Son Of Jacob Crossword Clue Novels & Stories

He was one of our pack warriors, and my Dad knew he was a former boyfriend of mine. “It is Jacob, one of our pack warriors. Family friend. Perhaps your son got the wrong idea when he saw him with Kaia? Any newly married man is likely to be defensive over his wife, right?” he suggested, trying to imply this was all a misunderstanding, and that was before I had even explained anything. That was my Daddy, always trying to fix things for me...

I trailed off. She was looking at me curiously, “but what?’ “But like he was keeping his cool. They didn’t seem like friends or close, at all. I was just wondering who he could be because I don’t want to cause any trouble,” I laughed anxiously. “Oh no dear, you won’t cause any trouble don’t worry. Um Jacob,” she licked her lips, “Jacob Campbell is the only son of Alpha Christophe Campbell of the Shadow Walkers pack,” she went slow and muttered each word clearly for me to understand.

Lydia spoke, forcing me to get back to reality. “Uh, it’s okay.” I turned away from her to leave when I suddenly remembered something. “In regard to your question a while ago,” I began, facing her. “Yes, Jacob’s the father of my daughter. Freya is Jacob’s daughter.” Without waiting for her response, I left the room. Jacob claimed my daughter as his without thinking twice. And if I’m going to deny it, I will only bring his name shame. I don’t want that. I went back into our room to maybe take a rest, hoping it was all that I needed. At the exact moment, I took a step in, I was startled by the loud ringing sound of the wireless telephone that was on top of the drawer beside the bed.

The king exclaimed, marching inside the door to his son's bedroom. "Father," Jacob bowed his head down as he acknowledge the king. "What is the meaning of this, Jacob?" The king asked in a low but menacing voice. "Jason..." the king held up his hand and that silence the queen. "You know that I do not want to repeat myself, son." A few moments passed and still, Jacob hadn't replied his father. Instead, he picked up few of his favorite books and clothes from his bed and throw them inside his luggage. "Jacob, I am talking to you." Suddenly the king was up on his feet and was holding his son by the collar on his shirt

she jokingly said. Jacob is the son of his dad's best friend. His dad was one of those who vanished from their village seven years ago. She felt bad about him since he only have his dad as his family but unfortunately, he died so now he was left alone. He is ten years older than her they grew up together and always got each other's side as best friends. He got his good looks from his dad that every girl from their village is going crazy for his charming look and dashing personality. Well, she can't blame those girls because even she herself, has a crush on her guy best friend. "Honey, aren't you supposed to go to school now?" Her mum asked.

Jacob’s expression shifted into confusion and frustration, unsure how to react. “How come? Who’s the father?” he asked sharply. “Mr. Steve Cross is the father of my child,” Clara said in a sharp tone, her words piercing his heart like a dagger. His heartbeat seemed to stop for a moment, as though he had forgotten how to breathe. ⸻

Just as the words left my mouth, my phone vibrated violently in my pocket. It was a call from the cemetery where my parents were buried. The staff member's frantic voice came through the speaker. "Mr. Houghton! Your parents' graves have been vandalized! We're trying to handle the situation right now…" My brain short-circuited. I snapped my head up, glaring at Cynthia and Bradley. "Did you do this?" Bradley looked away with a smug smirk on his face. "You deserved it. That's what you get for targeting my son. I just hired some guys to teach you a lesson. Cynthia agreed with it too—"

Now, he finally wanted to be here with his son, but he couldn't find him anywhere. Bruce sagged to the ground on the side of the path, burying his face in his hands. He was just now realizing that some wounds don't just fade away. They're recorded, one by one, tallied up like a debt. Waiting for the day it all comes due, with interest. As evening fell, he saw a mother and son by a restaurant. The mother wore a white shirt; the pup had a blue backpack. They looked just like Avril and Leo from behind.

“My youngest wife.” Youngest. The word landed heavier than it should have. The son looked at me then, truly looked. His gaze sharpened, assessing in a way that felt personal now. Not as a buyer. Not as a man appraising a body. But as a son confronting something he did not want to understand. “So young,” he said quietly. There was accusation in it. I said nothing. His father smiled faintly. “She is well suited.” Something flickered across the son’s face disapproval, perhaps, quickly masked.