Dc Witches Novels & Stories

Alexander Holstin, or Xander, is the second son of the Alpha of Shadow Falls Pack. While his brother has taken over the pack from their father, Xander is meant to become the CEO of the pack's business, Holstin Enterprises, Inc. He started college to get his MBA, but returned home to see his brother take a mate and stayed when his brother began having problems with his mate bond. Maeve Cross is the daughter of two witches who left their coven when they started doing black magic. Her parents began working for a werewolf, Beta Trevor, who needed spells created to keep his daughter out of trouble. When her parents realized their spells were being used to influence the memory of the Beta's Alpha, they refused. Maeve's parents were killed in front of her and her two siblings when she was 15 years old. The Beta then threatened to kill her siblings if Maeve refused to work for him. When Beta Trevor's daughter insists that Maeve help her with a spell to go against the Guardians, she knows it's a bad idea, but she's powerless to fight against the werewolves. Her spell brings her to the Shadow Falls pack and into the arms of an Alpha that identifies her as his mate. Maeve has no intention of becoming involved with another werewolf family that will use her family against her for their own gain. She's been keeping her family safe for three years and she will continue to do so on her own. Can Xander forgive Maeve for what she's done to his family? And when he realizes he can't live without her, can he convince her to create a life with him, a new life that they can build together.

Sera Ashford is a Null—a walking void where magic and memory go to die. Dogs hate her. Spells slide off her skin. And the supernatural world would kill to own her blood. But Sera doesn't know any of this. She just knows she got fired from her diner job for "creeping out the customers." Then she meets Kael Valerius in a rain-soaked alley. Kael is a Voidborn—the first vampire, cursed for nine hundred years to hear the screams of every life he's ever taken. Witches he burned. Kings he betrayed. A little boy with dark curls who just wants his mother. The voices never stop. They never forgive. And they've been driving him slowly, exquisitely mad. But when Kael touches Sera, the screaming stops. Desperate for silence, he offers her a contract: stand at his side during the Conclave of Thorns—a gathering of every bloodline, coven, and pack with a grudge—and he'll pay her enough to erase her debts. One month. Then freedom. The deal shatters the moment their hands meet. Sera doesn't just silence Kael's curse. She absorbs it. Now the voices scream inside her skull. Ghosts wearing familiar faces crawl out of the walls. And a dead woman named Margot—Kael's former Tether, who clawed out her own eyes—whispers warnings in the dark. Trapped on Kael's estate, bound by a curse that will tear her mind apart if she strays too far, Sera has thirty days to master the deadly politics of immortals, survive the hungry ghosts inside her, and uncover the truth Kael buried with Margot. Because the curse doesn't just collect the dead. It remembers how they loved him. And in a world where regret is a hungry god, Sera might be the only one who can end the feast—or become its next meal.

***Warning: this book contains explicit content and graphical descriptions. I'll put a disclaimer on any chapter that's 18+ and note that every part of this novel is entirely fictional and will be a coincidence with anyone's*** "You're petite, feeble, and gay. All shades of wrong, and I'll crush you, Rhett." His tone is vile. "Your boner says otherwise, King Kael. I'm a chick with sharp features, full pink lips, sexy, snatched body, small waist, and I'm that dude you want riding you to cloud nine all night!" I didn't stop there. I added. "I'm that proud gay man you're too ashamed to become, and I see how you want to rip through my clothes and fuck me, but guess what? I'll never allow your homophobic ass." He was once a slave without voice or freedom, raped by his master. As if that trauma wasn't enough, he was turned into a vampire by a monster. For seven years, he resisted the transition and abstained from blood until his sister was murdered by witches. All hell broke loose, he drank her blood to take back revenge but the darkness overcame him. His tyranny birthed the Fifth Throne where he ruled with bloodlust and spite... but when a tech-nerd, proud gay man stumbles into his world, an obsession arises. Rhett is everything he despises: unapologetic, troublesome, and accepting of his sexuality. However, when Rhett's life is entangled in a supernatural war between vampires, witches, and hunters, the Vampire King must protect him. But how does one love a man who claims he doesn't love men? Who would rather kill you than kiss you? And what happens when that man starts craving your touch more than blood? In a world full of monsters, such bond doesn't go without spiralling a brutal war.

I stood at the edge of Ironwood territory, boots sinking into mud as cold seeped through my coat. I hated being this close to their land. It smelled like wet dog, testosterone, and trouble. “You’re late, witch.” The voice hit low and deep, vibrating through the ground before it reached my ears. I didn’t flinch. I refused to give him that. I turned slowly, amethyst eyes narrowing as I found him at the tree line. Guilermo Santander. He stepped into the gray light, rain sliding off his broad frame. Six-foot-five of pure menace. Dark hair plastered to his forehead, silver streaks catching the gloom, and those amber eyes—burning straight through me. “I’m not late,” I said calmly, though my pulse spiked. “You wolves just don’t understand patience.” He stopped three feet away. My skin prickled as the runes along my ribs flared hot, reacting to the dense magic rolling off him. Suffocating. Intoxicating. “And you witches don’t understand territory,” Guilermo said. He didn’t sound feral. He sounded tired—like a man carrying a century of weight on deceptively young shoulders. He leaned in and sniffed near my neck. I stiffened. “You smell like sage and burnt sugar,” he murmured, voice dropping, darker now. “It’s giving me a headache.” “Then stop breathing,” I snapped. One corner of his mouth lifted, a flash of sharp canine. “Make me.” The air between us snapped tight. My magic stirred, violet haze curling from my fingertips without permission, brushing the leather of his jacket. He didn’t pull away. He leaned closer. And standing there in the freezing rain with a man who could tear my throat out, I realized two things: Elder Sibal was wrong—Guilermo wasn’t a monster to be chained. And I was in serious trouble.