Monster Trio Novels & Stories

I hate the look of my muscles all tense and stitched tight on my back. A lifetime of blows and bouncing back collects scars. I've had a lot of scalding showers, and bruises have become stretched and angry on me, causing pitted scars. There are no tears, but the groans come in multitude. As a monster, you learn never to accept pain. Pain only affects you if you let it. Black slacks. Black socks. Charcoal shoes are polished until they look like a crisp new apple skin. The shirt is deep forest green, which brings out the natural multiple hues of green in my eyes. Intentional. Gold flecks are juxtaposed in my iris.

The monsters are the ones who lose their children and sit down to cry. I do not sit. I take back what’s mine. Yes, Veronica, the spoiled girl, is dead. Crimson Rogue has taken her place.

"Good. Now, eat. You look fragile, and I prefer my prizes to be strong enough to hold their weight." As I walked toward the dining hall, I realized the "Monster" wasn't just paying for Leo's life. He was rebuilding mine into something he could control. I was Chapter 10 of a story I didn't want to be in, and the ending felt further away than ever.

Back and forth. “You imagined it,” I muttered under my breath. “It was the lighting. The music. The champagne.” But the memory burned too clearly, the purple light. It wasn’t symbolic, it wasn’t imagination. It was the mark of the mate bond. Visible only to the bonded pair. I wasn’t supposed to see it. Unless… “Ugh!” Frustration ripped out of me as I dragged both hands through my hair. Maybe this was another one of their games. The triplets had always been dangerous in their own way. Charming when they wanted something. Ruthless when they didn’t get it. Maybe this was some elaborate psychological trap, a cruel manipulation designed to destabilize me.

On monitors. _No cages. No monsters. Just us._ *Crack.*

" I almost laughed at how ridiculous it sounded. I used to think Ophelia was just born rotten. As it turned out, Lauren wasn't any better. Like they say, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. I shot Lauren a cold glance, then suddenly waved toward the distance, my voice bright. "Mom! You're here!" Lauren jerked her head up and followed my gaze. The operator who had controlled the memory extraction machine that day was striding straight toward us. I looked at the two of them, stunned speechless, and let out a quiet, mocking laugh. "Sorry. I already have a new family now. I have a new mom. If you keep bothering me, I'm calling the police."

When Long Tian appeared, the scene he saw was a young girl fearlessly charging forward to rescue a kid from getting crushed under the descending, flaming hover. "This..." It was a heart shuddering scene.

My name is Elora and I reside at the Blue Mountain Packhouse. I have a slim figure, long curly blonde hair which I usually wear up in a bun so it is out of my face. My eyes are a deep blue which I love. I am not a normal girl though. You see I am a shewolf, my rank at the packhouse is an omega. I don’t know my parents because they passed away when I was just a tiny baby, so I don’t have any memories of them. The only thing I have is a necklace locket from my mother. I have never taken it off because it makes me feel close to her spirit.

he spat, blood mixing with saliva as it sprayed from his lips. Carlo stepped into the room slowly, his boots clicking against the concrete. His eyes were locked on Rico like he was prey. “I warned you,” Carlo said, voice deathly calm. “But you still let Marcus out.” Rico laughed, the sound hoarse and broken. “You were always blind, Carlo. Thought loyalty came from fear. But fear fades. People only follow you until someone scarier comes along.” Carlo didn’t flinch. “And Marcus…” Carlo tilted his head slightly. “He’s scarier?”

Her eyes meet mine one last time, and there is something unspoken there—something heavy with expectation. “You chose to become the monster,” she says quietly. “Now learn what it means to wield it.” And just like that, the path forward is no longer theoretical. It has a destination. And a name. The Butcher. And somewhere deep inside me, something ancient and unfamiliar stirs—like it’s been waiting for this war far longer than I have. We pack in quiet motion. Mae moves through Ilythra’s home like she’s afraid of touching things too hard, like the walls might whisper secrets if she brushes them wrong. I’m stuffing clothes into my bag—things that already feel like remnants of another life—when I