Tate And Violet Novels & Stories

(Book 1.5 of the Mate’s Series) "W-why are you doing this?" Her voice is like the sweetest song in my ears. "I-I'm not good enough to be your mate... l-let alone the Luna. S-so why... why are you accepting me? I-I don't understand..." I take her hands carefully and look into her eyes, which shimmer like violet gemstones in the moonlight. "I've always known you're my mate, Ebony. I'd never reject you. You're too lovely and adorable." As Ebony's pale face turns a soft pink, I lean forward and kiss her cheek. "B-but I'll do a terrible job. I... I... I'm not strong enough... I won't be any good to anyone..." As tears brim in her eyes, I pull her into a hug. "I love you, always and forever. So please... don't turn your back on me. But most of all... never put yourself down." I hold her close. "Didn't I tell you before? You'd be the one to give me the best birthday present of my life. So please... don't push me away, Ebony." ~~~~~~ From the moment Skylar saw Ebony, he knew she was the one for him. Everyone thought it was merely love at first sight—a simple crush that would fade away—but that couldn't be further from the truth. Being the son of a true Luna, he was born with his wolf, Jaden, already awakened and could tell who his mate was immediately. With Ebony by his side, nothing could stop him as he learns to become Crimson Moon Pack's next alpha, but an unwanted guest soon appears, breaking his blissful honeymoon phase. As he and his mate are tested, will they be able to work as a perfect team? Or will inner conflicts make it impossible?

I stood at the edge of Ironwood territory, boots sinking into mud as cold seeped through my coat. I hated being this close to their land. It smelled like wet dog, testosterone, and trouble. “You’re late, witch.” The voice hit low and deep, vibrating through the ground before it reached my ears. I didn’t flinch. I refused to give him that. I turned slowly, amethyst eyes narrowing as I found him at the tree line. Guilermo Santander. He stepped into the gray light, rain sliding off his broad frame. Six-foot-five of pure menace. Dark hair plastered to his forehead, silver streaks catching the gloom, and those amber eyes—burning straight through me. “I’m not late,” I said calmly, though my pulse spiked. “You wolves just don’t understand patience.” He stopped three feet away. My skin prickled as the runes along my ribs flared hot, reacting to the dense magic rolling off him. Suffocating. Intoxicating. “And you witches don’t understand territory,” Guilermo said. He didn’t sound feral. He sounded tired—like a man carrying a century of weight on deceptively young shoulders. He leaned in and sniffed near my neck. I stiffened. “You smell like sage and burnt sugar,” he murmured, voice dropping, darker now. “It’s giving me a headache.” “Then stop breathing,” I snapped. One corner of his mouth lifted, a flash of sharp canine. “Make me.” The air between us snapped tight. My magic stirred, violet haze curling from my fingertips without permission, brushing the leather of his jacket. He didn’t pull away. He leaned closer. And standing there in the freezing rain with a man who could tear my throat out, I realized two things: Elder Sibal was wrong—Guilermo wasn’t a monster to be chained. And I was in serious trouble.