Quotes Yellow Colour

For seven years, Sharon Spark has lived in exile—beyond the brutal tyranny of the Yellow Pack and the man who'd made her his mate. In a secluded cottage, hidden by anonymity and guarded by silence, she's constructed an uncertain peace for herself and her son, Alexander, a son born of secrets and sacrifice. But tranquility is destroyed the moment Luthor Michaels—the powerful, stubborn Alpha of the Tenzclaw Pack—discovers them. Driven by obligation, custom, and a possessive grasp he will not let go of, Luthor drags Sharon and Alexander back to the world she fled, insisting on making them both pack members. and a part of him. Forced into a union ritual she did not want, Sharon is thrust into the arena of political intrigue, whispered threats, and unadorned, unresolved feelings. She refuses to play the docile Omega. Yet in Luthor's gaze, she sees something deeper than domination—something which awakens the passion they once shared, and hungers for forgiveness. As Alexander comes to terms with his shifter heritage within the pack's shielding embrace, Sharon stands on the edge of preservation or release. With her possible protectors as unexpected as Deborah, Luthor's steel-spined cousin, and dangers in the form of rogue shifters on their borders, Sharon must decide: will she protect her son by running again… or battle for a home she never thought could ever be hers? Uncertain between the woman she once was and the mother she has become, Sharon must reconcile with the past she abandoned and the Alpha who never let her go. Trust being a vulnerability—and in a world where power is currency and war is love—building a future may demand more from either of them than they are willing to give up.

Carrie DeLuca, a not quite normal teenager with lots of behavior issues and a seriously fucked-up life, meets the biggest trouble of her life: a werewolf with lots of anger issues and a clear obsession over her... What can she do? Run as far as possible away from him or stay and try to fight him off? "His strong and big hands tightly gripped around my wrists as he forcefully held them pressed against the door and at the level of my shoulders, feeling my bones hurt so fucking much that I thought they were going to snap after just a little more pressure added. Yet despite the sickening pain I refused to shed a single tear, challengingly looking right back into his glimmering emeralds. "I am not afraid of you," I spat between gritted teeth, noticing that devilish smirk tugging at his naturally pink lips. "How about now?" He wickedly whispered, feeling my entire body fill with pure fear and horror as I watched his eyes change from their emerald green colour to an unnaturally glowing golden, hungrily gazing at me. His hand quickly pressed against my mouth, abruptly silencing that scream that was about to erupt. "Don't bother. No one will believe you,"

Elena had once believed that silence could mean safety. That a gentle hand and a warm cup of tea placed quietly on her desk every morning could be a form of love. Lucien was never cruel—not in the obvious ways. He remembered how she liked her eggs, noticed when she swapped her perfume, and sent flowers on days he knew she wouldn’t expect them. He raised her like one would raise a pet—softly, without question. And Elena, foolish in the way only the very lonely can be, mistook his quiet affection for devotion. She told herself he was reserved. Mysterious. That love didn’t always wear its heart on its sleeve. But when the old flame returned—the one who spoke his language without needing to try—Elena saw it. The difference. He looked at her like a man who had found his lost religion. And Elena? She had simply been convenient. No tears, no scene. Just papers on the breakfast table, beside the eggs he cooked perfectly. She didn’t accuse or beg. She only asked for freedom. He didn’t sign. He chuckled. A soft, dismissive sound. “A cat raised indoors doesn’t know how to survive on the street, Elena. You’ll come back." But she didn’t. She disappeared, like smoke—except she didn’t vanish, not really. She lived. She wore colour again. Laughed at bad jokes. Let strange men hand her coffee and ask for her number. Lucien? He watched. He watched her become someone without him. And it drove him mad. The night he cornered her outside the gallery, rain in his hair and desperation in his eyes, he looked like a man undone. "Elena," he breathed, "please. Look at me. Just once." She did. Calm as ever, and her love already gone.