Emorey Novels & Stories

Integrity +1 → 8/10 Remy Dagger Sync +1 → 95% Celeste Valentina Morua—14, Level 2, Crown equipped— curled into Remy ready for Monday and every mist-space night after.

After a while, he sighed. "My real name is Lucian Quentin Ross". His cold voice broke the silence. I raised my head to look at him. Shock evident on my face. "My dad is Damien Ross". He continued. A small gasp flew from my lips, my eyes widening in surprise. I've heard of Damien Ross. He was one of America's biggest and most wanted drug lord. Ignoring the look on my face, he continued.

, she beams as I strive to smile. "Yeah", I mumble. "I'm Emery", she sits on the bed and approaches for a handshake. I don't delay to respond to her. "You may not know me. But I'm Emery Cameron, David Cameron's daughter AKA Christian D'costa's student", she chuckles. "Right, sir?" "Why are you acting so obedient?", Christian crosses his arms while smiling back at her. "In fact, you can't even look obedient even if you act, still being mischievous"

I acted like I had plenty, but deep down, my shattered soul barely held on with duct tape. “No Playboy tonight? That’s going to be a relief,” said Luke behind my back. He stretched his arm to grab the glasses I had cleaned and placed them back on the rack. I turned around and followed him until he returned to grab some more. “What?” I replied a little defensively. “Dominic Moore,” Luke added, so I’d know who he was referring to. “What does that even mean?” I scoffed.

"It's YOUR birthday for a reason. Everyone is supposed to see you and tell right off that you're the celebrant. Get up, come on, let us dance. You owe me one, after all." Rademos sighed heavily and got up somewhat reluctantly. He grabbed his sister on both shoulders and stared into her eyes. "Thanks for the offer, but I think I'd pass, sis." "Rademos, do not spoil my mood. You promised me a dance; you did. I didn't force you to, after all." Mideora's tone was coaxing yet sly. Rademos paused in his tracks and turned around. "Fine, fine, I'll dance with you," he said, and she beamed happily at him. "Just one dance, though," he added.

Cayd says. I smack him on the back of his head. “Show some respect to Safe Haven’s Alpha.” I say. “Yeah, idiot. That’s Alpha Em to you.” Emlyn says to Cayd. “I prefer goofball. Idiot implies that I’m not intelligent and I think we can all agree that I am, since I’ll be running our pack’s finances in a few years.” “Good to see you, Cayd.” Emerson says. I notice he glances around. I wonder who he’s looking for.

Even Ben hasn’t freed her. “Because I will do what needs to be done to get back to my pack, even if it means physically breaking apart every wolf who stands in my way.” A chill runs up my spine as I hold her gaze. “Who are you?” “You know my name.” “That’s not what I’m asking. Who are you?” Her mouth twitches but she doesn’t smile. Instead, she slides down the bars until she’s seated, her head leaning back against the stone wall. “Emery of Obsidian Temple. I have no last name. I am Alpha after my mother, Jade. She died ten years ago, so I took her title.”

"She wants to ask if it's okay with you if she joins us for lunch this Monday." I thought it was something bad. But I guess I really don't have a problem with Emery. She is the cutest among the Rellis. Well, not cute as in physically. She looks indeed sweet and adorable, but once you look at her cold amber eyes, you would see something like a perfect combination of devil and angel. Yeah, so gorgeous and intimidating at the same time. "Sure. I have no problem with that," I said.

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:

“Then think about how to tell Braxton that you want the moonlily arch instead of the old one. He’s probably sulking in the training yard already.” Emry smiled faintly. “He doesn’t sulk.” “Of course he doesn’t,” Mirae said dryly. “He broods. It’s more masculine.” That earned a quiet laugh from Emry. “I’ll find him soon. He should know what you’ve done to the courtyard before he faints from aesthetic overload.” “Please. He’s lucky to have me.” Emry rose, brushing her hands down the front of the gown once Mirae finished lacing it. She felt steadier — almost grounded again.