Legacy Nora Roberts Novels & Stories

"Allison is gone. I think I'm correct when I say you're thinking it. In fact, with due respect, I think you're over thinking. Allison..." "-Is gone, but has imprinted that in the sands of time." She cut in stubbornly, snatching her hand from his as if he were fire. Redheads were defiant! Norbert sighed, it didn't take much to ignite her ire, so he had to tread carefully. "Maybe you've forgotten what happened." She urged on. "Well, hello there Norbert Karter, I'd love to take you back to a year ago when I found myself in Winchester college, and whatever the hell made you start looking at me in a strange way, that got your girlfriend clucking around me like a mother hen.

Janice trailed off. “How's the interview process going? I heard you had some hot-shot writer asking you all sorts of questions,” Norma paused, looking hesitant for a second, “That is if I'm allowed to ask and you want to talk about it?” “It's going pretty good. It just brought some dreadful memories, and I need some zoom and pew pew to distract myself.” Norma laughed, “Well, I got you some Philip Francis Nowlan and a couple of books by E.E. Smith, I hope that helps.” Norma pulled the books from the rickety shelf behind her and placed them on the desk.

As the Nashville brothers makes their way back home, unaware of the secret world unfolding within the study room, David and Karen are left to navigate the complexities of their desires and the consequences that awaits them outside those walls. Nora's eyes flutter open, her body feeling weaker than usual, as if all her energy has been drained away. A throbbing pain emanates from her private area, causing her to wince in agony. Confusion cloud her mind as she tries to piece together what has happened, wondering why she is in such discomfort. Summoning her strength, Nora makes a determined effort to rise from the bed. Each step towards the desk feels like an arduous journey, her legs trembling

Natalia's Pov. ~FLASHBACK 2YRS AGO: DAY OF THE GATHERING~ She was done crying and howling in the garden. The night had not even started and she was already having a terrible time, she laughed in agony, the tears trickling from her eye to her beautiful gold gown.

yelled Nora as she stood up from the bed looking at her mum, "If you want to tell me, I will find out for myself," she concluded and walked out of the room. She just watched as she left the room, then she stood up and left to her room. * * * * There was a young lady of about 22 years old, of about 5'7 feet tall, her long brown hair dropping on her shoulders, with blue eyes a necromancer, she was standing by the window waiting for Mrs Langson to come in. It was undeniable who she was and how she knew they were there, there must be trouble, thought Mrs Langson.

“Imelda!” I heard Janet call out to someone. “She’s deep asleep. Let’s get started.” I heard footsteps before someone, possibly Imelda, walked into the bedroom. For a moment, there was silence and I couldn’t help but think that they were staring at me. It was starting to get hard, pretending to be asleep. I didn’t know what they were doing, and I felt as if I was in danger. “She said something about losing her memories. I think we need to ask Salem about the moonshade bloom she uses. The last thing we want is Zara suspecting anything,” Janet said, her voice getting louder as she got closer to me.

You’re their star, Lila—draw, shine, watch! Elder Cora sat on a woven mat near the fire, silver braids loose, woven with jasmine, cloak folded, obsidian amulet clutched, its crescent moon pulsing faintly, a warning hum under her trembling fingers. Her lined face was calm, gray eyes clouded, visions of ash and bone flickering, her strength unwavering. Mist, her wolf, whispered, ethereal, tense, tail curling, her misty form barely visible in the firelight. They’re yours, my heart—guide, warn, stand!

But she didn’t feel dangerous tonight. She felt…abandoned. And then—her phone buzzed. Unknown number. A text message. Just one line. “You’re not the only one who bleeds for legacy. —L” Her breath caught. Her lips parted. She reread it. Legacy. That word wasn’t just a crown. It was a curse. Helena didn’t sleep that night. The next morning, she walked into the corporate vault, where all classified family documents were stored. Her ID scanned. She walked past her father’s original contracts, her mother’s secret archives, and paused at the file labeled:

When I turn eighteen and leave the orphanage, I can give them all to him at once. I hide the notebook in a crack between the cabinets and use a plastic ruler to retrieve it. I just got it out, but before I can hide it, Leya comes into the room. She's a normal girl and her butt isn't fat anymore; she's lost weight since we were ten. Leya doesn't know about the diary though, so I shove it under the mattress by the headboard and cover it with a pillow. Lucky, my talisman, sits next to my pillow. I know I can trust him.

A shadow moved in a way Jonas could not explain, a person too tall, too fluid, as if their stride did not match a human gait. At the same time, an untraceable fund transfer labeled “Harvest” coincided with the date of one of the murders. Lena left the laundromat with her pulse a hard drumbeat. She had wanted evidence. She had found a map that pointed to something that refused human description. The Rathbone family was involved in things that moved in the dark - literal or not - and now she had to get closer. She also knew someone had just given her a live grenade.