Ethan Grey Novels & Stories

Emily “Do you, Emily Mitchell, take Tyler Slate as your lawfully wedded husband and mate? Do you promise to cherish him, honor him, and help him thrive as the beta of our pack, so help our goddess?” our lead elder spoke, making my eyes water as he continued to resight. Tyler’s eyes sparkled, a stray tear falling down his cheek and smile from ear to ear. “I do!” I say, making him choke up a bit. He sighed, trying to contain his tears. I can't say the same about myself; happy tears fell like waterfalls.

"I see what you're doing there. Don't even think for a second that you'll be able to escape me that easily." Yvette Macklemore, Yve, a total sweet heart. Your classic black rainbow lollipop, with a bit of sourness: sweet, and feisty - just his type o' gal –light caramel skin, black hair with pink highlights at the sides, 5feet6, who still argues that she's still the tallest of them both. She can be too fucking cheerful, it's nauseating. McCleron made certainty to avoid her in public, with enough fortification to tune her out long enough when they are together.

Gran huffed. Ethan laughed and patted his stomach over the white t-shirt. "I will always pick Gran's food over these abs. So spoil me as much as you can beautiful lady!" Ethan said to Gran and both of them fist-bumped dismissing me. Duh! All right. "I didn't know you care so much about my abs. Be honest, do you want to see them?" Ethan winked. Of course, I wanted to see them but that doesn't mean I would admit it aloud.

To the right, a picture of Harou himself; In the middle, a picture of Blake with darker eyes in a deep green and hazel; and to the right, a picture of Damian, or as Harou likes to call him, Keiran. Blake nods in disbelief. "This, can't be real. This is . . . . What is this?"

Annoyingly familiar green eyes. At the sight of him, my stomach dropped. The arena erupted, the crowd rising to their feet as a deafening chant rolled through the stadium. “GRAY-SON! GRAY-SON! GRAY-SON!” I sank deeper into my chair, disgust pressing me deeper. Naked Asshole was popular? You had to be kidding me. “He’s incredible,” Ethan said, leaning forward with his hands gripping the railing in excitement. My attention shifted as the giant screen flashed a name: Grayson Vance

"They pulled a liter of fluid out of your pleural space. They said the cells they found weren't just inflamed. They were... changing. Crystallizing." "The Grey," I whispered. My voice was a ghost of itself, a raspy tear in the quiet room. "My body is turning into a monument to a pack that hates me. Funny, isn't it?" Silas finally looked at me. His amber eyes were flat, devoid of the pity I’d grown to loathe. "It’s inefficient. You’re no use to me as a corpse, Elara. We have a bridge to build and an empire to dismantle." He stood up and walked over, placing a thin, sleek laptop on my over-bed table. He didn't offer a hand to help me reach it. He knew I’d rather crawl across broken glass than

She was getting all choked up, but Ethan was amused. Flint Hale, the grandson of the retired General of the Air Force, wished he could kick Ethan. "Get out of here. We are here for Grayson Kai. Why did you bring her here?" Seemingly, the girl was deceived and not welcome, but she still swallowed down the wine, not revealing any rage. Then she leaned in Ethan's arms as if she was boneless.

If he wanted me to believe he was fine, I couldn’t fight him at that moment. Later that day, Gray found me. He had already heard the news. His face carried disbelief more than anger. “Is it true?” he asked. “Did Ethan really resign?” “Yes,” I said quietly. Gray shook his head hard. “No. That doesn’t make sense. Ethan doesn’t just give up. He doesn’t step down for nothing.” “He said he was fine,” I murmured. Gray looked at me with sharp eyes. “Based on what I know of him, this is not in his character. Something’s wrong. He wouldn’t throw away everything he built without a reason.”

The radio was a low hum of static and a country song about a man losing everything, which felt a little too on the nose for our lives. "You’re thinking too loud again," Ethan said. He was leaning against the driver’s side door, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his knuckles stained with grease from the shift he’d just finished at the marina. At nineteen, Ethan Cole didn't have a billion-dollar empire or a suit tailored in London. He had a jawline that could cut glass, a pair of boots with holes in the soles, and a way of looking at me that made me feel like I was the only thing on earth that wasn't broken.

Finding a decent line of work in London is a hard one however Ethan a 32-year-old who is from London was ideal to have an employment and not just any rate work but he was an effective senior financier. Ethan is a tall refined man, with earthy colored eyes and full hair, he is the first child of his parents and he was getting along nicely. Ethan lives alone in his condo in London. It was cold on a Monday morning, and at precisely 5:00 Am which was Ethan’s ordinary season of awakening, his caution rang and he awakened