Emily Henry: Kindle Novels & Stories

He lifted me and bolted. Inside our cabin, he sat me on the bed. He sat down and pulled me into his lap. I missed you. Sorry, I couldn’t answer. First, what did you do or find out? I pulled the vial from the bra and the notebook from my pants. Wow, you’re good. We opened the notebook. Henry had many notes—one made my blood run cold. I gasped. What the fuck? Emily, do not say this to anyone, okay? Maybe Salem… he cursed.

Simone When I was younger, my mother would sit me by the fire and tell me the same story she told every night. The story of the great black witch, Marinthia Galma. She was one of the most powerful necromancers to ever exist until she let her pride consume her. Until she started to want more.

"So, my last name is Smith, so I should move out." Emily chuckled, and she gazed at Mary intently. She then pointed to Serena, who was sitting nearby. "What about her? Her last name is Seales. Can she get out too?" "She's my daughter. Why should she get out?" Mary protected her own child. As soon as Mary finished speaking, a deep voice interrupted her, "Emi is my wife. Why do you think you can make her leave?" Henry entered in chef's attire, and his dark expression denoted his bad mood.

Victor Hale’s empire had fallen. And for Adriana Cole the powerful billionaire who had spent years fighting the world alone something far more valuable than victory had finally appeared in her life. Love. A new beginning. And a future she would never face alone again.

The smile was washed off his face like it was never there, to begin with. She hides under the large soft sheets, ashamed of her wrinkles and dark circles. Before she can sneak a peak at him, he was gone. Sounds of the roaring limo fill the house, followed by a loud screech from the tires and then silence. A heavy sigh escapes her lips, being once again abandoned in this large empty house. Emily Hensley, a blond 46-year-old. Once a legend of the stage, now a happily married woman with a loving husband and a full-filled life.

Inside was a velvet-wrapped ledger bound in faded red leather. The Ember Grimoire. It was a chronicle—half memoir, half confession—written in delicate script by Eleanor Montrose. Isabelle’s missing ancestor. “The flame is a memory. A power buried in blood and bone. The Keepers are not chosen,they are awakened. And the price of awakening is always a life.” Isabelle’s heart pounded. She turned the pages faster, until a symbol caught her eye: the intertwined keys. And below it, scrawled in desperate ink:

She hesitated first , then she led me inside her house ; There's isn't anything much to eat , just some pieces of bread with mold in it. "Emy , could you wait for me sometime ?," he asked and didn't even wait for my reply and teleported somewhere. I gave holy water to their family ; There's a lady in her thirties , I think she's mother for these two kids and there is an elder in his sixties. The woman said that he's her father -in -law .

the king explained to her wife and embraced her. "What if she dies?" The Queen cried even harder. "We will never let her die. She's from our own flesh and blood and we will always protect her in whatever situation," Hermes promised. "I know that it's hard for you to let her go, especially that you treated her like your own daughter. I will give you two days to explain everything to her. After two days I will come back to personally take her to heaven realm for we really need her right now. A lot of immortals had been infected by dark spell and we need the ember of love to free them," Hermes stated before he disappeared.

Elder Ethan said in a calm voice. ‘I cannot believe this has happened to me.’ Emma said to herself as they walked through the woods together. “Emma, Emma.” Elder Ethan called out to her. “What’s on your mind?” “I don’t know who my parents are. I don’t even know if they’re dead or alive. I don’t know if they belonged here or not.” “Your blood will tell the story of your life here Emma. Have patience.” Elder Ethan was wise. When he saw Emma, he could not deny the striking resemblance between Emma and her late mother, Eliza.

“And then, Henry, everything, absolutely everything you own, would fall into my hands like the fruit of my labor.” Emily fixed her gaze on Henry, a steely glint in her eyes as she warned, “Be careful, Henry. Don’t ever forget that I, too, can play dirty. I could make you disappear, and no one would ever suspect a thing. So if you think you can toy with me, then you’re sorely mistaken.” Henry’s previous anger and fear vanished as his laughter rang out, a mocking edge to his voice as he retorted, “You’re talking crazy, Emily. You can’t kill me and get away with it.”