Karen White Books Novels & Stories

For them, I could pretend to be just a useless, weak Omega. Nobody knew my real truth. They just saw a poor girl in oversized clothes. They didn't know that underneath the dirt and the drab dye I used to stain my hair, I was the last surviving White Wolf. “Hide it, Aisha,” my mother’s dying words always echoed in my mind. “If the Luna ever sees your white fur, she will kill you out of jealousy. Stay small. Stay hidden.” So, I stayed small. Even when Luna Mabel treated me like dirt under her expensive shoes.

“Let’s go!” Jade was careful not to step on the small pool of blood surrounding the corpse on the floor. She averted her eyes, still shocked. That was the first time she had seen someone kill in cold blood. It wasn’t a pretty sight. “Faster!” Mei hissed. Moving faster, Jade followed Mei out of the cell and into an empty hallway. As they reached the end of the hallway, Mei raised her hand in a stopping motion. Jade noticed that Mei’s fingernails seemed longer than she remembered—in fact, they didn’t look like a normal human’s fingernails. Aside from being unusually long, they were curved, too—like the claws of a cat.

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I felt selfish and foolish pining after Magnus. We rode back with Cyrus and Jane. The rest of the pack followed behind. We had lost Morrie and Atlas from our pack. Whit and Paige from a neighboring pack had also died in the war. We would mourn them properly at home. We drove through the beautiful hills of Pennsylvania, making me feel odd about the events of the last week. “I’m tired.” “I know, baby girl.” Ghost kissed the top of my head while holding me close. “And hungry.” Everyone in the car chuckled at my expense. “Why am I always the one to remind everyone to eat? Three meals a day are recommended.”

Screams filled the air, short, sharp, cut off as the flames devoured them. For a moment, all I saw was red. The fire wrapped around me. The pain was sharp, but I welcomed it. I thought of my son, tied in that warehouse, still alive. I thought of Mikaela, in her grave with a bullet in her. And I thought of myself, the woman who answered to two identities: Karen White, Hailey White, but originally Karen Douglas, not broken, not powerless, but the one who made the final move. The mansion crumbled. The Blacks burned with it. And I, tied to my chair, let the fire take me.

Opening the heavy wooden door he simply grunted “pick any one item you desire, it will be returned after. I presume you have seen your dress?” “I have and thank you very much for this. I know it is a strange situation” as I stepped onto the stone flagged floor and entered a chamber of glittering shelves. The sheer number of treasures dazzled me. Behind glass cabinets were dozens of jewelled headpieces, tiaras, brooches, necklaces, and every kind of ornate wonder. Just a handful of these items would completely revamp a poorer pack like Five Lakes, the run-down baseball diamonds that had to double up as training complexes springing to my memory. No wonder the resentment was palpable against Wh

He looked at her for confirmation, and she nodded. Karen was the only Black woman. She was petite and ebony brown with long black hair that ran past her shoulders. It looked like her own and not a weave. She was dressed in a nice black suit with a sequined blouse. Her skirt was cut way above the knee, and she had on heels that would have caused me to break both ankles, my shins, and my knees! "I'm ... or ... I was Johan's International Affairs Coordinator." "Karen speaks five languages fluently."

Only Karen had nowhere to go. She found a secluded corner and undressed. Then she changed into a short and walked back to the bus stop. If she got lucky, she would get a shelter and food the next morning. A few minutes later, a white Sedan pulled off, and an Afro-American pushed his head from the wheels. “Waiting for someone?” Karen smiled seductively and walked to the car. “Waiting for you, hon.” He pushed the door of the car open. “Hop in for a ride.”

Reader discretion is advised. Kara Whitmore was a contradiction wrapped in a pint-sized package. Her smart-mouthed sarcasm and fiery confidence masked the secret desires that pooled in the depths of her dark brown eyes. At twenty-one, she was a college student sharing a house with her stepbrother, Jace Callahan, who was three years her senior. Her parents had married when she was seventeen, bringing Jace into her life and igniting a forbidden crush that had only grown stronger with each passing day.