Hearts Of Desire Novels & Stories

She snaps her fingers with her still expressionless face, as she calls out and names that holder’s nightmare, yet her somehow very salvation into the loop of the future and the seventh, where everything comes running down into a forbidden chance and emotions, she calls. “You’re her heart, but her demise, you who she should watch carefully, yet underestimated. Her darkest desire that is knocking and getting louder with each passing day and moment is the hunting spree she knows, anticipated, but could never evade. Her heart that she thought that is as strong as her mind will never be. For you are her very nightmare, in the game of love, she calls and will foolishly fall into. Mike Nacre.”

this innocent, young girl who doesn't deserve to know such horror. "She has already been sold. It's out of my hands now," he tells me, carefully monitoring my reaction. "No, you have to save her," I insist. "She doesn't deserve to die." Panic rears it's ugly head and this time I don't have the strength to resist it. I start blindly tugging at the chains, wishing they would uproot themselves from the concrete floor. "You've always had a fragile heart, dear. When you take over, you're going to have to avoid seeing the girls, aren't you?"

I interrupted again, “What kind of condition?” Aldus replied while mixing the colourful liquids in that small glass in his hand, “Moon Goddess gave her a very difficult condition. She said that she would bless her with the Scent of Desire, a scent which could attract any male Lycan, making them insane in heat but she needed to make him fall for her before mating with him. If lust wins over love, she would lose him forever.” Eden grumbled, “What kind of nonsensical demand is this! First, she blessed her with a lust provoking scent and then, she asked her not to mate with her beloved. What kind of stupid condition is that?”

In that moment, I hadn’t cared about the war, the rebirths, the pain still written across both our skins. But now… I wasn’t sure what that moment meant. Not to him. And maybe not even to me. It hadn’t been tenderness. Not really. It had been desperation disguised as desire. A last breath before drowning. I ran my fingers through my hair, exhaling shakily. Would he look at me differently now? Would I look at him differently? Because I couldn’t afford to fall for someone who still carried the weight of the Order, the pain of Malagar’s curse, and the ghosts of all the things he hadn’t said.

This makes her a paradox: a woman who could have anything but clings to the one man who doesn’t share her feelings—himself. Bryan sees in Natasha everything he doesn’t want in a relationship. She is devoted, genuine, and faithful to a romantic idea that he is the only man for her. This commitment and the sweetness with which she treats him leave him unsettled, and sometimes he feels a slight discomfort at her devotion. Even though their union is just a convenient arrangement, Bryan knows Natasha harbors real affection for him. However, for him, this connection is merely a contract, a strategic alliance he upholds, while she idealizes a love he has never been willing to return.

Even if I wanted to do it, he never let me. Sometimes I think about it. Why do these girls sleep with him? He was not good looking, was a chauvinist kind of guy and had nothing which a girl would like. Even I could be more desirable than him. But why do these girls go for him instead of me? Is it money? His humongous d...? I didn't know. Oh, I was so frustrated right now. I didn't know why but I was feeling so jealous of him. I mean, look at that girl, how hot she was. Her body was in perfect shape. She had a thin waist, large breasts, pale skin, long black hair and a small face. She was clearly the best one out of all those women he had slept with over all these years. And I watched him cum

It was full of everything neither of us was saying, every implication left hovering in the gallery air between the seascape and the tall windows and the golden columns of afternoon light. My heart was slamming against my ribs with a force I was certain was visible through the silk of my dress. I was warm in a way that had nothing to do with the room. There was a low, persistent pull somewhere deep in my core that I recognized dimly, distantly, as something I had not felt in so long it had almost ceased to seem like something I was capable of. Desire. Clean and uncomplicated and entirely, dangerously real. Not performed. Not managed. Not the cold physics of a body going through required motio

Claire’s heart pounded like a war drum as Aaron’s words hung in the air, thick with promise and peril. “Why not? Matthew’s gone. You’re lonely. I’m here.” His blue eyes bored into hers, dark with lust, and before she could form a coherent protest, his mouth was on hers again—fierce, demanding, nothing like the playful pecks of their sibling past. His tongue invaded, tangling with hers in a dance that sent sparks racing down her spine. She tasted coffee and something uniquely him, forbidden. Her hands fisted in his shirt, intending to push him away, but her body betrayed her, pulling him closer instead. This is wrong, her mind screamed, flashes of Matthew’s face flickering like guilt-ridden g

But here was Leo—an enigma of control and secrets—offering something she wasn’t sure she could accept. Her chest tightened. The worst part? A dangerous part of her wanted to believe him. Cass’s breath caught, suspended between instinct and desire. She knew better than to let anyone close, especially him. Leo was a question mark wrapped in steel, and men like him never came without strings attached. Yet standing in his shadow, hearing the weight in his voice, she felt the fragile edge of her defenses begin to splinter. “I don’t need saving,” she whispered, the words thinner than she’d meant.

Phase III. Helena Hart was listed under Phase II. Her name. Her trial number. A coded tag next to it: “High resistance / moderate suppression / emotional bonds unresolved.” Unresolved. She couldn’t breathe. That word—unresolved—meant her mother had fought until the end. The memory of the dream returned—her small hand pressed to cold glass, her mother just beyond it, her eyes full of something like fear, something like love. It hadn’t been a dream at all.