Shrieking Shack

"Noooooooooooooo!" With a loud shrieking voice. "Stopppp! Not again, not even here". Sobbing, trying to get a grip of what had happened, again. Her body vibrates violently, with her hands shaking and moving like they have a mind of their own. Her glowing eye is so noticeable even with the dark shades on. Her body violently jerked, spilling the hot pasta and orange juice all over the dining table and her denim shirt, while she tried her best to keep calm and behave as if everything was fine. A secret only her mum used to know about has grown wings and flown out, in the cafeteria!. "Hell no, I have to do something." She whispered to herself. But sadly, there was nothing to be done. The damage had been done already. Anxiously, she picked her backpack and brought out her journal, and placed it on the messed-up dining table. She could hear some of the students calling her a freak, and as usual, all looking at her in disgust. Her heart sinks every time that happens, knowing she's going to be the talk of the school, and she hated that. She hated all of it, and self-flagellation was as tempting as the garden of Eden. She just wished she could just disappear from the surface of the earth. Then suddenly, The bell rang, lunchtime was over. "Finally," She muttered, with a deep sigh. Yes, she is a PSYCHIC, and she's 16. She is a psychic who has another being in her. She had five friends, each with a secret to keep. they had to team up to solve the mysterious Homicide going on in their peaceful town, and in the process, they learnt each other secrets and the town's history. Will they be able to solve the mystery?

On the day of the mating ceremony, a crazed witch bursts in and points straight at me, shrieking, "Six years later, your Alpha will betray you!" Troy Hudson, my soon-to-be mate, turns livid. He swats the purple-glowing crystal ball from her hand, shattering it on the floor. "Nonsense! Estelle is my fated mate! I'll only ever love her in this lifetime!" After that, he becomes even more devoted to me. At the Moon Goddess' altar, he drapes the Luna shawl over my shoulders. He marks me with his scent so the entire pack knows I belong to him. Every full moon, he deepens the mark on my neck, whispering that I am his forever. I believe his love is unbreakable until our sixth anniversary. A box waits at our front door. Inside lies a pair of lace panties and a photograph. In the photo, Troy is pressed over his foster sister, Rue Youngblood, the wolf tattoo on his body glowing faintly. His hand grips her waist, his eyes burning with the same heat I've dreamed of a million times. And Rue? She's wearing that same pair of panties. On the back of the photo, written in ink as red as blood, is a line of pure provocation. "The Alpha's heart may belong to you, but his body belongs to me." Agony ripped through my chest, yet not a single tear fell. Instead, I rest my hand on my belly and quietly send word to the Witch Association. "I accept your invitation. Please help me vanish."

"When Zack Wallace’s uncle offered him the chance to fulfill his dreams with a job flying for his Alaska charter service, no way was Bailey George going to hold him back. Flying was Zack’s life. Which is why she never told him about the unexpected, unplanned pregnancy. Or answered his letters or returned his calls. Instead, she moved away, got her law degree, and raised her son with the help of her family and friends. When Bailey is charged with running a retreat for her law partners at Casa Blanca Resort and Spa at Barefoot Bay, the last person she expects to run into is Zack. But any chance of a future comes to a shrieking halt when Bailey’s son, the image of Zack, shows up at Barefoot Bay. Part TwoIt was bad luck that had Robin Hanna working late the night her boss, already in trouble with the feds, had two late visitors. Worse luck for him when they shot him dead. In less than twenty-four hours the FBI whisks her out of town and off to the Casa Blanca Resort and Spa in Barefoot Bay, Florida. If she has to hide a way, she gives thanks for the hiding place they picked…a luxury resort. Trey DeMarcus. He had his life all mapped out: a beautiful wife, a career in JAG, and then retirement to Montana, a state where he’s always wanted to live. Neither his wife nor the law practice worked out and now he’s at the Casa Blanca Resort and Spa, trying to figure out his life. When these two meet up, they have nothing in common except lives in chaos. Sunstroke is created by Desiree Holt, an EGlobal Creative Publishing signed author."

Crimson Bloomed: Ascend Post - Apocalyptic Horror | Action | Yuri Harem | Coming - of - Age | Rated R | Mature Content | Slow Burn The city looked like it had been devoured — chewed up by fire, time, and whatever came after — then spit back out in jagged pieces. Dead drones dangled from power lines like rusted ornaments. Neon signs flickered above fractured pavement, their broken scripts glitching into gibberish. Down the block, a half - melted smartcar burned slow, casting warped shadows across the skeletal remains of a coffee bar. Behind a crumpled tram car, someone crouched low, breath tight in her lungs. The shrieking hadn’t stopped. It came again — sharp, bone-deep, the kind of sound that latched onto your spine and refused to let go. She checked the signal jammer at her hip. Still blinking. Still active. Not for long. They were tracking her. She moved fast — boots silent over broken glass, slipping through the breach in an old laundromat’s wall. Her body moved from muscle memory now: slide through, duck left, over the washer, don’t look at the corpse slumped by the dryer. Out the back. Up the fire escape. On the rooftop, she halted. Not alone. Someone was already there — silhouetted against the bleeding sunset. Combat jacket. Short - cropped hair. Pulse rifle slung casually over one shoulder like it weighed nothing. Like this was just another rooftop, just another war. “Don’t move,” the voice snapped. She lifted her hands slowly. “I’m clean.” “Everyone says that.” “Scan me.” beat. Then the girl stepped forward, rifle still raised but gaze locked in. Dark eyes, sharp, searching — not just for weapons, but tells. Fear. Lies. She lowered the rifle half an inch. “You’re lucky you’re cute.” That wasn’t the line she expected.