Susan Wojcicki Book Novels & Stories

Now that Jessica and I had both managed to win over a fair number of supporters—not to mention our Alphas—the distrust had fallen on her, now that it was known she was a witch. “Oh, good. You’re interrupting me just when they’re all about to start fucking. I think.” Marianne shook her head as she snapped the book shut. “That is one of the most confusing books I’ve ever written. I’m not sure if they’re having an orgy or there’s just a bunch of ghosts watching.” “Sounds intriguing. Maybe I’ll have to read it when you’re done,” Jessica said, sitting.

Nothing about it was fair any more. These past few years Jane had begun to accept the fact that she wasn't one of the Waleskis. And she had started writing a book called the Unfair Life of Jane, Plain, and Short. It wasn't a real book, just a list of experiences and even that made Jane wonder whether the universe had something in the particular against her. For example:

Was someone trying to tell me something? I picked up the opened book and studied the page. It was written by a woman in Australia who claimed to have been in contact with a pack of werewolves who’d allowed her to study them. I remembered how a good deal of it had sounded so farfetched that I’d closed the book with disdain. Now, after having dealt with and dissected one of those vile creatures, I re-read the pages with more interest and a far more opened mind. After leaning against my desk and reading a few more pages, I decided to pick up the rest of the mess that was caused by Max and my little sex tryst and then take the book upstairs with me. I was craving a sandwich and a glass of wi

“You were the one who suggested the 'discipline' methods. Don't think we won't tell the Alphas.” Fuming, Jenny snarled back through the link, “Why are you snapping at me? You are all toothless fools! A spy sneaked into your den, took images, and you didn't even scent her!” The Alpha of the elder-den sneered and sent Jenny a single image. “It’s your own fault, little wolf. She is your own grandmother, and you didn't even recognize her. You were the one who sent her to us for 'storage'—”