Our Missing Hearts: A Novel Novels & Stories

“We sti​ll have t‌ime. We‍ can⁠ sti​ll make⁠ this⁠ work.” I stood there,‍ heart p‌ou‍nding, imaginin⁠g a life that⁠ almos‍t was. A l​ife with Stefa⁠n. P‍assionate ni⁠ghts, laughte‌r​, chaos. D​avid as our son. Another ba‌by on t‌he w‍ay. A life⁠ that felt inten‌se‍, reckle⁠ss, con‌sumin​g. And p​ainfully famil⁠iar.

Thanks to all of you who read this book to the very end. Novel may not remember anything, but her heart knows she belongs to Alexei. Love is beautiful, and I hope each of you finds a love that fills your heart with happiness—a love your heart can recognize even when your mind cannot. Thank you all for your support. You can also check out my other book, I'm Your Brother's Wife, Dear Ace. Thank you! 😊

Her bedroom was the same familiar chaos: posters peeling slightly at the corners, clothes tossed like confetti, a small desk piled with baking magazines and old notebooks where she’d written business names like 'Liberty’s Buns' and 'Cake Me Maybe. She shut the door and leaned against it. “Okay. Talk.” “There’s nothing to talk about.” Liberty’s eyes narrowed. “Mia Halstead, you’re doing that thing where you pretend you’re made of glass so no one will touch you.” I crossed my arms, already defensive. “I don’t.” “You do.” She came closer, voice softening. “You’re going to miss him.” My throat tightened. “Everyone will.” “Not like you.” Liberty tilted her head. “You’ve loved him since we were ki

Mamá was last, the root piercing her shoulder, blood blooming like a rose. I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t scream. But I felt every memory the seed had stolen, every lie we’d told to survive. Javier teaching me to dice onions, tears in his eyes from the fumes, not the debt. Mamá hiding chemo bags in the restaurant’s freezer. Marco’s first hack, age twelve, stealing Wi-Fi to keep the lights on. Alexander’s parents’ crash, the anonymous tip that led him to Victor’s father. All of it, woven. The tree’s core pulsed: a knot of red and gold, the true Heartstone, not stone but flesh, beating in the trunk.

It was love’s last fight. The village square faded, melting back into the cave’s dark. The silence was loud and deafening. They stood in a big cave. The walls glowed soft pink, like a living heart. In the middle, floating, was the Blood Moon’s heart. It was a swirling, beautiful, terrible knot of light, every stolen smile, every memory of love, every joyful moment from their village, all twisted into a desperate, lonely imitation of a heart. It beat with the pounding they heard outside. Boom. Boom. Boom.

Because they know if she were the last person on earth, I still wouldn't choose her. I just stayed silent. If I had found Ronan or had Ethan given him up to me, I would be getting married to him instead. Nothing here feels real. Since the night at the Fourth gate, the world has been slipping out of my grasp, at first it was the small things, food losing it's taste, perfumes blending into meaningless scents, rose, vanilla all of it was just air. Then touch, was slipping too, no warmth, and contact without meaning, wolves crave touch and the physical aspects of life, but here I am losing my sense to those aspects.

He crossed to her slowly, like one approaching something sacred. “Since last night, you’ve been… different,” he said, his voice low. “Stronger, yes. But quieter. What did the moon take from you, Serenya?” Her chest tightened. She remembered the hollow ache that had bloomed when the blessing seared through her, the sense that something—some irreplaceable fragment of her soul—was gone. Yet she could not name it. “I don’t know,” she whispered. “But I feel as if my heart beats with two rhythms now—mine, and something that doesn’t belong to me.”

I said, "I have news about Gillian Terrason. If that interests you, meet me at the nightclub." Gillian was Gilbert's adopted sister. He picked her himself when he was a kid, but the girl went missing four years ago. With my knowledge I gained from my previous life, I knew Gillian was the one thing that weighed heavily on his heart. I knew he would show up. … An hour later, the parlor's door swung open. Gilbert came in, all dressed in black. He took the seat across from me, and the look on his face screamed hostility. "Talk."

Otherwise, I’ll come after you. —None of that, kiddo! I leave the two of them and go to my office. When I arrive, I see a box on top of the desk. When I open it, I get a scare: inside, there’s an animal’s heart, with a note: I’m very close! I close the box quickly and throw it in the trash, feeling a chill run down my spine.

He felt Loveth’s burning hatred from across the room. He ignored it all. He walked, not towards his father, not towards the center, but towards the periphery again, a silent sentinel. He stood, letting the noise and the scent and the *feel* of the pack wash over him, not as a comfort, but as a reminder. This was his burden. This was his cage. And somewhere out there, under the same indifferent moon, was the only key. The missing piece of his soul. His desperate, impossible love. His Novah. The hunt wasn't over. It had just become infinitely more complicated, a search not through territory, but through time, regret, and the suffocating weight of duty. The loneliness was absolute, a vast, echo