Harper Zilmer Novels & Stories

She was more like a pearl nestled in a shell—smooth, graceful, understated yet luminous. A thought rose in Christopher's mind, 'That Ryan… what a fool. He had a jewel but didn't know how to treasure it. Blinded by a cheap imitation, mistaking glass for diamond. Well, maybe it's for the best. If it weren't for that, I'd never have gotten Harper.' After everything was laid bare, life became lighter. Harper adapted to the new environment even better than she'd expected. An editor from Talisand got in touch—they wanted to start a new picture book. She was already somewhat known in the field. It would be a waste to let it all go.

She did not have to wait long. Harper appeared from the stairwell. She was tall with lean muscles, and her blonde hair was let down in a wavy style. She was in the grey uniform of the Pack’s inner guard, and there was a knife at her hip and a scar close to her eyebrow that pulled when she smiled. And she was smiling. It was not a friendly smile. “Hello, Kayla,” Harper said, her voice low and smooth. “Good to see you, future Luna." Kayla straightened, lifting her chin. “Hi Harper.”

She whispered. "Well then, isn't that a lot better? He can protect you if someone ever tries to stab you in the back-" "Are you Harper Williams? The Only Chamber who hooked up with the gorgeous, ever-stunning Killian Lake?" Uh-oh. Harper choked when a hot blonde girl dressed in hot pink approached her along with two hot blonde girls behind her who looks exactly like her clones. Or maybe they are, really her clones? Harper doesn't know. "Yes, I am Harper Williams, the only Chamber," She answered, and the blonde girl was about to say something again, but Harper butted in.

Jasper narrows his eyes at me, but decides not to bring up my thoughts. Instead, he says, "I will not stop until this deal is complete." "Do you know anything about Cyprian? Where he may be?" I ask, hating to bring up the name of the man behind the uprising. Cyprian. Young, strong and extremely manipulative. An outsider of the Love Pack born and raised. A rogue now. All these things are a dangerous concoction I don't want my beautiful mate witnessing. Unfortunately, my end of the deal must be upheld.

Emily Warner, the crazy and happy go lucky side-chick in all of the stories. She is happy that all of her friends met the man of their dreams but she hasn’t. She has never met a man who even remotely loved her. As a kid, she always hoped for a crazy life story like beauty and the beast or toy story or finding nemo. But she worked at a nine to five job, at the age of twenty nine, she was single, while all of her friends were either getting married or pregnant. And there she was sitting in front of the television, eating chips out of her hair.

She can now feel his warmth, she can now hear his steady breathing, and she can wallow at the deep abyss hiding in the middle of his hazel eyes. Stripped with the heavy armor she used to sneak in the camps, with her hair free from the restraint of the ribbon she used to tie it up, with her wearing sheer dark inner clothes, his warmth warms her heart. Just sheer inner clothes and his tunic keeping them distant from each other. His fingers circled on her shoulders, sniffing her scent as his lips came in contact with her head. Kissing it for a few seconds before pulling away. It was cozy like the tent is enough for them to live their whole lives. Like it was heaven they found just for themselve

"Spit it out. Tell the truth, and I might let you crawl back to whatever hole you came from," Harper snarled. Her claws were half-extended, grazing the assassin’s throat. She didn't care about the Silver Ridge Enforcers; she wanted this cur to admit Madison had pulled the strings so Hudson would finally see the viper in his bed.

It was low, a murmur in the dim room. And there she was. Harper Lane, on the air in a second network studio now, shining a soft, triumphant glow. The angry accuser at the summit steps had given way to this victory lap. She wore a new suit, a deep, triumphant purple, and her smile was big, glossy, and entirely unfriendly.

Hunter: The clearing was quiet, clean even. And that was the worse part. It was too clean for a place where we had lost our men. They were two of our best warriors. And for them to be laying on the ground, dead, like they were… I couldn’t process it. There was no scent trail. No prints. Just stillness and the faint metallic tang of death. I pinched the bridge of my nose as I tried to make sense of it, but nothing clicked…

Probably some guy gave her a fake number in the bar. "I know what it is. But who are you?" She again asks me anxiously. "I am secretary of the President of the Damison Group. My name is Ethan Stone." I reply to her irritatingly, as she is wasting my time. I need to go home and take a lavender bath with my rubber ducks.