brightest star of the tribe, Andrew Sinclair. But after our wedding, he kept me at a distance. I was confused—until one night, I opened the wrong door. Andrew was on one knee, clutching my cousin Clara’s portrait as if it were his lifeline. His body moved in a way that made my heart twist. My world collapsed. He had never loved me. His heart—his desire—had always belonged to her. Darkness swallowed me, body and soul. My husband lied to me and betrayed the oath we had sworn to the Moon Goddess. The cruel truth broke me, and sickness followed. I died with his child inside me—alone. But the moon gave me another chance. I woke again on that same night. The Elder smiled down at me. Four portraits lay before him. “Evelyn, tonight is your twenty-first rite. Who will you choose?” “You’ve always chased Andrew,” he said kindly. “It must be him—” “No!” The hall fell silent. “Grandfather… I don’t want Andrew.” In panic, I snatched a portrait. “I want him!” The boy on the page wore black. His skin was pale, his lips curved in a mad, crooked smile. William Sinclair. The sick wolf. The one everyone mocked. But I remembered how he had tried to help me find a good doctor. He was the only one who had cared about me when I was dying. And yes—this time, I chose him.

Sepharine cared for Draven, the crippled son of an Alpha, for three long years. After painstakingly helping him regain his strength, he scorned her—for she was merely a lowly maid, unworthy of an Alpha's heir. Heartbroken, Sepharine left the pack. Only after losing her did Draven realize the depth of his feelings for her.

After suffering from a miscarriage, I've gotten rid of all the habits that my military husband, Nathan Linwood, despises. No longer do I ask him about his whereabouts. He can spend the night elsewhere for all I care. When I get hurt in a rescue mission, the doctor tells me to inform my family about my condition. I merely shake my head and say, "I don't have any family." But Nathan still arrives at the scene half an hour later. The tall and broad-shouldered man looks at me, his voice extremely cold. "Why didn't you seek me out when you got hurt?" I lower my gaze. "It's just a minor injury. There's no need to trouble you at all, Commander Linwood." For some reason, my nonchalant tone annoys Nathan. He's about to open his mouth when a conversation between the guards floats into our ears. "Commander Linwood sure is concerned about Ms. Schuman. When she twisted her ankle during a performance, Commander Linwood had a helicopter rerouted to the venue immediately. He even carried her into and out of the helicopter, refusing to let her feet touch the ground at all." Nathan's expression shifts into one of nervousness immediately. He glances at me from the corner of his eye, seemingly waiting for me to demand answers from him or kick up a fuss like usual. But my eyelashes barely flutter at the conversation. All I do is close my eyes and rest. Ten days later, I won't have anything to do with everything that's going on here.

I am the youngest daughter of the White family. As rulers of the Moon Shadow pack, the White family showered me with love from the young age. That was until my brothers brought home an orphaned Omega named Calista. In less than a month, she had stolen all the affection that once belonged to me. All it took was a slight frown from me when she tried to move into my bedroom, and my eldest brother, the Alpha, slapped me on the face. My second brother, the Beta, locked me in the cellar. I never wanted to compete with Calista. All I wanted was to live the rest of my days quietly. But on the day of my eighteenth birthday, Calista falsely accused me of attacking her when I shifted. My brothers called me evil, and they cut all ties with me. They believed that I was spoiled rotten and that my jealousy of Calista had made me turn vicious. Little did they know that I had already secretly applied to be the guard of the Land of Winter and to live there in solitude for 20 years. After this farewell, I would never see them again. On the day that I left, they all broke down in regret.

After joining the nation's top research lab as a sophomore, everyone assumes I've taken shortcuts to get there. Mom throws away the handmade gift I had spent days crafting and says with disdain, "I don't have a daughter who's this shameless." Andreas Fitzgerald, my fiance, doesn't hold back, either. He warns coldly, "Remember your place as Mrs. Fitzgerald." Later, when my younger sister, Elaine Wilde, destroys my left hand, they all pressure me to drop the matter. I wake up in the hospital, pain crawling up my arm, and I know exactly what I have to do. Without hesitation, I dial my mentor, George Landon's, number. "I'm ready to join the classified national rocket program."

The day his first love got divorced, my husband drank himself senseless. I stayed up past midnight taking care of him, only to discover that his phone’s photo album was filled with pictures of her. The next morning, after he sobered up, he said to me, “Let’s redo our wedding.” I knew this was his way of provoking his first love into coming back. I smiled and agreed, but not before I slipped a divorce settlement agreement into the wedding contract he signed.

Grant, the heir to the Bennett family, had been my protector for over a decade. He taught me how to fire my first shot and saved me from every attempt on my life. After someone slipped drugs into Grant's drink at the family gathering, he stumbled into my room, and his icy control shattered. His hands found my waist as he pulled me close, his lips brushing against my ear as he whispered my name. A single night of drugged passion left me pregnant with his child. When my twin sister, Claire, found out, she left a note and disappeared, heartbroken. After that, I was cast as the cold-hearted villain who drove her own sister away. Grant personally forced the contraceptive potion down my throat and exiled me to the lawless territories beyond our family's control. To make me atone, he abandoned me to fend for myself in that desolate land. I was eventually killed in the crossfire of a mob war. As I lay dying, my mind was flooded with memories of Grant. The troublemaker he always called me was finally gone. He must have been relieved. When I next opened my eyes, I had returned to the morning after that disastrous night. This time, without hesitation, I drank the contraceptive potion myself.