Emily Rath Author Novels & Stories

“But watch him. Closely.” A warm breeze drifted through the open windows of Dante’s estate. Afternoon sunlight spilled onto the marble floors and filtered into Emilia’s room, where she sat cross-legged on the plush rug, a leather-bound book about wolves and witches open in her lap. Her fingers lazily stroked Mochi’s soft fur as the cat lay curled beside her, its breathing slow and peaceful. Despite the stillness around her, Emilia’s mind was a whirlwind. Every page she turned in the book felt like a reminder of how little she truly knew. About witches. About werewolves. About herself.

She was beautiful in an effortless way that made Emma feel a sudden, unexpected stab of something that might have been insecurity. "She's lovely," Emma said, trying to keep her voice neutral. "She is. Rachel's incredibly talented—her book is actually literary fiction with romantic elements, so there might be some crossover appeal with your readership." Jake's tone was professionally enthusiastic, but Emma caught the way his eyes lingered on his cousin with obvious family pride. Emma watched through the glass as Rachel Morrison charmed everyone in the room, her laughter bright and infectious. She looked like the kind of writer who had never questioned her own talent, never struggled with emot

’ Emily chimed much too loudly. Rachel cracked open her eyelids and saw the light was indeed green. Easing the accelerator down, she turned on to Preston Road, her stomach turning as well. Oh, God. Slowly, she made her way to the store. ‘Thanks for picking me up this morning, honey. Miss Bastet, I don’t want you sleeping on my lap. You’ll get hair all over my new suit.’ Urging the cat on to the floorboard, Emily sighed. T can’t believe my car battery died on me. It’s hardly a year old.’

Roman POV The crackling of the fire seemed to weave a rhythm into the night, a cadence that matched the beating of our determined hearts. I watched as Emily's gaze remained fixed on the flames, her thoughts a whirlwind of emotions and determination. Her journey had become a personal quest, a mission that transcended the boundaries of her grief and pushed her into the realm of relentless pursuit. Leaning closer, I brushed a strand of hair away from Emily's face, my touch gentle against her skin. "You're not alone in this, Emily. We'll uncover the truth together."

Richard held out his hand to her. Emily hesitated, her eyes remained in the direction Blake went, as if expecting him to return. "Emily." Richard called again, and she moved her eyes to look at him. He stretched his hands further to her, and she hesitated before she took it. And as they both raced out, Emily could see some ravens staring from afar. Some ran to hide. None dared to attack till they departed the raven enclave and when they were out, Emily felt dizzy and as her knees became wobble, she fell to the ground, unable to stand much longer.

▪️ Emily ▪️ Ruth, about to take a sip, halted with her drink in midair and peered at her through her glasses. “Stop BS-ing me. You’re too young to sit home every night. Unless you want to join me and the girls for sewing night again.” She hooted with laughter and slapped the table with her hand. One time Emily got stuck late at the office, and when she arrived with groceries, she found herself caught by Ruth's crew. Five sets of interested eyes gleamed as they surrounded her like a capturing army homing in on their prey and interrogated her about her personal life.

--"E. Byrd Starr, the rising young novelist." She was recalled from her enchanting reverie by a chuckle from Mr Carpenter. Emily wondered a little uneasily what he was laughing at. She didn't think there was anything funny in that book. It contained only three or four of her latest stories--The Butterfly Queen, a little fairy tale; The Disappointed House, wherein she had woven a pretty dream of hopes come true after long years; The Secret of the Glen, which, in spite of its title, was a fanciful little dialogue between the Spirit of the Snow, the Spirit of the Grey Rain, the Spirit of Mist, and the Spirit of Moonshine. "So you think I am not beautiful when I say my prayers?" said Mr Carpente

Hearing that she had stopped speaking her mum turned her face to her saying " The book ended with her dying . That's the story . "How did you feel while reading it ?" I felt like I was back to my old self with my problems gone ."Good that what I wanted to hear . Today's book is titled Emily it's a teen book ,can't wait for you to come back tomorrow and narrate it ." Same thanks Josy . I sat on the bench as I opened the book titled Emily. Life can sometimes hit you real bad. To think that you will wake up everyday and see that beautiful face . That face that means the world to you . To come back from work and be greeted by that person .

Brea in the Westmarch library holding two-century-old fragments that a child had written and sent forward across two hundred years in faith. And us. Emily arriving with a canvas bag and the specific quality of someone who had stopped expecting good things. The wolf who bound her at six years old and spent forty years doing the inadequate thing in the margin of his fear because the alternative was nothing and he could not sustain the nothing. The mate bond that Caius had felt for twenty-nine years before it existed and that had been the condition of everything since. She wrote it well. She had always written well — the letter to whoever came next was proof of that. This was longer than that l

What was happening to her? Before she did anything else, Emily wanted to pick a few choice books to sneak into her bag. Her allowance wasn’t much and college was expensive as fuck. Surely her step-father could spare some of his high- quality smut for charity? Emily’s eyes devoured the titles, trying to choose just one or two was impossible. She wanted to dump the entire shelf into her bag, to run away and find a cozy nook and to read all of them until their spines broke.