Lauren Asher Dirty Air Series Novels & Stories

Toby rinsed out his cup and turned it upside down in the sink. He was not usually so careless. Asil’s mate had died, tortured to death by a witch who used her pain and death to gain power. For all that he found Asil irritating— especially his latest and most effective method of torment: Lauren—he’d never deliberately use Asil’s mate’s death to torment him. But more apologies would accomplish nothing. He muttered a soft plea for blessing upon the house, as his mother’s brother had taught him, and left. LAUREN was glad Toby drove this time. The icy roads gave him no apparent concern, though they slid around enough that she dug her nails into the handle conveniently located above the window of

"You're letting her back in? After what she—" "Calm down, Chelley. Enough now," he said. Shana offered a weak, trembling nod, leaning on Cassandra as she stood up. She played the part to perfection, stumbling slightly as she began to walk toward the elevator. Victory was written in the slight slump of her shoulders—she was back in the house. Suddenly we heard Asher’s cough. Everyone froze. The doctor’s hands paused over the small chest. Asher’s body jerked, his small frame convulsing as he coughed up a lungful of chlorinated water. His eyes fluttered open, red-rimmed and unfocused, as he let out a weak, frightened whimper.

But as long as there was this bitch before him, there was nothing that he could do. Aaron came there as well and went neat Ashley who was sitting near the tree roots and had her eyes closed and started the purification process. Dawn wiped the side of her mouth before she smirked and said, "if you think that you have a chance to win against me then forget it and also if you think that you can get to stop her from purifying the tree then also you better stop. Because that is not going to happen in any case." Lucien looked at her before he started laughing, "you are really a weird woman, now I know when you said that you understood me, I can feel the madness and the anger inside you.

“First, we have to build the case airtight. One mistake and they’ll slip through the cracks. But we’ll get them.” Laurel stood, her legs trembling slightly, but she didn’t sit back down. “Then do it. I’m not running anymore.” Later, outside the precinct, Asher walked her back to the car in silence. The air smelled like rain and exhaust, and the sky above was the color of bruised steel. “Do you think it’s really over?” Laurel asked as they stopped beside the car. Asher sighed. He knew that she would need her strength in days to come once the investigation starts fully. “I think it’s just beginning,” he said. “But this time, you’re not alone.”

She looked back, eyes warm but steady. **EMBER** “Then make it count.” And with that, she left him in the golden quiet of the room—grateful, at last, to be alive. **** POV: Asher Nightshade. The apartment smelled like sage and fresh laundry. The windows were cracked open just enough to let the mountain air in—cool, clean, humming with distant city lights. It had rained earlier, and the scent of damp earth still lingered on the wind. **Ember** sat cross-legged on the floor beside a small stack of baby clothes, folding them slowly. Her brow was furrowed in quiet concentration, her motions careful, like each onesie might fall apart if she didn’t do it right.

The Alpha's Judgement The air in the Alpha’s war room tasted like rusted iron and burnt coffee. Two weeks. Two weeks since the scent of Lila’s jasmine perfume had clung to Asher’s sheets, since her laughter had curled around the cracks in his resolve. Now her name sat between them like a landmine, detonating in his mother’s voice.

The air in the room suddenly felt like it had been replaced with pure oxygen—one spark, and we were all going up in flames. ### Lila’s POV If I were a smarter person, I’d be in bed. But "smart" has never been my brand. My brand is "whimsical disaster with a penchant for trouble," and sitting between Asher and Jax was the pinnacle of my career. On my left, Asher was a wall of heat and repressed fury. He smelled like woodsmoke and expensive bourbon. On my right, Jax was a cool, elegant shadow, smelling of sandalwood and the kind of confidence you only get when your trust fund has its own zip code.

Damien asked, flipping through the images Graves had pulled up on the phone. Shot after shot of Asher appeared; walking out of school with his backpack, leaning on a railing with AirPods in, laughing with friends like he didn’t have a care in the world. “He’s just a regular rich kid, boss,” Graves began. “His dad’s a doctor, his mom’s an accountant…” He hesitated, then cleared his throat. “And his uncle happens to be the FBI director.” Damien’s head lifted slowly, his eyes narrowing on Graves as if contemplating whether to believe him. Then his gaze dropped back to the phone. The next picture slid into view, and his jaw hardened: Lila smiling across a café table at Asher, her expression sof

No noise except the faint hum of the city below. After breakfast, Luca disappeared into the shower, and Asher took the opportunity to tidy the living room. When he returned, Luca was already lounging on the bed again, hair damp, shirt clinging slightly to his chest. “N*****x?” he asked, remote in hand. Asher tilted his head. “You want to watch TV?” “It’s either that or read something off your bookshelf about tactical combat psychology, and I’m not in the mood for PTSD.” Fair. “Fine,” Asher said. “Dealer’s choice.”

Her heels clicked sharply as she approached him, the sound echoing through the quiet room. She exhaled a cloud of smoke directly into his face, making him choke as he tried to turn away. But she wasn’t having it. With a swift movement, her hand grabbed his jaw, forcing him to face her. Her touch was cold, her grip unnervingly strong. "I believe we've met once, and you were a bitch," she said icily. "I'm Elizabeth Asher, the first of the Ashers." Brandon coughed, trying to pull away from the toxic smoke, but her grip tightened. "Why am I here? What's going on?" he demanded, his voice breaking. "Where's my Ethan?"