From Cradle To Grave Book Novels & Stories

After a busy day at work, I would rush out immediately after and discuss the renovations with the workers, eating nothing but to-go sandwiches from the convenience store for dinner. In just a few short months, I ended up losing over ten pounds. I'd worked so hard to turn this apartment into the house of my dreams, but now, it was a shadow of what it once was. My once-neat living room was now filled with all kinds of random things. The leather couch I'd imported from abroad was covered in scratches and several pairs of soiled underwear. Back then, I'd gone to countless suppliers before I finally found a wallpaper to my liking. Worried that I might end up hiring someone who failed to do a good

This wasn't a nursery; it was a shrine. The walls were covered in hand-painted lilies and wolves, but they didn't run together—they strangled each other, vines twisting around fur in a suffocating grip. In the center of the room sat a crib, but there were no blankets, no toys. It was piled high with ledgers. Dozens of them. Black, cracked leather with spines marked by dates stretching back over a century. My hands shook as I picked up the top book. These weren't financial records. They were a harvest log.

With my own hands, I carved Lucia’s and my name on wooden stakes. “Here rests Lucia and Talia Wilkin.” As of now, Lucia and I were no longer tied to the Luther Pack. There was no place for the Hems brothers in our grave. By the time I was done, my health had declined rapidly. I crawled into the excavated pit with great effort and cradled my sister’s urn in a fetal position. With the moist soil offering me some solace, I closed my eyes.

Chesed shrugged. I saw Crista look over the top of the worn book as she sat in a club chair reading. She knows my parents died but not the details. I suppose it was shocking to hear Chesed just say it like that. “Yes, I’ve heard of him. He has been trash since he was a pup. Something was wrong with him, even more than you.” Chiara scoffed.

We unleashed our demons and let them out on to the enemies. We have been trained hard to take over the family business and also the mafia. We have been beaten, we have been starved, we have been shot, we have been broken and we have been thrown into dungeons. But at last, we are out like the most deadly demons and Nicholas is the biggest demon of us all.

Hellooo Loves, it’s been a long time, hasn’t it? I apologize for the late update but thank you so much for being patient with me. We’ve now come to the end of Arabella’s and Alexander’s story but as seen, Dex’s and Veronica’s isn’t over yet. There’ll be a short book attached to this one for Dex’s and Veronica’s story. Then after their story is done, we’ll have bonus chapters on Alex and Ara, where we’ll get to know about their lives after high school. This will not be now, though because I’ll be completing my other book—My Stepbrother—in June along with writing my new book.

Having asked, Alexander led the way to my son’s bedroom. Cordelia – I walk into the room; all the drapes are closed, and the lights are off. It is pitch black in the room. With a flick of my hands, I turn on all the lights and add a few floating candles. There is going to be no more self-pity and grieving, we do not have time to such things. I don’t understand the feeling that you want to die when your mate dies, my father was a lesser God and my mother a sorceress. My mate is a werewolf, but I still cannot say I totally understand the death part of this. However, this is not about my son and his grief, this is about saving the Werewolf kingdom.

⸻ 🌙 The Book Of Origins Then suddenly— A loud rumble echoed through the library. 📚⚡ The crystal’s broken fragments rose into the air. ✨ And from the center of the room… A massive book appeared. 💀 The largest book any of them had ever seen. Its cover was black. Its pages silver. Its lock made of living shadows. 🌑 Lyra’s eyes widened. 😱 “The Book of Origins.” ⸻ 🌙 The Forbidden Record The book slowly opened. Its pages turned by themselves. ⚡ One page.

I think to myself as I give a polite wave and smile back. As I enter the Cobblestone cafè, I notice it all. The pause in conversation. The flicker of curiosity. The barista’s smile that’s a little too knowing. What I noticed further was every detail that I had in a dream as a kid- one a poor girl from the wrong side of this town, with a criminal father and a mother that ran away could have never accomplished.

He wore his usual black waistcoat, sleeves rolled up, but his expression was darker, more intense. In his hands rested a thick, ancient grimoire bound in deep crimson leather. Gold runes pulsed faintly on the cover. “The Breeding Grimoire,” he said, voice low and resonant. “A medieval fertility text. It demands a full ritual enactment to neutralize its power. You will read the incantations aloud while I perform the rites. The book requires multiple offerings — deep, thorough breeding — until the magic is sated. Do not stop reading, no matter how full or overwhelmed you become.”