The Becoming Nora Roberts Novels & Stories

Far from the palace, beyond the lush forests and guarded borders of the kingdom, nestled in the jagged cliffs where the sun barely touched the land, lived a woman cloaked in shadows. Nora. Her beauty mirrored Aurora’s—identical in every way down to the celestial blue of her eyes and the cascade of dark hair. But where Aurora’s presence brought warmth and light, Nora radiated cold ambition and eerie stillness. Raised in the hidden covens of the dark witches, she had never known love or mercy. Her life had been shaped by rituals, curses, and the hunger for power. The witches whispered a prophecy from the moment she could walk: The moon bore two, but only one shall rise.

My feet are killing me, but that's nothing compared to the knot in my stomach. "You're back early. Thought you'd be off having fancy brunch with Prince Charming." Nora appears in the doorway, coffee mug in hand, wearing an old Northwestern sweatshirt and pajama shorts. Her dark hair is piled in a messy bun, and she looks so beautifully ordinary that I almost start crying. "Which Prince Charming?" The words come out bitter. Nora's expression shifts. She sets down her mug, studies my face. "Okay, what happened?" I can't answer. I just stand there in our tiny living room, surrounded by mismatched furniture from Craigslist and Target, and try to remember who I was before I walked into that galle

She smiled and looked away. "Anyways, if you all will excuse me. I need to regain my lost strength." Nora said and they all left one after the other, leaving Rose and her father. Nora sat down on the bed and slowly closed her eyes. She started muttering some spells and power surge through her veins. The suddenly, a red light came out and rounded her. It was so bright that Rose and Austin had to shade their faces away. When the light came down, they slowly brought their hands down only to see her mother, no, Nora with a bright smile on her face and also ever young. Her white was now styled properly. She was dressed in a better and well deserving outfit. "Let's go meet someone," She said with

That evening, after Graycen's babysitter had arrived, Nora took special care to doll herself up. In an elegant scarlet red evening gown that gracefully accentuated her curves, Nora stood before the mirror, satisfied with her reflection. The gown boasted a tasteful plunging neckline, hinting at sophistication without revealing too much. Her hair, typically neatly tied, cascaded down her shoulders in loose waves, lending her an air of effortless allure.

She reached for her robe, then grinned and hung it back on the hook. Nora flicked out the light and padded barefoot down the hall to her bedroom. She felt her thighs rub together, her breasts swing just a little from the weight, and felt the nipples stiffen in the cooler breeze of the hall. The thought of her nephew waiting for her in her bed, with his eight inch cock raised like a flag pole in anticipation, and with the knowledge that he was about to thrust that hard member into her, was the greatest thrill she had ever experienced. It caused the moisture droplets to collect on her pink inner and outer lips. She hadn’t been this excited on her wedding night. Nora waited for a moment then sl

Clara Nora and I returned to her room. She didn’t talk at all during the walk from the healers to the mistress’ rooms. I supposed she didn’t know what to say. I certainly had no idea. “I’m getting out of this dress,” Nora announced when the door closed behind us. “Would you like to borrow a lounging robe?” I nodded. I still wasn’t used to the tightly laced intricate dresses I was expected to wear as a royal mistress. Nora ducked into her wardrobe room and returned with two soft wool lounging robes, one in blue and one in green. She offered me the green one and then turned so that I could help her out of the lacing on her gown.

As she stands with Alexander, staring into his eyes, she can see the warmth and the soft gaze meant only for her. But she has no plans to move on with another man. She will live as the wife of Terry Nashville. Nora has come a long way from a terrified little girl to a brave wife, and now she is determined to become a nurturing mother. Nora is no longer the scared little girl she once was. She is now a strong and selfless woman who will continue to be so for the sake of her child. Alexander Sterling strides purposefully towards the study room of his opulent mansion in France, his trusted right-hand man, Sebastian, following closely behind.

The kind she herself had cultivated by becoming unreachable, untouchable, a ghost. “I went for a walk, Elijah,” she said calmly. “The city is still there. And so am I.” She turned to Elnora, who was watching her with cautious hope, like someone witnessing the return of a familiar shape after a long absence. “You were right, Nora,” Robbin said quietly. “I was eroding. But I’ve found the bedrock.” In her office, Robbin opened a folder on her desk. Its label was simple, deliberate: The Foundation Ledger.

The glass walls were now covered in heavy blinds, the once minimal decor replaced with a plush leather recliner, a small side table with an assortment of oils and towels, and a discreet fridge in the corner, stocked not with water bottles, but with labeled glass jars awaiting their fill. Nora stood in the center of the room, heart pounding, wearing nothing but a silk robe that Roman had left folded on her desk that morning. The fabric kissed her skin as if it were complicit in what was about to happen. Her breasts, full again, throbbed with anticipation. She had only just arrived that morning, but already the ache had returned. It was as if her body had learned to respond to their presence,

Nora nodded. She looked at the door. The frosted glass. The light behind it. She thought about what Rachel had said. Fenn had represented Robert eight years ago. Cross had been running money for eleven. The math put Robert inside Cross's world before Nora had any idea any of it existed. Before the gala, before the diagnosis, before any of it. She'd been a target before she had a reason to be one. She pushed the door open. The room was a conference space, small, one table, four chairs. A woman in her sixties occupied the far end. Silver hair, straight posture, hands folded on the table. No laptop. No papers. Nothing between her and the room except her own composure.