Novel Mercy Novels & Stories

This was restraint. Behind her, the room was dim, lit only by the low hearth fire that cracked softly, more sound than warmth. She had not moved from the window since the villagers left. Her body ached in places she did not remember injuring. The cold from the river still lived in her legs, deep and stubborn. Every breath felt measured, as if her chest no longer trusted itself to expand fully. Mercy had worked. That was the cruelest part. If it had failed outright, the cost would have been simpler. Blood demanded response. Violence justified escalation. But mercy had paused the blade, and in doing so, it had made everything that followed more complicated.

Money, a mere piece of paper, gave him the right to trample her dreams and dignity. Money, is needed for everything, and everywhere. If you have it, you're highly respected, if you don't, then you're destined to be subjected to never-ending humiliation. The world would be much better if the medium of exchange could be changed to love, care, and respect rather than mere pieces of paper. Half an hour later, Emma limped back to his bed, numbly—her mind was a mess. Where did she go wrong? What sin did she commit for facing such brutality of her fate?

Mercy Mercy was glad to see Isabella. She was so kind and refreshing. She’d brought Mercy some clean clothes and made sure she was able to take a shower without any help. She’d also brought her a snack, which was great, even though Cleo had brought her a full breakfast. Mercy felt like her stomach was turning inside out, she was so hungry. Now, she was sitting on the bed, feeling comfy in a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt. They smelled like flowers and fresh cotton and made her skin feel all soft and snuggly. There was something going on with her hair, though, and it was bothering her almost as much as the fact that she couldn’t remember anything. The urge to flip her hair back over her sho

Violent. I couldn’t even feel my legs moving, but I was standing. The envelope and its vile contents dropped to the floor. “Who…?” I began, but my voice cracked. I couldn’t breathe. Not because the space was packed, it wasn't. Not because the music was too loud or the air too thin. But because the truth had just punched me in the chest. The one thing I had always avoided, the words of the lady from the office came echoing in my head, The photographs trembled in my hands, their glossy sheen a sickening contrast to the filth they carried. Derek. Naked. In bed. Not alone.

she said. He smiled faintly. “You notice everything.” “I notice what matters.” Elias hesitated before asking, “Do you believe what Cale said? About mercy?” Seraphina opened her eyes. “Mercy is not forgiveness. It's a choice. To show mercy is to choose to stop the world from becoming what it fears most.” He nodded slowly, committing her words to memory. “I’m writing down what you say. The people listen to you, even when you don’t mean them to.”

Lucien stepped back so smoothly it might have fooled anyone. Anyone but me. “Daniel,” he said coolly, shaking the man’s hand. “Thank you for coming.” The man’s wife turned to me. “And who is this lovely girl?” My mouth opened, but Lucien answered first. “Rain Mercer.” Just that. Not ward. Not daughter. Not charity case. No explanation. Something in my chest softened. The woman smiled kindly. “You look stunning, dear.” “Thank you.” Lucien guided them into conversation, effortless as always, but every now and then I felt it—his attention brushing mine.

“And you’re his Thorn, so you’re my daughter too, if you want it.” The face in her chest snarls. “Don’t listen, you’re mine, I made you.” Mercy touches the glass. “You, made, prison.” She makes a fist. The glass cracks. The face screams. “Stop, you’ll die, the implants—” “I, choose,” Mercy says. She punches through her own chest. Blood, black and red, sprays. She pulls Gerald’s preserved head out, wires snapping. It gasps, then goes still.

Not evil. Not manipulative. Broken. And somehow that made everything worse. Because villains were easy to hate. Human beings weren't. "What happened that night?" Mercy's face paled immediately. The question clearly terrified her. For several seconds, she remained silent. Then she whispered: "The nurse wasn't acting alone." Alison froze. "What?" Mercy looked toward the ruined window. Toward the city lights beyond. "The baby wasn't stolen for money." The lawyer's pulse quickened. "Then why?"

Order above all. Yet as I watched them prepare, memory surfaced uninvited... A burning village. Bodies everywhere. An alpha who believed compassion made him strong had opened his borders. By dawn, his pack was gone. Mercy killed them faster than any enemy. I learned what the world keeps trying to forget: Kindness without structure is slaughter. “Elara,” I murmured to the wind. “You think you are freeing them.” But freedom is only beautiful from a distance. Up close… it looks like panic.

Serena’s eyes didn’t leave the man. “No.” A pause. Then— “That’s interesting.” Another stepped forward now. “You hesitate.” Serena didn’t respond. “Why?” the second asked. “Because you think he doesn’t deserve it?” Silence. “Or because you still believe in something… like mercy?” That word lingered. Mercy. It stirred something. Faint. Distant. Like a memory half-buried beneath layers of something heavier. The man looked at her then. Really looked at her.