Glass Sword Novels & Stories

BLURB They sold me for five million dollars but two wolves paid ten million, and now I belong to both of them for six months. My name is Beatrice, three days ago my mate sold me at auction to pay gambling debts he created while I secretly ran our pack and kept us from collapsing. He called me defective because I couldn’t give him children. That was his lie to hide his own failures and I let him spread it because the truth would make me a target for something worse than a bad marriage. Now I stand in a billionaire's penthouse owned by Vincent who bought me for revenge and Christopher who bought me because we were friends when we were children before I disappeared to escape a fate I would rather die than accept. Vincent treats me like a fascinating problem to solve and Christopher treats me like fragile glass that might shatter and neither one understands that I already broke years ago and put myself back together. Six months with two wolves who both want to own me in different ways, six months to plan what happens when the contract ends, six months to remember that before I was property I was a person who survived impossible things and I can survive this too. But somewhere between business dinners where Vincent watches me like I might be worth more than he paid and late nights where Christopher reminds me what it felt like to be seen as human, something dangerous is happening. I am starting to want things beyond survival and wanting things means having things to lose. They think they bought a broken Luna who will be grateful for rescue. They are about learning that surviving taught me to be something more dangerous than broken.

Lena’s voice trembled, barely above a whisper. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pushed you away. I...I made a mistake.” Grayson’s cold laughter cut through the air. He stepped closer, his towering presence suffocating. “A mistake?” His tone was sharp, dangerous. “Dropping a glass is a mistake. What you did?” He leaned in, his breath brushing her ear. “That was a choice.” Lena flinched, her chest tightening. “I didn’t know...” “You knew exactly what you were doing.” He grabbed her chin, forcing her to meet his icy gaze. “And now you’re here, begging for something. Redemption? Love?” His lips curled into a cruel smirk. “Don’t insult me.” “I don’t want anything from you,” she shot back, her voice faltering. Grayson’s soft, mocking laugh made her stomach twist. “You always want something, Lena. What is it now? A second chance to ruin me?” Her heart pounded. The man before her was no longer the one she thought she’d left behind...he was powerful, ruthless, and untouchable. And she feared she’d lost him forever. *** Lena married Grayson for his potential, believing she could manipulate him to secure her family’s fortune. Once the deal was done, she discarded him without remorse. But time has changed everything. Grayson has returned, no longer desperate, but a powerful man who has made it clear he wants nothing to do with her. Regret weighs heavy on Lena, but her reasons for seeking him now remain unclear. Is it guilt? Love? Or something far more dangerous? Grayson’s world is ruthless, offering no room for second chances. Yet, beneath his hardened exterior, a question lingers: Can he forgive her, or will he ensure she pays the ultimate price?

The sound of the liquor bottle breaking echoed against the walls of that room, making her flinched. She gazed into those intoxicated piercing green eyes hovering over her. "Leave from my room right now, Damien," her sapphire orbs filled with tears of terror, whereas her grip tightened on the towel covering her wet bare body but the person before her didn't follow her words. A shiver ran down her spine when he placed his both palms on the glass door behind her, caging her completely. "We will talk tomorrow when you will be sober up but please leave now," she attempted to push him away but her body froze when he pinned both of her wrists above her head, resulting in the towel slipping from her body. Her naked body trembled, both in fear and cold but the blazing rage in those bloodshed green eyes flamed up her being. She tried to wiggle out from his hold until…. "Do you still love him, Zia?" His question stabbed inside her heart like a dagger. Her tears of fear turned into anger. After she submitted every single inch of her to him last night, he was still asking her that question. "What if I said, yes…I still love Dylan then?" She challenged him but immediately hissed in pain when he dug his fingers in her tender skin. "Then I will kill him right in front of you," his cavernous voice husked against her lips but his words glossed her eyes more. How can he be so cruel that he didn't hesitate before thinking about killing his own brother? Her heart clenched when he pressed his lips against her and whispered those words in her mouth. "Because I will be the only person to ruin you in my love, Zia Damien Karlson,"

I stepped closer. Close enough to smell his cologne—cedarwood, leather, and power. My hand moved. Smooth, practiced. The pistol slide from under the apron into my palm. I raised it fast. But before I could pull the trigger— BANG. Not my shot. A scream tore through the restaurant as another man launched himself toward Romano’s table, blade flashing. Another assassin. What the hell— Romano didn’t flinch. He shoved the table forward, knocking the attacker off balance. The blade scraped across wood, not skin. I ducked instinctively as the room erupted into chaos. Gunfire cracked. Glass exploded. People screamed and dove for cover. “Get him out—NOW!” one of the guards barked. I aimed for the second attacker. Didn’t even hesitate. One shot—head. Gone. The guard saw me. Confusion flashed in his eyes. Then rage. I ran. I weaved between overturned chairs, plates, and screaming bodies. The smell of blood was real now, thick in the air. One of the guards grabbed me. I slammed my elbow into his ribs, twisted, and brought the butt of my gun down on his skull. He dropped like a sack of bricks. Out. I had to get out. My boots pounded the floor as I tore through the narrow hallway. But then— “Elisa.” His voice stopped me cold. I turned. Antonio Romano stood in the middle of the carnage, suit untouched, blood spattered behind him like art. His eyes were on me. And he was smiling. It was darker. Slower. Like a hunter seeing something worth chasing. Somehow, he knew who I was. “Interesting,” he said softly, tilting his head. “They sent you.” I didn’t answer. I ran. But that voice followed me. He knew my name. And he let me go. This wasn’t over. It had just begun.

Lena Marchetti, twenty-eight, operates on fumes. Her father Marco's cancer treatments have swallowed her savings and the final credits of her degree. She interns at Croft Industries, a glass tower engineered to diminish. She is invisible, sweat gluing her blouse to her spine, until she drops Julian Croft's Montblanc pen. The crack on marble halts breath. She scrabbles on cold stone. When she lifts her chin, Julian crouches beside her. He doesn't retrieve the pen. He waits. His gray eyes hold hers, and heat floods her neck, damp and unwelcome. "You break it, you buy it," he says. "And you can't afford it." He leaves her kneeling. At 3:17 AM, her phone blares: Croft. Office. One hour. She goes. His office smells of leather and ozone. He slides a contract across the desk. Six months. Exclusivity. Her compliance. In exchange, her father's debt dissolves. Her signature slants, barely legible. After her best friend Dani labels Julian a sociopath, Lena sobs in the service elevator. He finds her. "Come with me." He escorts her to a 24-hour diner. He orders cherry pie, slides it across formica. She is wrecked—blotched skin, swollen lids. He studies her as if memorizing the topography of her distress. He teaches her to fence. She lunges, jabs his ribs. He laughs in that rusted, startled way that travels up her calves. She registers: I manufactured that sound. Elara Vance, Julian's former mentor who sold his first deal for a board seat, resurfaces. She invites Lena to lunch, offers employment. "He'll never perceive you as an equal. Work for me. Become a threat." The words burrow. Lena's palms dampen at his touch. While Julian travels, she picks the lock of a hidden room. A library.

“Did you do as I said?” He murmured darkly, eyes slowly running over me. “Yes,” I whispered, my voice laced with shame. Although not enough to stop me from spreading my legs wider before him. His jaw flexed, a low growl escaping his throat as he lowered himself in front of me. “Show me. I want to see how you touched yourself that night.” “Right now?” I hesitated. “Yes. Right now.” He pushed forward. “I want you to take two fingers to your mouth, lick it slowly, take it all the way down there and show me how you made yourself cum. Everything.” I swallowed, my face burning red as images of that unholy night flashed in my mind. I licked two fingers as he said, trailing it all the way down to the already sleek folds between my legs. Then I dug in, the sleeky sensation pushing my eyes close. “Open them. I want to see.” My eyes managed to part, closely followed by my mouth. My folds grew slickier the more I worked my fingers in, drawing low cries from my lips. I had to close my eyes. “Open.” He growled, rising. We locked eyes, as I widened my legs, intensely flicking my wet mound until I began to feel my legs twitch. “Do I stop? Tell me what to do,” I cried. He said nothing, just sipped the wine in his hand while I continued to pound myself deeper, crying and unwilling to get to that point as I wanted him to do it himself. I needed his fingers to replace mine. To show me how a big, bad wolf tamed his prey. Finally, he set his glass aside, leaning downwards. “You really did your assignment. Now let the king give you a fitting reward.” He smirked.

Crimson Bloomed: Ascend Post - Apocalyptic Horror | Action | Yuri Harem | Coming - of - Age | Rated R | Mature Content | Slow Burn The city looked like it had been devoured — chewed up by fire, time, and whatever came after — then spit back out in jagged pieces. Dead drones dangled from power lines like rusted ornaments. Neon signs flickered above fractured pavement, their broken scripts glitching into gibberish. Down the block, a half - melted smartcar burned slow, casting warped shadows across the skeletal remains of a coffee bar. Behind a crumpled tram car, someone crouched low, breath tight in her lungs. The shrieking hadn’t stopped. It came again — sharp, bone-deep, the kind of sound that latched onto your spine and refused to let go. She checked the signal jammer at her hip. Still blinking. Still active. Not for long. They were tracking her. She moved fast — boots silent over broken glass, slipping through the breach in an old laundromat’s wall. Her body moved from muscle memory now: slide through, duck left, over the washer, don’t look at the corpse slumped by the dryer. Out the back. Up the fire escape. On the rooftop, she halted. Not alone. Someone was already there — silhouetted against the bleeding sunset. Combat jacket. Short - cropped hair. Pulse rifle slung casually over one shoulder like it weighed nothing. Like this was just another rooftop, just another war. “Don’t move,” the voice snapped. She lifted her hands slowly. “I’m clean.” “Everyone says that.” “Scan me.” beat. Then the girl stepped forward, rifle still raised but gaze locked in. Dark eyes, sharp, searching — not just for weapons, but tells. Fear. Lies. She lowered the rifle half an inch. “You’re lucky you’re cute.” That wasn’t the line she expected.

I see her in his arms. Adrian’s hand is at her waist, and she’s looking up at him like he hasn’t spent years breathing the same air as her without ever earning that look. My fingers curl around my glass. Then he says something. I don’t hear it. I don’t need to. Because Wren… giggles. My world tilts. I’ve heard her laugh before—sharp, defiant. But this was different. And it was not for me. Rage claws up my throat, aimed straight at Adrian. I shouldn’t care. Except I do. I fucking do. Then Wren stumbles. Adrian catches her, pulls her back—and their lips collide. Just a peck. Clearly accidental. But it detonates inside me. Something snaps. The glass slips from my hand, shattering, and all I see is red. My body moves before my mind can catch up. Because suddenly, it all crashes into place. Her silence. The loss. It felt like I’d lost something I didn’t even know I was holding onto. And I was the one who did it. My pranks. My cruelty. I was the reason her scholarship got revoked! God! A bitter taste floods my mouth. She cut me off because she had every right to. Because I deserved it. But that doesn’t mean I can let her go. It doesn’t mean I will. If it takes groveling, I’ll grovel. If it takes begging, I’ll beg. Hell, if it takes dropping to my knees in front of this entire fucking college and tearing my pride apart piece by piece just to earn a fraction of her forgiveness. Because she matters. I don’t care about anything except her slipping out of my reach. And I’m ready to burn everything down for her.

When I'm about to apply for medical insurance for my son, Connor Sawyer, who's about to start his first year in kindergarten, I'm told that I'm not his biological father at all. "Are you sure this is your son? The system shows that his father is an entirely different person." I don't respond at all. Instead, I secretly take a photo of the unfamiliar-looking address before tracking it down. It turns out that it's actually a residential area right by my own. The moment my wife, Giselle Lambert, sees me, she freezes momentarily. At the same time, she blocks the door subconsciously with her hand. "In the end, you still found out about the truth. But there's no use kicking up a fuss, you know. I never mistreated you in any way over the past three years, after all." When I notice the familiar figure standing behind Giselle, I feel my limbs going cold. That person is actually my younger brother, Vincent Sawyer, who has just graduated from college. Vincent hands Giselle a glass of water before smiling at me apologetically. "Don't blame me, Hayden. The doctor says that I'm severely depressed, so I can't handle hearing a child's cries at all. I'm really thankful to you for raising Connor on my behalf in the past few years." At that moment, Connor, who's supposed to be waiting for me in my car, rushes into the apartment. He runs into Vincent's arms happily before turning to look at me. "Don't cry, Uncle Hayden. Daddy says you're a good person, so he's asked you for help. Mommy tells me that if I call you 'daddy' in your home, I'll get to visit my real daddy during the weekends."

“This is wrong. My husband…he…” I whispered, my voice trembling as I forced the words out. My protest sounded weak even to my ears, I tried hard to grasp the loose edges of my resolve. Deep down, I knew it was futile. He wouldn’t care. A low menacing chuckle rumbled from his chest. ‘Why was he laughing?’ He lifted his head, his dark eyes locking onto mine with a piercing intensity that made my knees weak. His gazed burned with a mixture of amusement and undeniable hunger… a raw feeling that stole the air from my lungs. “I don’t care about that,” he said, his voice a rich, velvety growl that sent heat straight to my belly. Before I could react, he leaned in, his lips brushing my ear. “You’re too damn sexy for him,” he murmured, his voice dripping with confidence and sin. That was all it took. My resolve shattered like a fragile glass, my body betraying me in ways I couldn’t control. My skin tingled, and the moist between my legs told me everything I didn’t want to admit. ****** Celine thought the mate bond would bring her the love and safety she always dreamed of. Instead, it became her prison. Bound to Lucien, the heir to the emerald forest pack, she finds herself trapped in a cruel and loveless marriage. But…everything changes when she meets Kaine, the Alpha king of bloodfang pack. From the moment their eyes met, an electrifying connection ignites between them. Kaine sees her pain, her beauty, the fire buried beneath her despair…and he wants her. As the Alpha king, Kaine gets whatever he desires, and so he sets his sight on Celine, determined to claim her as his own, no matter the cost.