Shatter Me Book Series Novels & Stories

Damian asks. Am I okay? I feel dirty. I feel violated. I feel used. I'm in unbearable pain. I'm covered in blood, piss, and semen. I can taste shit in my mouth. My body won't stop trembling. There's tears falling from my eyes. He broke me.

I thighs were shaking but his leg kept my legs apart while his fingers fucked me like he knew what drove me insane in pleasure. I exposed the side of my neck to him, and he bent down, his teeth finding the spot where he had left a mark this very morning, and biting down on it. The very next moment, I shattered within his arms. My world collapsed from a high that I had never even imagined in my life. His fingers continued to slip in and out of me at a slower pace, his mouth licking the spot that his teeth had bitten, and his tongue tracing the spot again and again, soothing the pain that his teeth had caused.

Charlotte’s shoulders collapsed inward, like she wanted to disappear. I closed my eyes, and the rage surged through me like wildfire. It wasn’t just about Evan and Charlotte. It wasn’t even just about betrayal. It was years - years - of being taken for granted, of having to be the bigger person, the one who understood, who endured. And now I was standing in the middle of a room full of people - an audience - and two of them had shattered me. I felt the burning bile rise in my throat. Felt it clawing to be released.

Other days, it was like she couldn't stand to be anywhere near me. "You know she's going through a lot," Candy told me one day as she sat by my bed, helping me exercise my arms. "I know you have, too... but you had a lot more warning. When you finally came back, she stayed in your room with her hopes high as a kite, just waiting for her prince to wake up so the two of you could have your fairytale ending. After all of that, just to have to give you up, she's... I'd say she's pretty damn close to shattered. I nodded, wincing as she rotated my shoulder. It was still very sensitive after I'd been shot. "I understand," I grunted. I had learned how to talk again, but it was a hell of an effort ea

Because in that moment, we weren’t broken. We were whole. And this was just the beginning of our new dawn. THE END THANK YOU FOR READING THIS SERIES TO THE VERY END! Author I*******m @agkbooks

That’s what I’d told her. That’s what I believed. And yet now… every time I touched someone else, I felt like I was the one shattering. I buried my face in my hands and let out a guttural noise, somewhere between a laugh and a curse. Fuck. What the hell was happening to me? I used to be stone. Unshakable. Unfazed. But one broken girl with haunted eyes and her father’s cursed blood was unraveling me thread by thread. And the worst part?

Liam stood nearby, silent, unreadable. "Come," Ella said softly, guiding me to the couch. "I'm sorry. Was I shouting too much?" I tried to smile, to ease her guilt. But it came out twisted, hollow. "It wasn't your shouting," I said, my voice weak. "It was the glass. When it shattered, it... brought something back." "Oh, dear." Her hand closed gently over mine, trying to steady the tremble. "Here," Liam said quietly, offering me a glass of water. I stared at him for a moment, surprised. Then I took it. The cold water slid down my throat and seemed to calm the storm in me, at least for now.

"You are nothing. You were born from death, and death is all you'll bring." Those words have followed Zara Cole every single day of her seventeen years alive. Her mother died bringing her into the world, and her father - the Beta of Ironveil Pack - never let her forget it. While her brother trains to inherit their father's title, Zara trains in the dark. Alone. Unseen. Better than all of them. She is the top student. The fastest warrior. The girl nobody looks at twice. Until the day everything changes. When a transfer student named Mira walks into the pack training and decides - for reasons Zara cannot explain that she wants to be her friend, the walls Zara built brick by

Chapter Twenty-Two Alpha Lir POV The glass doesn’t shatter—it just breaks apart in my hand. One second I’m holding a crystal tumbler of aged scotch, the next my palm is burning, filled with red cuts and sharp, glittering pieces. I don't flinch. I don't even feel the sting. "Lir, your hand."