Seven X Thirteen Novels & Stories

Among the women here, seven trips out of the mountains before marriage were considered the limit. I dipped my head and looked at my leg, swollen like a turnip. "Go on. I'm sure Gemma's leg is more important." Joseph walked past me with Gemma on his back. After a few steps, he suddenly turned and said, "I was harsh just now. Don't be upset." "I'm not." He continued toward the village. "I know you. You're kind. You'll understand." I forced a smile. It wasn't that I wasn't upset. There was simply no point in being upset anymore.

“Knife. Why were you there, Mende?” Seven answered before me: “Because he asked her to come, genius. Now can we get her a sandwich? Murder is hungry work.” I put my head on the table. “Kill me now. Both of you.” Seven held his breath. “Don’t say that! I’d miss your face, sugar.” “That’s not helpful, Seven.” Seven rubbed his face and smirked. "Neither is calling her killer before coffee. Priorities, Xaden.” I was supposed to be scared, instead I was fighting laughter and grief at the same time.

But I did not accept the credit card he handed over. "I do not hate you, but I will not forgive you. I do not need the credit card. Keep it and do something more meaningful with it in your remaining time. Perhaps we once loved each other, but the timing wasn’t right. In this long seven-year marriage, I thought I could move you with love and tenderness, but I never expected it to end up like this." Harry looked at me with eyes full of guilt. "I know I have wronged you for so many years, so this is the only compensation I can offer now. I hope you will be happier in the future."

"Rosa's living the dream abroad. She gets 300 thousand dollars a month to blow and spends her time shopping." I kept my focus on the pizza and remained silent. Magnus pulled out a card and passed it to me. "We were once promised to each other. Now that you've become the state's top scorer, which is amazing by the way, I'd like to reward you with 200 thousand dollars. Use it for your university expenses." How generous of him to give me a reward worth less than what Rosa got in a month. I didn't accept it. He left the card on the table, gave me a long, silent look, and left without another word.

Brian barked into the phone, "Scam! My wife's here in Ferovia. How the hell could she be dead? Keep this crap up and I'll sue you when I'm back in Carmoria!" The voice snapped back, sharper now. "Are you really Shiloh Quinn's husband? "Seven days ago, during the bus crash, your wife went back into the fire multiple times to pull children out. On the last run, the explosion hit. She went over the cliff.

Holy shit, all seven girls' birth months and days, all add up to the number thirteen! Xandra turned to me; her mouth was in the shape of a large “O” as if she had come to the same conclusion. We stared at each other for a few moments before she spoke. "It has to be connected to the occult group," she said, her voice hushed. "The number thirteen is a powerful and significant number in many cultures. It could be a sign that this group is involved." I nodded in agreement, feeling a chill run down my spine. We had finally stumbled upon a clue that could lead us to the truth.

Both of them sported slacks with button up shirts and Seven wore a suit jacket. "It's great." Seven replied blandly with one hand in his pocket, his glass to his pink lips. "You don't sound great. What's eating you?" "Nothing." He shook his head. "I think you're lying. Don't lie to me. We're best friends." He gives his best friend a straight face. "Don't give me that face." Seven frowns. "I want you to know that I'm being serious. C'mon, tell me what's wrong?"

Seven did not answer. “You kissed under the moon. Waxing. Full. Waning.” Suddenly, Seven gasps. Her grip on my hand tightens. “I see blood being spilled. Help them. A betrayal. Trust no one. An enemy must be defeated. I see death.” Seven slumps forward onto the table. She appears to have lost consciousness. I attempt to rouse her. “Seven? Wake up.” What the hell just happened? Seven groans and stirs. When she opens her eyes, they have returned to normal.

My husband, Harrison Knight, was a workaholic. When stomach pain landed me in the hospital, he had his assistant send me medication. When my mother underwent surgery, he was abroad negotiating an acquisition. In seven years of marriage, he'd missed three of my birthdays and five of our anniversaries. He always said, "The company's still getting off the ground. I can't afford to slow down." I understood. Years ago, his first love, Celeste Foster, had left him because he was poor. Afterward, he'd sworn he would make something of himself. He went on business trips, had late nights, and worked himself to the bone. For seven years, Harrison had pushed himself relentlessly, going from a pen

“Tatiana… worrying about me will exhaust you. But I’ll allow it.” “You are impossible.” Her murmured, a shaky breath escaping. She was caught between rolling her eyes and losing herself in the gravity he pressed around her. Xander straightened with pride, as if her compliment was the best he had ever heard. “Seven,” he repeated, making the single word a command and a promise in one. “Don’t be late.” She nodded, still searching his face for an answer he wouldn’t give her—not yet. Why was her name part of their conversation?