Lavender House Novels & Stories

“But this second stage? It’s fresh magic. Somewhere closer.” “Closer to Rose,” Ben added quietly. We all knew what that meant. We pushed deeper into the hallway, past crates and barrels used for winter storage. The lamps here were dimmer. The air tasted metallic. That was when I smelled something strange. A faint trace of lavender mixed with soot. I lifted a hand, signaling them to stop. Clara froze instantly, eyes narrowing. Ben raised his spear. “You smell that?” I murmured. Clara nodded. “Lavender. That’s one of the scents Rose mentioned in her parents’ house.”

The scent of flowers. Lavenders.

Giovanna’s strangled cries echoed behind them, but neither woman looked back. The night air greeted Lavender as she stepped outside, crisp and cool against her skin. The sky above was deep and endless, stars flickering faintly like distant ghosts. She exhaled slowly, tugging off her mask as she reached her car. The door clicked open with ease, her fingers curling around the handle— But she paused. Lilith hadn’t moved. Lavender glanced over her shoulder, frowning slightly. Lilith, now also maskless, stood still, her gaze fixed on the farmhouse, lips pressed into a thin line.

Katelyn smiled back, her pearl-gray eyes showing her relief. “You’re going to live in this?” asked Wax Lavender, pointing to the house with the hand his whiskey bottle was gripped in. “You have no stairs, lady.” “There’ll be stairs,” Katie explained. “When everything is done there’ll be movies playing on the drive-in screen over there and people will be coming to watch them, and in wintertime—” “Winter!” said Lavender, mortified. “Crowe, can’t you talk to her?” The man dressed in all black merely shrugged.

Louis stepped back, his hand still holding Lauren’s, and gently led her inside the softly lit raft house. The room was aglow with warm lanterns suspended from the wooden beams above, casting golden halos over the space. The bed, placed low and surrounded by sheer white curtains, was perfectly made—adorned with cream-colored sheets, scattered rose petals, and soft pillows that whispered comfort. A light, intoxicating scent of vanilla and sea breeze lingered in the air. It wasn’t just a hideaway—it was a sanctuary of its own, created just for her.

"This is where I grow out my lavender. I never sell it just as lavender, I make oils out of them, soap and such." The stone way crunched underneath our feet until we reached the door. A welcome mat was spread out before the door and the front portico had two rocking chairs as well as a table between it. Both were made out wood and had red pillows on them. An ashtray and a newspaper were on the small round wooden table. Vines adorned the front fence of the house and even spread out slightly up the stairs which led to the entrance. Marthe unlocked the door and let me, Marie and Gerard enter. Jacques came later with our suitcases and disappeared again.

“I’ll show you your room.” He led the way upstairs. The house smelled like cedar and lavender , it looked clean, expensive, peaceful. And yet being in it made my heart do flips I didn’t ask for. The room was on the right side of the hallway and directly opposite Damon’s study . The door opened into a bright, spacious room with soft curtains, a queen bed, a small desk, and a closet that was already half-empty , like someone had prepared for me. “This used to be…” I stopped.

So I set my small bundle down, and I stayed. Elder Mara was seventy-three years old, stood four foot eleven in her work boots, and was entirely unbothered by my silences. She didn't offer pity or careful curiosity or the overcautious gentleness well-meaning people deployed around me lately — the kind that made me feel like something broken being handled so it didn't crack further. She pointed at a shelf of unmarked clay jars and said: Lavender from the willow-wood grove smells sweeter than highland lavender. Learn to tell them apart. Start there.

It was older, carved out of stone, its windows were framed with iron, and some lights were lit from inside. Raven stepped out first, and he walked around and opened my door. The rain was dripping from his hair, yet he didn’t flinch. I hesitated, staring at the house and his hand. He didn’t look impatient as he just silently waited. I finally stepped out of the car, pulling my clothes together as the cold air hit my skin. The house looked beautiful in a way that made me feel uneasy. We walked up the stone steps. Raven walked ahead and pushed the heavy wooden door open. It creaked slightly, and some warmth from inside felt against my skin. Instantly, the scent of burning wood and fresh lavende

But the moment I touched him, he recoiled—like I was laced with wolfsbane. He pushed past me as he bolted into the bathroom where the sounds of violent retching echoed. I was left standing, a wave of shame washing over me. I had planned everything—the red wine, the music, the underwear, the perfume. I had envisioned a perfect night, but Lucas couldn't even bear to touch me. Why? I turned to the mirror, searching for an answer in my reflection. Behind me, the gagging continued, each heave slicing deeper, over and over. It was as if my mate was vomiting out his revulsion for me.