Crossing Lines Novels & Stories

She liked her world like this; controlled, immaculate, and hers. Her assistant had just left the report on the collaboration between Duval Holdings and CrossTech, and Clarisse skimmed it with the cool efficiency of a surgeon. Numbers, timelines, projected returns, upcoming brief, it was all there. Damon Cross, as always, delivered results with a surgeon’s blade.

‎ ‎Lines they didn’t cross. ‎But almost did. ‎And soon, she realized, almost would no longer be enough. ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

Because some lines, once crossed, don’t lead forward. They lead back. And I am done retreating.

He has crossed the line, and I can't let it go. “good.” Good?

Jules stopped, her hand slowly dropping from his face, and she stepped back. It was one thing to love an honest murderer and another thing to trust a secret one. “Jules—” “Don’t.” Her voice cracked. “Don’t say my name.” Pain flashed across Nolan’s face. “I always knew you were up to something,” she whispered. “But I never thought you’d go this far.” “Jules, please—” “Mr Cross,” one of the officers interrupted sharply, stepping inside with his gun raised. “Put your hands behind your back.”

Predators. Paintings. Sculptures. Sharp lines and darker tones. Lions mid-pounce. Wolves with their eyes locked forward. Even the smallest decorative pieces carried a sense of pursuit. I swallowed. Figures. “Guess you’re an animal guy,” I muttered to no one. I finished the last bite of my banana, tossed the peel, and headed for the stairs—only to stop halfway up, Tristain’s voice echoing in my head. Don’t touch the locked closet. My foot slowly lowered back to the floor.

The forest welcomed her with quiet reverence—not submission, not awe, but recognition. She padded toward the old boundary stones, the ones worn smooth by generations of paws and feet crossing them. Beyond lay coalition land. She stopped short of crossing, standing between worlds. *You are thinking about lines,* the white wolf observed. “Yes.” *Lines exist because someone agreed to respect them.* “And when respect disappears?” *Then lines become cages.* Rose breathed in deep, cool air. “What happens when they try to cage me?” she asked. The wolf was silent for a long moment.

Elizabeth Let me define Crossing. In the Rex Pack, whenever the son of an elite reached a certain age, he became eligible to claim his mate. That age was twenty-three. It was not announced with drums or ceremony. It was spoken in lowered voices and carried in the way the pack’s attention sharpened, in the way mothers watched their sons more carefully and young women learned to avert their eyes. Anthony’s twenty-third Crossing was five months away. Five months. The thought echoed in my mind, like a shadow that continuously lengthened. Five months until he would be allowed - expected - to choose. Five months until the choice, once made, could not be refused.

“Would you care to share your thoughts?” “On what?” A few students snickered. “On the discussion we’ve been having for the last five minutes.” Right. That. I leaned back slightly in my chair. “Boundaries,” I said. “That’s the topic, right?” “Yes.” “People cross them.” “And?” “And sometimes they don’t mean to.” Finally, he nodded once. “A simplistic interpretation,” he said calmly, “but not entirely correct. " I gave a small shrug. The lecture moved on.But every now and then I caught Ward glancing in my direction. Which, honestly, made the whole thing more entertaining.