Quiet In Her Bones Novels & Stories

Not even close. --- Quiet pressed tighter with every block we passed. Neon cut her reflection into shards on the glass. She held her chin up like she wasn’t breaking. Like defiance could erase the sound of laughter. The silk sculpted her curves too well. Every subtle shift on the seat whispered against me. Warmth and perfume soaked into the upholstery, into me. Her throat betrayed her. A swallow too sharp, pulse spiking. I dragged my eyes away, knuckles pressing the armrest until the seat groaned. She was supposed to be a contract. A shield. A pawn. A name on paper, not a pulse under silk.

“You are in love with me?” she asked a she had in her life not expected for him to fall in love with bones. Yes she literally called herself bones as all she could see were the stripes of skeletal form when she viewed herself on the mirror all she saw was a woman who had and will never be fully formed with flesh even though now she could see that it was getting full from the drugs Jacqueline was giving to her. He can’t be in love with her right? “I am in love with you Nathalia Chadson Hills” he signed adding his name to her names making her even more shivering with what she could term anxiety.

The bone-deep kind that doesn’t ask for permission or require justification. Leah was sick. I was going home. Everything else was noise.

Their unconditional support lifted her spirits, allowing her to fully immerse herself in the tranquility of the present moment. Gone were the sleepless nights and the relentless planning. Selena woke up each day with renewed energy, eager to embrace the simple joys that had been overshadowed by the chaos of battle. She savored each peaceful moment, finding contentment in the sounds of birds chirping, the gentle breeze rustling through the trees, and the laughter of loved ones.

I couldn’t speak until I was eight years old. Everyone in the Sterling family called me dumb. Even my mother would secretly wipe away tears, convinced she had given birth to an autistic daughter. Whenever my father looked at me, his eyes were filled with nothing but disappointment. However, for the sake of the family’s reputation, he could never bring himself to send me away to a special education school. Then came the day someone from a prominent hedge fund company arrived to acquire our family company, Sterling Group. He was so arrogant that he chewed out everyone in the boardroom until all of them hung their heads low. The room full of corporate executives fell silent, too terrified to

A low, booming, hollow horn sounded from somewhere below. On the far side of the Den, a heavy, iron-barred gate, one I hadn't even seen, screeched open. Quinn. She was shoved out, stumbling, onto the quarry floor. She was in a simple, torn, white linen shift. Barefoot. Her beautiful blonde hair was a matted, tangled wreck. She fell to her knees, looked around at the thousands of glowing, hungry eyes. She looked… small. Broken. Then… she looked up.

I'm suing you for trampling on my privacy! Her eyes were blazing, like she was clinging to the last lifeline she had. I gave her a cool, measured look, a slow smile playing on my lips. "Seriously, are you clueless, or have you been goofing off so much you can't even remember your own actions?"

"She keeps asking for you. I'm worried she'll get emotional and mess up the pregnancy." My chest went tight. I followed, slow. He didn't even bother closing the door all the way—just shoved it half shut and walked in. Brigitte Tillon was on the bed. The maid's daughter. Elroy pressed his face to her belly, smiling. "See? Baby's doing great. Stop faking sick just to get my attention, alright? You'll make me worry." He tapped her forehead, all soft and sweet. Brigitte giggled, grabbed his hand, kissed it.

Not pain, not pleasure, but something else, something unsettling, something that resonated deep in my bones, a faint echo of a forgotten feeling. The silence stretched, thick and heavy, filled only by the soft rustle of the cotton against my skin, the faint sound of her shallow breathing, and the frantic drumming of my own heart against my ribs. I watched her, watched her small hands, her bowed head, the way her eyebrows furrowed in concentration. She was so fragile, so vulnerable, yet there was a stubborn strength in her that defied everything I knew about humans, about "pets," about how disposable they were.

The aftermath is nothing like Aquina expects. The agony and euphoria of the claiming leave her boneless, skin hypersensitized, every breath scraping raw at the hollow of her throat. Where instinct should have demanded retreat—shame, panic, the urge to barricade herself behind a wall of ice and silence—she finds only quiet. A strange, luminous quiet, like the minute after a lightning strike, when the world holds its breath and nothing dares to move.