Nolan Grayson X Reader Novels & Stories

"An Nian was your father's. Sissy was your father's. So why... why did it have to end like this?" The Grayson family is a house of glass shards. An Nian was a Grayson, yet his own mother branded him a bastard to keep him away. Sissy is a Grayson, yet her father tried to kill her. As Xavier looks at the photos of the brother he let die in his arms, a terrifying question emerges: Was Anna protecting the children from the Grayson family, or was she destroying the family from within? Follow-up Question: Should the next chapter focus on Xavier confronting his father with the photos of An Nian, or Chloe’s high-stakes encounter with the brilliant engineer Jiang Juncai?

While my other hand continued to scroll through the news. But no matter how many times I scrolled through the screen, Grayson's name kept appearing. Various articles ranged from those discussing his game, the injury he had just suffered, to articles about... a woman who was suspected of being his fated mate. I was too curious, so I clicked on one of the articles that contained a video. In the video, Grayson was seen holding the hand of a woman who looked as beautiful and sexy as a model. The article stated that Grayson had finally reunited with his childhood friend, an Alpha werewolf and former social media intern at Frost Maple named Kelly Harper Swan. At the end of the article, there was a

I heard footsteps and it was coming closer. “Sister Raven?” The voice is gentle, sleepy and laced with concern. It’s Sister Miriam, the youngest novice, her cell just two doors down. “Are you alright? I heard…” I freeze against the wall, heart hammering so loud I’m sure she can hear it through the plaster. My shift clings to my damp skin, nipples tight, peaks scraping the fabric with every shallow breath. Between my thighs the slick heat pulses in time with the scar on my belly, that cursed little crescent that never lets me forget how alive this body still is. His text from last night keeps looping: ‘ruin… holy little cunt… forget how to pray.’ Each syllable drips lower, coating my folds un