Novel & Cerita Stories From The Old West

“What is it?” “Tales of Loyalty and War,” he said. “Old stories from before the border wars. My father used to read them. When I was younger, I would read through them for hours. It was my way of actually trying to understand the concepts that wolves used to deal with. You can read it aloud for me.” “Is the Alpha in need of a bedtime story?” “It has been a while since I’ve had one. You’re reading it anyway. Might as well read it out loud.”

Mary drew close to us and whispered, “We got friends who know a safe passage back to our home. They’re waiting at the Sundance Saloon.” Walking down the dirt road toward the crossroad, my friends and I felt like we were in a Western movie; saloons, stagecoaches, cowboys, and the Old West letters. The only difference was the people on the streets who came from different timelines. War’s End happened to be at the center of the four trade routes that converged together, with rows of buildings formed into the shape of a cross. Caravans and travelers streamed like colorful waves, arriving and departing to the east, west, and south, but never to the north. The road toward that direction remained e

"Are you telling me people are still stealing horses in this day and age? I thought horse thieving was something that only happened in old Western movies." Amos laughed, wheezing a bit in the process. "It ain't happened 'round here for years, best I can recall, but my mama always told me the devil never really goes away, even if he does sleep for a while." "Do you think it has anything to do withwith me?" She turned her face away from him. "Why in heaven's name would ya think that, ma'am?" the old man asked her. "Surely you ain't the horse-thievin' kind if you ain't even learned how to ride one!"

“Actually, Detroit doesn't talk much about his family. I'm sure you don't know he's from the Old West family…from the Capital.” My lips parted slightly, eyes wide. I didn’t know what surprised me more—his casual mention of being Detroit’s brother or the revelation that Detroit West wasn’t just some fabricated name that I thought it was, but a real name. And not just that, he was from the West family. The West family of the Capital! That family was the oldest in the Capital, reason they're called the Old West. Their connection ran wide and deep, and their obsession over public image was staggering.

Story Note: “Room for One More” is a standalone short from my erotic collectiona mix of intense, sensual, and sometimes forbidden stories that explore the raw edges of desire. Each story introduces new characters, new fantasies, and unapologetically explicit encounters. This particular tale features a taboo dynamic between step-siblings, told with heat, dominance, and no holding back. Reader discretion is advised. *************************************************

She closed Harper's and stowed it away, then sat and folded her hands in her lap and looked wistfully out the window. "Excitin' trip so far?" he asked. "I'd hardly say so," she said. "No Indian raiding parties, no desperados –" "Wellnow, ma'am, you'd not really be wantin' t' meet that sort," he said. "I've seen my share, and they're not like you'd be readin' about in them there books of your'n." "I don't know what you mean," she said. "All romanticized, is what I'm sayin'. All the desperados I've met, they've been right dirty and rough. And I ain't never met no woman been carried off by the red man and been the happier for it."

My name was Lola Sinclair, a young wife from a small farming town. My husband, Dominic DeLuca, used to work at a construction site. He was honest, hardworking, and willing to take any job as long as it could keep our family fed. We had two children, a modest home, and a life that was never rich but still peaceful. Then everything changed. Dominic fell from a height at the construction site and badly injured his leg. The contractor responsible disappeared soon afterward, leaving us without compensation. Instead of receiving help, we were forced to cover nearly one hundred thousand dollars in medical expenses ourselves.

"Forget about him. He'll be driving, and we'll be in the back doing our thing. If that's not exciting enough for you, I'll tell him to pull over so he can join in…" "What are you talking about?" I hissed, covering his mouth. Truckers—especially the long-haul guys—had a habit of talking dirty to pass the time, but I couldn't believe he was saying such things about me. I was mortified. Yet, despite the shame, the image Dylan planted in my mind began to take root. Two strong men, one in front, one behind… I pressed my hands against my burning cheeks, forcing the thoughts away, and hurried to finish packing.

“It doesn't matter. It was one time, and I never did it again.” “That's not a good enough answer. How do you expect me to be honest when you're not?” I asked angrily. He grimaced. “You remember my cousin Jamie?” “Yes?” I asked, confused. “He's been running weed from Colorado to California. He told me if I did a few runs for him, it'd pay out a lot of money, so I did. I thought for sure that I was caught when I got pulled over. I got lucky they didn't search the truck because I easily had a hundred pounds. I made just enough to save the ranch, so I quit. I figured my luck would run out at some point. It usually does,” River muttered.

I nodded, not showing how disappointed I was. One thing about him is that whenever he is angry, he overworks and I don't like it. I watched at the trees as baba driver revved up the car to life and drove into the lonely city of Abuja. The late hour sun was a bit harsh on my tender skin, the skin I took time to nurture. The weather changes easily, I vividly remembered when my cousin Khadija told me it is freezing. The house stood out different from the way I knew it. The house was painted and a giant gate replaced the old one.