Owen Hunt Grey's Anatomy Novels & Stories

I nodded to Xavier, he had every right to hate me, and if that made him feel better, then I would take it. I closed my eyes as he raised the knife and waited for him to plunge it deep into my chest. To be continued… (This book is a Duet, the Hunter and The Hunted. The Hunted i still being written, please see my website for more information. It is on my to be written list after I finish my final revisions of my main series and the spin off completion.)

“Where is she?!” “Sir, please calm down—“ “Where is Willow?!” The door to the exam room barged open and a very large, very pissed off Owen entered the room, looking like he was about to murder someone. His eyes flashed golden, like the sun—hot and deadly— and I felt Rune’s hold on me tighten. When Owen’s eyes landed on me he let out a breath of relief and his eyes softened momentarily, only for them to burn once more at the scene before him.

A grunt from Conway signaled his end, a swift and exquisite thing if Owen had said so himself as rope after rope of his thick hot seed filled the barren womb of the Omega still given to heat despite the damage of forced pregnancy and the injections that ruined his womb long before Conway was able to seed it. The gruff young man grunted and pulled his cock from the heated orifice of the now panting Owen who had taken it upon himself to slick back his blond hair and turned his attention back toward his plate of food, still dripping from Conway's release as his green eyes once more met those of Porter Fulton's, who seemed to have recovered from his trance and stared down at his plate with brigh

ANYTA'S POV I made the mistake of googling Owen Grayson at six thirty in the morning over a cup of coffee I didn't finish. An hour later I was still at the kitchen table, the coffee cold beside me, and I had almost nothing. That was the thing that kept snagging in my mind as I got Teddy ready and drove to work. I hadn't found anything. For a man who apparently controlled a financial empire significant enough to have people building files on him, Owen Grayson was almost entirely absent from the internet.

The touch was subtle, reassuring—a reminder that despite our argument in the forest, we faced this threat together. Nico cleared his throat. “First is Owen Hawthorne, the groundskeeper. Youngest of the four—only twenty-six. Responsible for the herb gardens and medicinal plants in the eastern section.” “I know him,” I said, trying to place the face. “Quiet boy, always covered in dirt?”

but would she? At the same time in sterling city..... Owen's health had deteriorated and he requested to talk with Mark. Mark speedily rushed inside the operating room when he was informed by the head Doctor. He halted by his steps when he saw Owen's. Breathing with the help of machines. "Grandpa!", Mark called out. Feeling utterly confused and bad.

I know I’m going to find rolling around under all those stupid fucking dead animal heads up there. Every one of my suspicions was correct. There’s my husband, who’s presumed to be convalescing from a serious injury, sitting propped up in his bed in a navy-blue velvet sauce gown, with a half-naked red-head beside him, scrambling for cover. “Darling,” Owen says as if I was greeting his mate and not the being of pure wrath that I’ve become. “Have you met Amber?”

He opens his mouth again, clearly ready to fire back, but nothing comes out. For the first time since I’ve known him, Owen actually looks… speechless. The sight almost makes me smile wider. I keep my head tilted to the side, studying him, holding his gaze like I’m daring him to keep pretending. “Are you crazy?” he finally manages. But I don’t answer. I just keep staring. The silence stretches, thick and uncomfortable, the entire class watching like they’re witnessing something they shouldn’t. Owen tries once more to speak, but whatever he wants to say dies before it leaves his mouth.

Like this was what I was meant to do. "Mary, we need you in OR two," Dr. Stevens called out. "Ruptured spleen. Dr. Owen is scrubbing in but he requested you assist." My heart jumped. I hadn't seen Owen since we arrived at the hospital separately. We'd both been too busy dealing with the influx of patients. Now I'd be working directly with him in surgery. I scrubbed quickly and entered the operating room. Owen stood across the table, already gowned and gloved, his eyes visible above his surgical mask. Those amber eyes met mine and heat flashed between us despite the clinical setting.

His brow was furrowed in concern. “I hear you, Owen. I’m… I’m fine,” I managed to say, though I felt anything but fine. My legs were wobbly. With Owen’s help, I sank into a chair. A doctor hurried over. He checked my vitals and mumbled something about shock and panic attack. I barely heard him. Owen put a hand on my shoulder. His face was grim. “We can’t give up, Raymond. There must be someone else with her blood type. We have to keep looking.”