Kindle Tips Novels & Stories

Jada prayed and asked God to provide a miracle that would be a solution to her family’s problems. They had always been poor, but this was the worst situation they had ever been in. Her father had to be taken to the hospital two weeks ago, and she had become the sole provider for their home. Marilou had given them what money she had that she could to help, but she wasn’t exactly rolling in money herself. The young girl had a huge responsibility placed upon her shoulders, but she was determined not to lose their home or have the children sent to foster care. She had been waiting tables and using her tips to buy gas and groceries, but it was barely enough most days. Her paycheck had not been enough to pay all the bills since her father had let them get so far behind. Mrs. DeRoya cleared her throat, signaling that she would answer the girl. “Miss Pence, I only had one child, my son Brayden here. My husband was also an only child. So, unless Brayden produces an heir, our bloodline here in the United States is lost. What we need is a surrogate to carry the child. If you sign the contract, when the child is born you will receive one million dollars to take your siblings and go have a good life,” she said, staring at her without emotion.

As the end of the year approaches, my wife, Sylvia Small, who is five months into her pregnancy, accidentally falls into a lake. Our neighbor who is a police officer, Raven Weber, jumps in and rescues her. Unfortunately, she slips into a coma after her heroic feat. As I rush over, I see that a crowd has gathered at the scene. Sylvia is drenched from head to toe, wrapped up tightly in a blanket. Water droplets keep dripping from the tips of her hair. "Are you alright, Sylvia?" I ask, drawing near. The moment Sylvia sees me, she moves toward me and burrows herself into my arms. She clings to me like she is clinging for dear life. "You're finally here, Zach!" she exclaims emotionally. I frown and push her away. "Just say what you have to say. This suit is expensive. Don't dirty it," I said indifferently. My words make Sylvia's eyes go wide with disbelief and shock. But that only lasts for a second before an anxious look replaces it. She holds my arms firmly and says in a choked voice, "Officer Weber is in a coma because of me. Please transfer a sum of money to me so that I can thank her for saving my life." I glance at Sylvia impatiently and reply, "What's that got to do with me? Why should I transfer you my money so that you can give it to her?"

"Stop squirming, Babydoll. I won't let you go," he said without blinking his eyes, frightening Pearl as he restrained her body. "Who are you? I don't know you," Pearl answered fearfully. He stroked Pearl's flawless skin with the tips of his fingers, then took hold of her jaw. Pearl opened her eyes wide at once. Her breath stopped. This time, she will die. "You know me well, doll. You are my mate.” *** Pearl Rosental has one big dream: to get the best position at a famous design company, The Excellor Enterprise. Therefore, she worked hard to get the opportunity to participate in their internship program. Unfortunately, her father and stepmother forced her to marry Kellent’s only heir, Taggart. Pearl rejected Taggart as her mate despite his urgent need to imprint her. Later, she learns that Taggart is The Excellor's president and owner. Taggart never stepped back from his obsession when he found out about her. Pearl is more than just a mate; she also keeps a big secret about her blood, which captivates Taggart's cousin, Damian. Damian and his father, Matthew, have been trying to steal the Alpha’s crown for a hundred years. Damian falls for Pearl, leading him one step closer to becoming the next Alpha.

The morning was cold and I was currency. My father handed me to Dimitri Volkov, Bratva, like I was a contract clause. I said no at the altar. Loud enough for everyone to hear. The priest kept going. Dimitri didn’t even blink. That was fact one: I was married without consent, in Chicago, to a man who accepted silence as agreement. I left him later. Not in rage. In clarity, after I saw another girl get caught in his world with no choice, just like me. Then I went to war. Law school had taught me precision, so I used it. Civil suits. Asset forfeiture. Anonymous tips to the right agencies. I took apart everything legitimate he’d built, piece by piece, until he bled territories and pride. He showed up bruised once, signed over forty percent of his clean empire to my name, brought therapy receipts. That was fact two: I dismantled the man who caged me, on paper, without firing a shot. I still have the necklace. The one he left in my lap that first night. I wore it through the worst, through the year I rebuilt alone, through every hearing. Last month I was pregnant in a courtroom, arguing a case I won. He was in the gallery. The diamonds sat above my collar. No one asked. I never explained. That was fact three: I took something from that night and made it mine. It doesn’t belong to him anymore. It doesn’t belong to what he did. It belongs to me.

Breed stared at her. “I detest abuse. Especially violence by men on females.” “Yeah, I gathered that much.” She sat up and winced as she pulled her large t-shirt off. He simply stared at her bare breasts. Her nipples were erect and rosy. “Damn, you are beautiful,” he whispered and looked up at her face. “But I don’t want to hurt you.” “You won’t,” she assured him. “Please… give me this much.” Breed hesitated. “Please? I want to know what it would be like to be with a man like you. To be cared for.” He let out a breath. Damn if he didn’t want her and had from the moment he first saw her. “You are still in shock and maybe you—” Sitting forward, Kizzy pressed her lips to his, cutting off his excuses. Once Breed tasted her, he knew he wouldn’t be refusing her.They call him Breed but it’s a sign of respect, not disrespect. Born to a small tribe of Cherokee living in the Appalachian Mountains...he’s a big man. Stands at six foot four and close to three hundred pounds of pure muscle. He wears his long black hair in a ponytail, hanging halfway down his back. He owns every room he enters and lacks fear of almost any confrontation. His bright green eyes, the only thing he got from his father, were squinting as he looked down into the dingy. A woman lay there... tall and slim, short blonde hair with the tips dyed lime green. Breed shakes his head. What bothers him is the fact that she is covered in bruises and doesn’t seem to be conscious at the moment.

"You just shifted," was how the King responded, a fire in his eyes that seemed to make Kendra feel like she was melting. "Y-yes sir," she stammered before standing up fully, though she kept her eyes down again. She wasn't sure where to look. "I was confirming, not asking," he says, though his voice is not unkind, but curious. "Incredible. A female Alpha. A thing not even of legends." He stood up, and crossed the space between them in an instant. The mouthwatering scent was now overwhelming her. He lifted her chin with the tips of his fingers. Electricity spread from the spots where his fingers touched, and her breath hitched. Their eyes met, and his was now as wide as hers. She finally heard her wolf, confirming what was starting to dawn on her. Mate. Kendra was the daughter of the Beta of her Pack, and while she had that strong wolf blood in her veins, she hadn’t shifted at 13. Rather than despairing, she threw herself into her future, where she would be an Advocate amongst humans, asking for wolf rights and hoping that being unable to shift would put them at ease. However, on her 18th birthday, something unheard of happened- she shifted. Now, she has to juggle handling her newfound responsibilities, her conflicting feelings with the former Gamma’s son, Derek, and on top of all of it, her mate bond with Lycan King Kenzo, who despite being cold and distant to many, grew to be warm and kind to her. Will she be able to disregard her feelings for Derek and live happily with Kenzo, or will she reject her mate bond, and risk losing everything, to be with a man who seems to be hiding a secret from her?

My sister has awakened her mermaid bloodline, but it is incomplete. Her skin is her curse. A single touch, too hard, and it cracks. For her, everything hard in our house has been thrown away. I love to dance, but the hard tips of ballet shoes are forbidden. I love music, but the strings of a guitar or the keys of a piano are too dangerous. Every dream I've ever had has been strangled in its cradle because of my sister's condition. My brother, Liam, who raised us both, always looks at me with tired, pleading eyes. "Elara is fragile, Isla. You have to be understanding." But I was only eighteen the first time I truly understood. I came home from my high school graduation ceremony, the scent of sunshine and excitement still on my clothes. The moment I stepped inside, Elara's hand connected with my cheek. Hard. For no reason at all. Everyone rushed to her. Liam pointed a furious finger at me. "Look what you've done! You've hurt her hand! How could you be so careless?" He shoved me aside and rushed out with Elara to find a doctor. I fell back against the glass coffee table, the impact jarring. And then, a strange, cold pain bloomed across my back. I felt my skin... tear. It was then I remembered the doctor's words from my last check-up: "You carry the Siren's Gene, Isla. It could manifest at any time." As my vision blurred, my own blood pooling on the pristine white floor, I finally understood. The curse wasn't just my sister's. It was mine, too.

His eyes locked on mine wide and wild, he moved towards me and put his hand on my shoulder, lessening the distance between us. I could feel the tension in my own body, the effort of not giving in at that moment, of not letting him pull me against him. Not letting myself take that one chance, however formidable and absurd and unwise, and kissing him the way I had thought, I would never in my life. I had never wanted like this before. I understood him, smiled a little when he smiled. I saw through the defenses he put up to what was underneath. There was no Eric James Winslet more real than the one I saw in his eyes when I looked up at him. "You can close your eyes," He whispered in my ear. My eyes fluttered shut, his mouth came down on mine. And that was it. All the self-control I had exerted over the weeks went by. My arms came up around his neck and he pulled me against him. His hands flattened against my back. I was up on the tips of my toes, kissing him as fiercely as I could. I didn't know what I should have done or said next if it would have been something I could never have pretended away or taken back, but I heard a soft hiss of laughter. ************* Eric James Winslet a ruthless businessman who has already completed 27 yrs of his life being the king of his territory. Scarlett Miller, a business administration student; with the spice of fashion designing. Want to know how their lives get entangled with hatred, possession, & love. A heartbreaking story that will keep you at the edge. Are you ready to be on this journey? Purva Narang (Your author)

+++✦+++ She looked up at me with those soft, damn eyes. I stepped in closer, my hand lifting before I even thought it through, and I brushed the tips of my fingers against her cheek. Warm. Delicate. Curious. I watched her mouth part slightly, her lashes lowering just a bit. "Can I kiss you?" I heard myself say. It surprised me. I don’t ask. I take. But she wasn’t like anyone else. With her, I found myself wanting permission...wanting her to want me back. She blinked, caught off guard, but something in her softened. And after a breath, she slowly nodded. I leaned in, brushing my lips over hers in a gentle and slow motion, like I was trying to memorize her taste, savoring the moment. But, that one kiss was enough to set my nerves on edge. I pulled back slightly, watching the way her cheeks turned pink, her eyes wide, her lips still parted like she hadn’t expected it to feel like that. And fuck, I hadn’t either. I leaned in again, but paused when I realized she was leaning toward me too, unconsciously. She didn’t even realize she wanted more. And this time, I didn’t ask. +++✦+++ In a city plagued by crime and violence, a young woman fights to stay hidden from her sadistic stepfather and his ruthless gang. In her journey to uncover the truth about her forgotten past, she crosses paths with a dangerous and mysterious stranger in the most unexpected manner. Together, they embrace their twisted fate by striking a deal and altering their lives through a tale of romance and mystery. +++✦+++ ✦ 𝐷𝑒𝑑𝑖𝑐𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑠 𝑤ℎ𝑜 𝑏𝑒𝑙𝑖𝑒𝑣𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒𝑠, 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑣𝑖𝑙𝑙𝑎𝑖𝑛 𝑖𝑠 𝑗𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒 ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑜 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑎 𝑏𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑛. ✦ +++✦+++

On the day my dad, the Don of the Capone family, comes to the orphanage to take me home, I show up in a tactical helmet and a bulletproof vest. "I'm not going home with you. You're definitely doing this to trick me into getting married to a perverted old geezer in a marriage alliance. I bet my adopted sister has made preparations to start fake-crying anytime by loading up on her eyedrops." My dad is amused, to say the least. "Why would any of that happen? Silvia is nothing but welcoming you to our home! Also, our family isn't a lowly organization that deals with human trafficking." But I refuse to believe my dad at all. On the way home, I keep typing something on my phone. My mom, the Donna, leans over curiously. "Are you writing a diary entry?" "Nope. I'm writing tips on 'How to Survive the Mafia.'" 1) My food will definitely be poisoned. 2) If I get close to a staircase, I'll definitely get pushed down the stairs. 3) I'll get framed for something that I've never done before. My parents swear to me that none of the things I've written will ever happen. They tell me that my adopted sister, Silvia Capone, has a great personality, and things are amicable in the family. However, everything changes when Silvia brings me a glass of juice before lunchtime and insists on watching me drink it. Instead, I dump the juice into a nearby vase of flowers. Just as my parents are about to scold me for wasting the juice, smoke begins drifting from the flowers inside the vase. Then, they start wilting rapidly. I calmly leave a bright red checkmark behind the "poison" tip. As my parents stare at the dead flowers, they can feel color draining from their faces. "You should send the juice to a chem lab for analysis."