Ryder Holt Novels & Stories

His late mother, beautiful, and laughing. And the man who’d just left the room—arms around them both, smiling like he belonged there. My breath caught. That was Dylan’s stepfather. Ryder Hawthorne. The man I’d just spent the night thinking filthy, shameful thoughts about. I stared at the photo, at Ryder’s face—so much younger, but already carrying that same quiet dominance. A thought slipped into my mind, sharp and reckless. I got back at Helene tonight. But Dylan? He walked away thinking he won.

He took off his helmet, revealing a chiseled face and dark blond hair. I was a little surprised. This legendary driver, who had made a name for himself across Europe, was so young. I gave him a bold smile. "I trust my instincts." My directness sparked a flicker of interest in his eyes. He took off his racing gloves and extended his right hand. "Good eye. I'm Ryder." "Liliana." He took my hand, his grip firm but brief, a perfect gentleman's touch. "With an eye like that, interested in taking a lap?"

Power crackles across his frame, ancient sigils blazing briefly along his ribs. He staggers—but holds. Midnight remembers being hunted, he snarls. And it learned to bite back. He lunges. The impact between Prime and Arbiter shatters the air. Shockwaves ripple outward, hurling wolves like leaves. I slam into a tree hard enough to splinter bark, pain flaring white-hot down my spine. Ethan’s there instantly, hauling me up. “Rory, talk to me.” “I’m fine,” I lie, shaking. “I need—time.”

"At least wait until Monday to tear her apart. We have guests." Ryder stepped out of the house, looking devastatingly handsome in a charcoal suit that strained against his massive frame. He greeted his sisters' husbands at the grill before turning toward Bethany. He wrapped a possessive arm around her waist, but his eyes immediately flicked to Ruth-Ann, burning with a silent, filthy heat that made her breath hitch. "Rachel, Ester, Linda," Ryder said, his voice smooth as bourbon. "You remember Bethany and her daughter, Ruth-Ann."

I groan internally. My name is Mariah Cruz. I'm 17 years old and starting my junior year today. My Father, Mark Cruz, is the current Beta of our pack, The Royal Moon Pack, and my mother, Jennifer Diaz, is the Beta female. My Brother Josh Cruz is 18 years old and a senior in High School. He is training to become the next Beta when our Alpha, Jason Adams, decides to retire and hand the title to his eldest son, Nick Adams. Nick is 18 and is also a senior in high school. He is also my brother's best friend.

He looked familiar as well. “You must be Leah.” He smiled, as I stood to attention in front of the sofa. He outstretched his hand as I looked at him confused. “Oh, apologies, where are my manners. I am Jack Carter, Logans father.” I let out a sigh of relief and accepted his hand, shaking it. “Logan is at the office at the moment.” I explained. “I know, I actually came here to see you.” I tilted my head intrigued. “Have you seen the news?”

and the quick footsteps already chasing after me. The cold night air hit my eyes and I blinked hard, swallowing it down. I wasn’t going to cry. I wasn’t going to show weakness. I spotted the driver waiting at the curb right away, lined up behind other black cars... and one in particular, red, caught my attention. A Ferrari, to be exact. Who the hell drove something that extravagant at this hour? “Mrs. Greco,” the driver greeted, opening the door for me. I got in after giving him a nod, but before he could close it, Dante stopped him and leaned in.

It was Ryder Blackwood, the enigmatic alpha werewolf of Ravenwood, his expression unreadable as he studied her with intense scrutiny. Ryder Blackwood exuded an aura of raw power and controlled intensity. Standing tall at 6'4", his broad shoulders and muscular build hinted at the formidable strength that lay beneath his calm exterior. His chiseled features were framed by short, dark hair, often tousled as if he had just returned from a midnight run through the woods. Ryder's piercing blue eyes, reminiscent of a clear, icy winter sky, held a depth of emotion and secrets that few could fathom, making his expression perpetually unreadable.

“He sounds like you.” “He was better than me.” No self pity in it. Just fact. “Sharper. More patient. He could dismantle an argument without raising his voice and you’d thank him for it afterward.” She turned another page. Found a passage the elder Holt had underlined twice and written beside it: this is the cost of staying. worth it. She stared at that. “What was the cost?” she asked softly. “For him. Of staying.” Ryder was quiet for a moment. “Everything, eventually,” he said. “But he’d tell you it was worth it anyway.” A pause. “He believed that the things worth doing were worth doing at full price. No negotiation. No discount.”

“I could never. I love dick too much.” Ryder laughed and I didn’t know if my heart skipped a beat because I could see him so carefree and happy -despite freezing to death- or because of the knowledge he wasn’t entirely straight. I couldn’t fret too much on it though because a loud honk rang in the distance and soon two bulky men were removing the snow from our car. ❀