Smolder Laurell K Hamilton Novels & Stories

In a world where everyone chased immortality like it was the only answer, she learned something quieter—and way more dangerous. Turns out the only thing worth trying to reach… was the heart she’d left burning in her wake. ............................................................................. On the morning the Wen Clan’s eastern wing burned, Wen Lihua, sixteen, lay trapped under a fallen pine beam. Her mourning robes—bright white, now streaked with ash and blood. She still had her hand out, reaching for her mother’s jade tablet. No one bothered to check if she was breathing.

My wolves snap back once my words register and they take off South, knowing I am sending them away for good reasons. The are is bathed in the smell of cinnamon and roasted marshmallows and my mouth waters at her intoxicating scent. The fire is hot even from back here and I look to the people standing around her as the front runners begin to literally melt like candle wax. Their skin drips to the ground as there bones turn to ash right before my eyes. The smell of incinerating skin mixed with Layla's intoxicating scent and the blood spilled today, all swirl in the air and mix together like a witches brew.

His back remained to me, giving me the barest privacy as I stumbled a few steps deeper into the bushes. Branches and leaves scratched against my arms as I tugged my pants down. The whole moment was ridiculous as hell. Rosalind Marlow, heiress, queen, master schemer—reduced to squatting in the bush like a schoolgirl sneaking out to smoke. The moment I squatted down and let go, a shudder rattled through me. I hadn’t realized how badly I’d needed to relieve myself until the first hot stream poured out. My eyes fluttered shut as the pressure eased, releasing a moan before I could stop it.

Stained faintly with blood. Elara stumbled back, her candle falling from her grip. It sputtered against the stone. She gagged on the stench rising from the seal, sulfur and charred bone. “Gods—” Patricia gagged too, clutching her sleeve over her mouth. “That smell—” But Gloria stood rooted, her head tilted like a devotee at an altar. Her face glowed with reverence as she tilted her face toward the blooming dark. “Vaulisk,” she breathed.

Those three chests had been enough to make Maurice look good. Now, however, there were far more than three chests. Maurice was already greedily eyeing the chests as if they were his. Meanwhile, Camilla's eyes gleamed as she ran to the chests and opened one at random. The items inside sparkled under the sun—they were all precious treasures. She couldn't help but take a huge pearl and balance it on her palm. "This is gorgeous, Mo. Can you give it to me?" "Of course. I'll give you whatever you want, Cami," Maurice said.

I would burn every last one of them to ash. ******** I didn’t knock. I tore the gates from their hinges with a wave of my hand and stepped over the corpses of the two guards who never got a chance to scream. The smell of ash clung to my skin. Blood soaked through my boots. I had already burned three villages on my way here, left every man, woman, and child in ruins. And I was just getting started. They took her. They put their hands on her. They whispered their filth into Ember’s ears and thought I’d let them live.

The scent of smoke returned to Kaer Nyx. But not the smoke of burning villages or war camps, the kind that still lingered in the stones after battle. Nor the cruel reek of scorched flesh or collapsing keeps. No, this was older. Sharper. More spectral. A scent that curled through memory, not air. It reminded Elara of prophecy, of ink ignited by forbidden flames, of truths written only to be destroyed. It smelled of things never meant to be found.

The air was thick with smoke, the acrid scent of burning wood and flesh choking my lungs as I stumbled through the chaos. Flames licked at the edges of the settlement, casting long shadows over the walls and turning the night into a fevered nightmare. Shouts echoed across the square, the sharp crack of gunfire splitting the air as Captain Laura Wells and her soldiers clashed with Chloe’s forces.

A specific section caught my attention. ‘ Werewolves and shapeshifters hate camphor. They cannot tolerate its smell. It doesn’t harm them but does keep them away.’ It would be very easy to slip a few camphor tablets into Alex’s clothes but I had to confirm it with Eric. I walked into the living room to find Eric engrossed reading a very old manuscript. The pages were made of papyrus sheets and the script was so ancient that I had no clue what it was about. “ Eric….”