Frederick Forsyth Novels Novels & Stories

Frederick wasn't some naive saint. He wouldn't believe the one-sided story of those assassins, especially with Jasmine around. He knew they only said those things because they wanted him to spare them, and he only reluctantly let them go because of Jasmine. Now that she was gone, it was time to be ruthless. Being kind to others sometimes meant being cruel to oneself! "Got it. I'll dispose of them safely at various ports," Seiryu said. As Frederick was heading home, he received an unexpected call.

She asked Frederick one question in return, something about the company's presence in New York, and Frederick answered at length and she listened with an expression of interest that Simon could not quite determine was genuine. After dinner, in his study, he sat with his scotch and the Hartwell files and found himself thinking not about Hartwell but about the way she had watched Frederick when Frederick wasn't looking. Not with warmth. Not with coldness. With something that he did not have a word for yet. He put it aside. It was not relevant. On the fifth morning he brought her breakfast.

CAMILLA’S P.O.V The days ahead were a whirlwind of tension and restless anticipation as we rooted out more of Frederick’s men. Some fled into obscurity, their trails cold even as our spies hunted them through the forests. Others vanished as if the earth had swallowed them whole. The city braced itself, hearts collectively clenched with fear. Frederick’s silence was a sinister omen, a dark calm before a storm we couldn’t predict. Ryker, ever my anchor, whispered assurances that we would be prepared no matter what he conjured. Yet a shadow of dread clung to me. Frederick had blindsided us before—his cunning was a blade that always found its mark, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that his next

The day I left the Grayson Pack House, I carried nothing that tied me to Caleb. No letters. No photos. Not even the silver bracelet that had bound us in an arranged bond for years. Gregory Grayson, the former Alpha, had begged me more than once to stay. But I refused. I walked out with a single suitcase, leaving behind the home I had lived in for over a decade. Just as I reached the gates, a she-wolf rushed toward me—blocking my path.

a curious looking Frederick asked him. "What's that over there?," he asked, pointing to what looked like a note on the other side of the bed. Quickly, Frederick, who had earlier not seen the note, grabbed it, his heart at a neck knife edge as he feasted on the words. "Hey, Freddie, I thought I had it all figured out when I met you, but I can't keep living with the hatred that my heart vents each time I look into your eyes only to remind myself that the blood of the man who killed my pack, leaving me with nothing but sorrow, runs through your veins.

Frederick, for his part, walked toward the small bar cabinet and took off his suit jacket, tossing it onto an armchair. "Make yourself comfortable, Luke," he said, his back to me as he took out two Bohemian crystal glasses. "Or do you still feel the heat of the metal in your hand?" "Just pour the damn drink, Frederick," I replied, running my hand through my short hair. "Are you so desperate to flee?" Frederick poured a dark amber liquid with a steady hand. "You should be grateful. Today you proved you have a lethal mind. That shot to the shoulder... it was brilliant. Useless for killing, but perfect for breaking a man's will."

Amelia asleep on the couch, his jacket over her, curled like she owned his home. His home. His wife. He tucked the photo into his coat. “We go now.” Outside, the night roared with wind. Inside, Frederick’s world was a calculated inferno. He was coming. For blood. For answers. For her. And God help the man who stood in his way.

Despite the awkwardness earlier, a sense of camaraderie formed, bridging the gap between the soldier and the mother-daughter duo. In the following days, Frederick became part of the household, helping with chores and sharing his own tales of adventure and resilience. Catherine, initially wary of a stranger in her home, gradually warmed up to Frederick's genuine nature and the kindness he had shown her mother. One fateful, Catherine decides to help her mother and tend to Frederick's wound. As she applied the ointment on his arms she was awed by his physique. As her hovers rounds his body in motion, she felt her breath catch in her throat. She couldn't help but be struck by the sheer built of