Smg4 Oneshot Wren Novels & Stories

What else could she have against him to make her hate him so much that he's coming to hurt him in the back now. His train of thought is cut short and he screams in a very unmanly manner. "It hurts doesn't it? That's a cigarette pressed against your palm, it's nothing compared to what you made me go through for a whole month... Locked up and fed once every two days..." He knows that voice, even if he didn't, the circumstances she just explained can only be one person, a female. Wren Wang. Wren laughs loudly, her eyes red as she presses the cigarette into his palms further. "I might have let go like my Dad had said after I returned but do you know where you went extremely wrong?"

"And we're already standing beneath it." As if summoned by her words, the rings in my palm flare suddenly hot, and across the chamber, Wren gasps, clutching at her own wrist, where a faint silver mark has begun to bloom beneath her skin, identical to the one that once lit up my own arms in the arena. "It's already started," she breathes, horror and wonder tangled together in her voice. "April, it's already choosing." The bond in my chest lurches violently, four familiar heartbeats suddenly joined by a fifth, not Selene's mother's, not the mysterious threat still darkening the sky outside, but Wren's own pulse, hammering in perfect, terrible rhythm alongside mine.

We sat together a while longer, watching the training yard slowly empty as the afternoon wore on, Wren disappearing back toward the kitchens with the same quiet, unassuming grace she'd carried through her drills, entirely unaware of the distracted attention she'd drawn from a stranger who couldn't quite explain, even to himself, why he'd noticed her at all. Four days, I thought, watching the light shift golden over the walls. I still had no real idea what waited on the other side of that number, only a growing, patient trust that whatever it was, the people around me loved me enough to carry it carefully until I was ready to receive it properly.

Wren smiled and walked to the living room to join Max and Dillon. “So, how is she really doing? Should she even be home yet?” Max asked Wren when he walked into the room where he and Dillon were already back to their game. “She’s OK. She still has a lot of healing to do before she can return to work,” Wren answered as he dropped into a chair. “What about you?” Max asked him. Wren was sitting watching Max and Dillon play their game as he rubbed the bandage above his eye. He looked at Max, who had glanced at him and saw him rubbing his head.

Hunting. Draven grabs me, dragging me back. “We have to go, now, she’s not stable.” “She saved Caiden,” I say. “She chose a name, she—” “She just killed a man for pointing a gun,” Draven says. “Gerald made her, Wren, he’s still in her head.” Gerald laughs, walking down the ridge like he’s out for a stroll. “She’s my finest work, emotional, loyal, lethal, everything you weren’t, Wren.”

" Gwen ... He mumbled softly. He looked sweaty and sick. He was laid on a bed beside a fireplace. His shirt was open, down to the last button. His torso was exposed. His forehead creased in pain at intervals, despite the cold towel. " Gwen." He said again in a whisper this time . The strange man looked like a wild wolf, he had their scar. An arrow mark that ran across their hands. They could shift any time , they found it hard to control their powers. I shuddered as I turned restlessly on my bed. "No! noo!!." I shrieked and woke up in tears. "No." "We're no longer mates, you're free." I sobbed, hugging my pillow in tears.

Wren animated and unpredictable, already scrolling through her phone like she was planning something far more elaborate than she’d admit to. Robin calm and observant, quietly amused by everything unfolding. Greg, beside me, relaxed, and present like he belongs here just as much as the others. It felt easy. “Hey,” Wren says, suddenly looking up. “Serious question this time.” I eye her suspiciously. “That’s what you said last time.” “No, I mean it.”

The sexual tension between both of us is thick. The atmosphere feels charged, especially surrounded by the smell of whiskey and smoke, the sound of music. If Ray finds out the thoughts I have about his little sister…I’m so dead. Fucking hell, I’d actually need Brittany tonight. “Since you’re not going to let me enjoy my drink and have a nice night,” Wren clears her throat. Even her voice is laced with desire. ”I’ll be going to bed.” She doesn’t wait for a response or a comeback, she just leaves.

I steady myself against it, refusing to show the tremor. They bring Wren out through the old service door, the one used for deliveries and garbage. The symbolism isn’t subtle, but it’s effective. She looks smaller than I remember—barefoot, coat hanging open and slipping off her left shoulder, the raw skin at her wrists gone red from the shackles. The bandages on her arms have already bled through; the white turns rusty, then brown. She smells of pain and sweat and the stubborn, bright acid of her own refusal to break.

He just stood, face lowered contemplating if he should tell or not. Back at the Humane kingdom, meanwhile in the thick of the whole crisis, Wren was having a vagary encounter within her consciousness. In it she opened her eyes widely as though she just woke up from a nightmare, she raised her upper body up only to be seen in a more familiar space, a raw smoggy atmosphere, the sharpness of the precipitated cold air, the frozen walls and floors made the wintry surroundings in a solidified phase. She raised her blue eyes while touching her bald head thinking it might grew again in the zone then she felt an aberrant character, standing in front of her. An image of a boy, glowing in pale, pure, t