The Ashes Of His Name 소설 & 이야기

Then again, certain I'd misread it the first time. Ashwood. The room seemed to tilt sideways around me. "Sera, what is it?" Ally's grip tightened on my arm. "You've gone completely white; you're scaring me. What does it say?" "Ashwood," I said it out loud, and the word felt foreign and enormous in my own mouth, heavier than anything I'd ever spoken. "My father's name was Ashwood, Ally. The same Ashwood. The pack Kael destroyed. The one everyone still whispers about, the massacre, the fire, all of it."

He wobbled across the patio on unsteady legs, his cheeks flushed from the cold, giggling as he chased a stray leaf. I scooped him up before he could tumble into the snow. He was different from Adrian. Where Adrian was shadows and steel, Ash was light. He had my eyes and a laugh that could melt the iciest corner of a room. We had named him Ash because, after the fire that took everything, something had risen from the blood and the ruin. He was our rebirth. "Are you keeping your brother out of trouble?" I asked, kissing Ash’s cold nose. Ash gurgled, grabbing a fistful of my hair.

My blood turns to ice. “WHY WOULD THAT BIND ME?!” “Because,” Gideon answers softly, “your name isn’t just a name.” My heart slams painfully. Elias hisses at him, “Don’t.” Gideon steps toward us. “Her name is a key.” Lucien coughs blood into the snow, struggling to rise. “ELORA. LISTEN TO ME. DO NOT—” But Gideon lifts a single finger. Lucien’s voice dies in his throat.

A place where life would be saved, where hope would be reborn, where my children’s names would live forever. As I stepped out of the building, the city air felt different, lighter somehow. My enemies were tearing themselves apart, and my dreams—no, my vengeance was unfolding piece by piece. Soon, everything they took from me would return, and when it did, the world would know the name Amara not as an investor, but as a storm they never saw coming.

Taking a step forward, I began to go to help, but the beautiful mysterious man halted me. “It’s too late.” His fingers were hot upon my wrist. “What do you mean? You mean…you are here for them?” I stepped back towards him, but I didn’t pull my arm away from his warm grip. “Not all of them, just one. The rest have gone up above. I strictly work below.” “Are you the Grim Reaper?” Tears were building up in my eyes. “My name is Ash and you can say I am the Devil’s right-hand man,” he said. A tear glided down my cheek. Ash reached to my skin and wiped it. “Do I scare you?”

"His name is Asher." Phoenix and Asher. Rising from the ashes. A new beginning born from the destruction of everything I'd once been. My sons. My hope. My reason to keep going. And somewhere, hundreds of miles away, their father had no idea they existed.

It contained every bit of information found on the man who had been daring enough to intrude on Noah's life. His well-known alias was Ash Grey but he sometimes went by the name Johnson Adams. Ash owned a long chain of well-known clubs in Rosewoods and also had numerous underground club operations awarded to his name, most of the luxurious clubs scattered in different towns around New York and other thriving parts of the world.

he said as he waved to Reggie the bartender, “I’m never desperate. Now, are you going to tell me your name at least? Or will I have to make one up for you?” “Oh dear, what names do you have in mind?” He ordered his usual—a whiskey sour—and turned back to her. “I’m thinking Delilah. Or Jezebel.” “Subtle. How Biblical of you, too.” She pushed her hair over her shoulder, exposing the pale and delectable curve of her neck. “What if I said it was Gertrude?” “Then I’d call you Gertrude like the gentleman I am.” Her lips curved into a smile. Ash had been with many women, but there was something about this one that had intrigued him the moment he’d seen her staring at him.

He describes it briefly, gardens, a lake, the particular quality of morning light he remembers from the one time he was there three years ago. I say yes to that too. The date we choose is six months away. Far enough to plan. Close enough to feel real. “One thing,” I say. He waits. “The name.” I look at the ring. “I’m keeping Voss professionally. Morrison Manufacturing. The foundation. All of it runs under my father’s name.” “I know,” he says. “But personally—” I pause. “Personally I want to be Esmeralda Hale.” He looks at me. “Both,” he says. “Both names. Both women.”

Sadness. I glanced down at the letter still clutched in my hand, the paper fragile and crumpled from my grip. Slowly, I allowed a sliver of lightning to dance along its edges, watching as the parchment caught fire. The flames consumed the letter quickly, reducing it to ash in seconds, and I let the remains fall to the table in a blackened heap. Ashes. Just like everything else in this cursed palace. I stormed out of the throne room, my footsteps heavy and my thoughts darker than the night itself. The halls were quiet, too quiet, and every echo of my boots against the stone reminded me of how alone I truly was about to become.