From The Cradle To The Grave Book Novels & Stories

“Nothing is difficult when lives are at stake. Find her. And don’t let anyone know we’re coming. Carrington will try to interfere.” He nodded. “Yes, sir. I’ll… I’ll start immediately.” I hung up. I stared at the screen again, watching her speak about neurons, synapses, and the cure. Calm. Focused. Determined. The problem wasn’t just finding her. It was keeping her safe from those who wanted to stop her. From Carrington. From anyone with ambition or greed. And yet… I couldn’t wait. My brother’s life was at stake. I walked toward the balcony, the night air cold against my skin. I thought about what I had lost three years ago. The helplessness. The rage. The grief that never left. I swore I wou

My fingers were tapping the table. Soft. But everyone felt it. Message was clear. Still a Zander running this department. Just not Jay. Me. Get in line— or get out. That's how it works now. *** A month after cleaning up Northpoint's mess, I finally went back to Westside. Clouds hung low. I drove out to the cemetery. That abandoned stretch. Followed memory. Deeper in. Found it. My headstone. Black-and-white photo. Half-buried in weeds.

“ well, well I figured you would’ve ran like a coward… Andy why did you say? I ordered all the court who’s talents and powers don’t have to do with fighting to head to the trail grounds.” “ I am not some frail toys that will break in a fight I can…“ Her father raised his hand she never got to finish her sentence because he interrupted her. “ you have no power to speak of. Your more mortal then immortal I keep hoping that will change as you mature but only time will tell. Until then you will follow the rest of the non-battle members of the court out of harms way. No matter how different you are you’re still one of the cauldron born and we cannot afford anything happening to you.”

- I told him. He nodded and pulled several books out from one of the stacks and set them in front of me. I opened the top book and ran my fingers over the runes in the title. It was beautifully written as if each word was drawn with love and attention to detail. Now that I looked at it, it reminded me of a combination of Norse and Old English. Nerrian pulled his chair closer and pointed to the first word, speaking it in my mind than out loud in Draygonian. With his help, I repeated the word over and over again until I perfected it.

Beside her sat Grace, Zuri, Ella, and dozens of others, the next generation of dreamers, builders, fire-bearers. Hope had called it The Gathering. One final celebration of Cassie and Damon’s life, but more than that, a passing of a sacred rhythm. A rhythm called legacy. Nova opened the letter slowly. She read aloud. To my firewalkers, If you're reading this, it means I’ve left this body. But not this world. Not this family. Not this fire. I wrote many stories in my life. Some public. Some private. But none more meaningful than the one I wrote with all of you.

Yes, Luke just didn’t love me enough. Not long after, the funeral home staff arrived to take Monica’s body away. I carefully instructed them on all the details for the funeral day. Because on the day of Monica’s funeral, I will have already left the Wildfire Pack. Watching the car carrying Monica's body drive away, I bowed deeply, solemnly bidding farewell to the mother who had raised me. My wolf, Shadow, whispered in my mind, "Emma, it's time. Time to live for yourself."

It turned out to be a library. I trailed my fingers across the covers of the books, some cracked with age, others polished and new. My eyes looked over the golden ink titles, histories of the Gravepine Pack, volumes of recorded battles, and the chronicles of Adrian’s father. That one caught my attention. For some reason, I wanted to know the man who gave birth to this unpredictable monster.

Sleeping with both eyes shut was never an option. Not in this hell hole. St. Cadence’s Orphanage was far from being holy. I was abandoned here when I was born, having no recollection on who was the mutt who left me to live a godforsaken life in this place that was supposed to give me shelter. England has its perks; I give you that. Sovereignty gives the orphanage good money for clothes, studies and whatever else we might need until we are eighteen and thrown out on the streets.

Anne wished they hadn’t spoken to that batty old man, listening to his riddles and dead-end tales. The later discovery of alternate tales, crude folklore and legends betrayed by a handful of the old or wandering mad reinforced Damon’s suspicions of an ancient grave site, though there was no recorded information of its existence until Damon’s final research paper. There Damon recounted it by name, “The Mourner’s Cradle.”

" But why mom?!!!!." "Because, he's at the emergency room, his treatment is still going on." Mom told me carefully while the nurse amble out from the room. Another hot fresh of tears flow down my cheeks whilst I slumped my self down on the floor lazily. "What's really happening Mom? What's happening to me? Why is my life like this? Why is it turning upside down, slowly? I haven't done anything wrong to anyone.. have I? Or, whom have I offended that truly wants me to repay it with my life? Why am I suffering so much for the sins that I have not committed? Must I die before everything would come to an end?." I said as I cried my heart out. "I'm sorry my baby."