Northern Lights Novels & Stories

WARNING: This book contains BDSM themes, emotional abuse, manipulation, explicit sexual content, and G×G scenes. Reader discretion is advised. Ashley has spent her entire life surviving. By day, she hides behind forced smiles and coffee orders. By night, she dances beneath neon lights, selling fantasies to strangers while struggling to pay off the mountain of gambling debts her abusive mother left behind. College is her only way out. Then a wealthy client offers her an outrageous amount of money for a private dance. Desperate, Ashley agrees. Until she walks into the room and sees Kayden Devereaux. Her high school bully. The boy who made her teenage years a nightmare. The boy who pushed her so far she once thought death was easier than facing another day with him. Ashley is ready to leave, but Kayden stops her with an offer she can't ignore: One month. Complete control. Two hundred thousand dollars. She hates him enough to say no. But hatred won't pay her debts. So she signs the contract. Days later, her entire world shatters. Her mother marries the dangerous man they owe money to, wiping out their debt overnight. And Kayden? He's now her stepbrother. Forced to live under the same roof, Ashley finds herself trapped between fear, anger, and a dangerous attraction she refuses to acknowledge. She should end their arrangement. She should stay away from him. But Kayden has never been the type to let her go. As obsession replaces hatred and dark secrets begin to unravel, Ashley discovers that Kayden isn't just the villain from her past. He's been pulling the strings of her present all along. And now, the devil who ruined her life wants to own her heart too.

“I’m going to split you open on my cock right here on this table,” he snarled, fangs grazing the frantic pulse in my throat, “and knot you so deep my daughter and every wolf in this pack will smell me dripping out of your ruined little cunt for weeks. Tell me you want that, babygirl. Beg Daddy for it.” I was shaking, slick running down my thighs, clit throbbing so hard I couldn’t breathe. “Yes… please…” His massive hand clamped around my throat, squeezing until stars burst behind my eyes. “Yes what, little human?” “Yes, Daddy,” I choked out, voice breaking. “Ruin me. Breed me. Right fucking now.” --- I never should’ve stepped foot in Ireland for my best friend’s Christmas wedding. Not when I’ve spent months on my knees in the dark, fingers buried in my pussy, moaning her father’s name like a prayer. Alpha Cassian Blackthorne. Ruthless. Feral. Old enough to be my father...twice over. The monster who makes empires kneel and wolves beg, the wolf who could snap my neck with a flick of his wrist… and the only man I want choking me with his belt while he forces every thick inch down my throat. He’s forbidden. He’s depraved. He’s looking at me now under the blood-red Christmas lights like he’s already tasted my surrender. And he has one holiday wish... To hunt me. Break me. Fuck me raw and bloody until I’m addicted to his knot. Until I’m carrying his pup and wearing his bite like a collar. This Christmas, the Alpha isn’t asking permission. He’s taking his naughty little human pet… And I’m already dripping for the day he finally snaps.

I'd had a crush on my brother's best friend, Ethan—the most powerful Alpha of our Northern Territory—since I was twelve years old. When I was fifteen, I boldly confessed my feelings to him. He laughed and patted my head, casually promising, "When you turn eighteen and shift, if you're my mate, I'll mark you." That offhand promise became my greatest hope for three years. I spent every day waiting for my wolf to awaken, praying to the Moon Goddess that she would designate us as mates. But on the night of my eighteenth birthday, after my wolf first awakened, I was shocked to discover that Ethan truly was my mate! Ignoring the intense shifting pain coursing through my body, I immediately shifted into my wolf form and ran toward Ethan's training grounds. I clutched the gift I'd prepared long ago, but instead heard Ethan urgently confessing to his Omega assistant Victoria: "Who would be stupid enough to actually care about a true mate? The bond between her and me is just the Moon Goddess's mistake. I only love you. I'll only mark you as my Luna." The words hit me like silver bullets to the chest. My wolf whimpered in pain, the mate bond burning like acid in my veins. I stood frozen behind the trees, watching the man I'd loved for six years dismiss our sacred connection as if it meant nothing. Later, Ethan introduced Victoria as his "fiancée." When Victoria demanded that I publicly bless their marking ceremony, Ethan remained completely indifferent to my humiliation. "Sylvia should give us her blessing," Victoria announced at the pack meeting, her voice sweet as poison. "After all, she's been like a little sister to Ethan all these years." Every wolf in the room could smell my distress. But Ethan said nothing, refusing to even look at me. When rogue wolves attacked our territory and I was surrounded, Ethan didn't hesitate to scoop up Victoria—who had only a tiny scratch on her finger—and carry her away to find the pack healer. He left me bleeding and alone, silver claws ha

He didn't want her money. He wanted her. Elara Vance is one bad week away from losing everything. Her freelance career is barely keeping the lights on, her sister is falling apart on her couch, and her car is about to be repossessed. So when she accidentally damages a stranger's luxury car on an empty street, she knows she's ruined. But the man who steps out of the black sedan isn't interested in her insurance. He isn't interested in the police. He isn't even interested in the forty‑two thousand dollars she owes him. Adrian Volkov wants something else entirely. He's been watching her for weeks. He knows about her sister, her bills, her father's death. He knows she's desperate enough to do anything. And he's about to prove it. The contract is simple: she moves into his mansion, follows his rules, and becomes his Doll. In exchange, her debt disappears. No police. No record. No questions. But the rules aren't what she expects. The mansion is a cage, the servants know more than they say, and Adrian's cold exterior hides something darker than she ever imagined. He doesn't just want her body. He wants her submission. Her trust. Her surrender. And he won't stop until he has all of it. Elara tells herself it's just a transaction. A way to survive. But the line between obligation and desire blurs with every glance, every touch, every night she spends in his bed. The more he controls her, the more she craves it. And the more she learns about his past, the more she realizes: she was never the one in control. And now that she's his Doll, he'll never let her go. Doll is a dark romance with explicit content, power dynamics, and a slow‑burn descent into obsession. Recommended for readers 18+.

On our seventh year anniversary, my girlfriend, Rachel Winters, forces me to drink a glass of drugged champagne before dumping me onto the bed of an 80-year-old widow. "It's Bryon's first time attending a business meeting. He's still pure and oblivious, so he doesn't know how to satisfy an older widow's insatiable desire. "I have no choice but to ask you to seal this business deal on his behalf. Think of this as your way of helping me repay Bryon's family for raising me since young. "Don't worry, Corey. No one will know about this." After that, Rachel turns off the lights and leaves the room while ignoring my pleas for help. But the next day, the video of me and the widow going at it is spread across the Internet. My colleagues look down on me for resorting to such underhanded methods just to get promoted. They can't believe that I'm able to stomach the idea of sleeping with an 80-year-old widow. Thanks to the video, the company's reputation is greatly affected. Rachel holds a press conference immediately to address the issue. I thought she'd defend me, but I didn't expect her to change her tune. "I've already discussed this matter with the Dalton family. Corey Dalton shall take responsibility for what he's done to the widow. As for me, I will get engaged to Bryon Parson." I feel as though lightning has struck me on the spot. I've founded this company with Rachel and has stuck by her side through thick and thin, resulting in us rising as the new-time business moguls. But in the end, she decides to ditch me. "Corey, if you really want to stay by my side, you can remain as my side piece. In exchange, I'll help you shake that old woman off your tail." As I meet Rachel's smug gaze, I shake my head decisively. "I've already thought things through and decided that I'll be marrying the widow."

He almost never texts me first, and in person he barely says a word. In three years together, he's never remembered a single anniversary, and he's never once suggested we celebrate a holiday. But the second I message him first, he lights up, all "baby" this and "baby" that, fussing over me, coaxing me to sleep. Sometimes I'd get this strange feeling that there were two different Noahs. His explanation was that he was just bad with words face-to-face, and that texting or voice notes felt like less pressure. I kept telling myself that being together meant meeting each other halfway. He was quiet and reserved, so I'd be the one to reach out. He forgot anniversaries, so I booked the restaurant and reminded him to keep the night free. He had no time to schedule our engagement shoot, so I handled the whole thing with the studio myself. He was too busy with work to help us move, so I packed everything alone, booked the movers, and got it all done. When I was so worn out I was about to break, I'd send him a voice note, and he'd say, "I'm so sorry, baby. The lab was insane today. I couldn't be there for you, and it kills me to watch you run yourself into the ground." Hearing how guilty he sounded, all my hurt just melted away. And that's how I carried three years of this relationship on my own, running on the flawless tenderness he only ever gave me online. Until today, when I found a program on his laptop called Boyfriend Assistant. It analyzed every message I sent and generated the perfect reply, the perfect response, every single time. Cold snap? It sent: Bundle up, baby. Time of the month? It pinged an API and auto-ordered hot chocolate to my door. All those late nights he spent "working," the gentle voice notes that lulled me to sleep, every one of them was synthesized in Noah's voice. For three years, the person who'd been there for me, day and night, was never Noah at all. For three years, I'd been performing a one-woman show.

When I drink the amber-colored poisonous wine, I can hear the joyful melody of a toast song coming from the manor. The wedding between Emanuela Romano and my ex-fiance, Benedetto Martini, is being held there right now. The elderly butler, Vincenzo Romano, puts away the wine glass with a blank expression. The way he speaks is as somber as one sounds when they give a speech at a funeral. "You know the Don's will very well, Ms. Andreotti. Five years are officially up, yet neither Mr. Andreotti, Mr. Martini, nor Dr. Foscari is willing to pledge their loyalty to you via the blood vow. According to the rules, you must take your own life within seven days. "The Don had left the Ashwine to you as a means of protecting… what little pride you have." Scorching pain begins spreading from my throat. I just smile at Vincenzo in return. Pride? Does a bastard spawn of a loose Iernian woman deserve to retain pride of any sort in the cruel Andreotti family? I begin making my way toward the banquet hall, which is brightly lit. As I walk past the shimmering waters of the pond in the family garden, I can tell that the waters are insanely cold. Then again, nothing is as cold as my icy heart right now. After taking a deep breath, I fall face-first into the pond… only to feel an iron-clad grip wrenching me backward. As such, I collapse onto the lawn heavily. My older brother, Alessandro Andreotti, has bits of grass covering his expensive suit. Disgust is written all over his handsome face. "Eva!" he grits out through his teeth, his voice lowered. "Must you spoil the mood on Emanuela's big day?" He then scoots closer to me, his alcohol-tinged breath fanning over my face. "You want to die, huh? Go ahead and do that, but can you die somewhere further? Don't stain the Andreotti land!" Alessandro turns to walk in the direction of the radiant lights, leaving me on the lawn, completely covered in mud. I can feel the countdown of my lifespan burning my insides. Seven days… I only have seven days to live. Meanwhile, my very own brother wants me to die somewhere further away.

I paid Curtis Robinett 200 thousand dollars a month to be a standby blood donor. My fiancée, Eden May, thought it was a waste of money. So she reassigned him to work part-time as her personal assistant instead. When Curtis accidentally submitted my marriage license appointment as a divorce filing for the 99th time, I kicked open Eden's office door. She didn't even look up. "We're in no rush to get married anyway," she said calmly. "Curtis is just careless. That's how he's always been." Later, in the emergency room, I called Eden while doctors rushed around me, my throat shredded from yelling. "Where's my emergency medical kit?" I rasped. "What did you do with it?" Curtis answered instead, his voice warm and smug. "You mean the expensive leather bag you kept in the cabinet? I swapped it out for a large party snack box. It holds everything just fine, and honestly, it looks a lot more cheerful. "Ms. May's brother and sister-in-law are both career soldiers. Your bag didn't really match that image, so I thought this would be more appropriate." My vision dimmed. My hands shook as I told Curtis to come donate blood. Eden laughed softly and cut in, "Stop pretending you're anemic just to get attention. If you're actually sick, deal with it. You're at the hospital; I think the doctors are fully capable of keeping you alive. Curtis is afraid of needles. He's not coming." Then, she hung up. She didn't appear until the surgical lights finally went dark. "Curtis had me bring you chocolate milk," she said. "It's good for recovery. It's not that he didn't want to help. He just faints at the sight of blood." She placed a settlement waiver on my bed. "I was the one who told him not to come. That 200-thousand-dollar monthly salary is his pay as my assistant. It has nothing to do with you. You didn't have to call the police for that. Sign this, and I'll go get the marriage license with you." I thought of what I had just seen in the operating room. Eden's brother, Harvey May, was bleeding out on the operating table, waiting for a lifesaving drug that never came. In the final moments of surgery, he could do nothing but lie there and die. I looked at her and said evenly, "You're the immediate family. It's not my place to sign that."