The Inheritance Games Novels & Stories

The air grew still between us, the sun warming the tops of our heads, the game long forgotten. “Also let me tell you - ” she cleared her throat, “our grandfather wasn't a straightforward man, he liked to play sick twisted games just for the fun of it, and even in his death he made sure those games kept on running even if it involved the lives of his grandchildren. That inheritance - the clauses to claim it - it has no end Cheryl, it might just be a ploy to keep Oliver married.” I didn’t know what to say. Not at first but her words had sliced something to me, I didn't know how to process it, I didn't know what to make of it so I stayed silent for the mean time.

“Stacy!” Only breathing came through. “Stacy, speak!” A man's voice suddenly replaced hers. “Too slow.” Lucas's expression became cold. “Where is she?” “You're almost here.” “Let her go.” The man laughed. “You don't understand the game.” Lucas stared ahead. “What game?” “The Morgan inheritance.” Lucas's eyes narrowed. “You people still think this is about money.” “It always begins with money.” “And ends with blood.” The caller laughed. “You're learning.”

“Once there was a cruel alpha who knotted a girl under the blood moon. He made the whole pack watch while he took her. Then he called her weak and threw her into the night like trash. But the girl didn’t die. She grew claws. She grew shadows. And she raised two little wolves who would one day make him kneel.” Lila’s eyes glowed. “And then what?” “And then,” Aria said, kissing each forehead, “Mommy made sure no one ever hurt her babies again.” She waited until their breathing evened out before slipping out. In the main room she poured herself a glass of cheap whiskey and checked the security feeds. Another night, another contract. A rival rogue alpha had put a bounty on her head last week,ten

My eyes narrrowed. “Fourteen down,” Grandma said, her voice wobbling. “‘Inheritance.’ Eleven letters.” My head snapped toward her. She looked back at me with wide innocent eyes and I kicked the bed frame again. Nate filled in INHERITANCE without noticing anything. Grandma watched him write with desperate tenderness, her eyes going from his hands to my stomach and back, over and over. I just stared at the crossword until the letters blurred. Then Nate dropped his pen. It rolled off the tray and under Grandma’s bed.

I continued. Marti’s lips were pursed, she hesitated a small moment, her eyes searching to make so no one stood too close to us. “The Obsidian Circle.” She mumbled. “Blackthorn has this creepy secret society thing. Rich heirs, secret meetings, weird traditions. I guess they may just be rumors–the things I hear about them. But basically those you see with those rings and symbols are part of it.” She narrated. I think about it for a moment. Secret society? Maybe it was just some super exclusive elite club.

She stared at the words, mind racing. Victor’s schemes always connected to power, legacy, succession. If Ethan’s birth tied into corporate inheritance structures… Then this war began long before betrayal. Long before marriage. Perhaps even— Before love. Footsteps approached. Adrian stood at the doorway. “You look pale.” Elena turned the phone toward him slowly. “What inheritance clause?” Adrian read the message. And for the first time since she had known him— He hesitated. Just for a second. But it was enough.

But all he’d gotten was a bunch of information he couldn’t decipher. The only thing he fully understood were the sentences that ended the letter: “…It's only right that you also have the chance to fight for the Inheritance.You’ll be competing against your half-brother. May the best man win. You always were and always will be a Hunter.” Then a warning: “Do not show this to anyone.” Always a Hunter. Yeah, right. Scott ground his teeth. Fresh pain drained the warmth from his chest. He only joined the inheritance race because he figured he could get answers about his mother.

The kitchen was completely still. "Howard," she said. "Yes." "What is it called?" A pause. "Victoria named it," he said. "Before she died. She gave me the title along with the instruction to write it." He paused. "She named it in 2008 when she told me about the consortium clause and what she had done to protect you from it." He paused. "She said: call it The Ashford Inheritance. She said: because the inheritance is not the money and it is not the empire and it is not even the building. The inheritance is the story. The full story. Written so it can be read. Written so my granddaughter understands what she comes from and what she survived and what she built." He paused. "She said, that is the

Gaspare continued watching me with that same half-smile. The broken glass cut into my palm. The blood flowing from my hand pulled my crumbling sanity back from the edge. I dropped the bottle. Gaspare nodded with satisfaction. "I knew you'd be more sensible than she was." … After that day, I stopped resisting. I accepted every arrangement Gaspare made for me. I was just a fake heiress with a borrowed name in the Toscano family, so trying to take down Gaspare on my own was impossible. I had no power, no resources.

"Dad—" "Let me finish," he said gently. "I need you to promise me something, and I need to hear you say it, while I can still hear you say it properly." He held her gaze, his grip on her hand weaker now but no less certain than it had ever been. "Keep choosing correctly. Even when it costs you considerably more than two hundred million dollars. Even when nobody's watching, and nobody would ever know if you chose the easier thing instead. That's the entire inheritance, Wren. Not the archive. Not the network. Just that — choosing correctly, over and over, specifically because it's harder, until it isn't your choice to make anymore either, and you're the one teaching somebody else exactly how t