The Last Bears Daughter Novels & Stories

Jesta murmured his daughter's name, his gaze turning fierce and resolute. The bear's sense of smell was extremely powerful, several times more sensitive than a dog's. As an extraordinary brown bear, Jesta could detect all scents within a ten-kilometer radius. "Not here! Not here either..." As Jesta trod onward, he had already slipped out of the sentries' sight, racing through the terrain, desperately searching for Logo's scent. Finally, in a patch of grass, he made a discovery! "I've found you!" He sneered, his hatred for the Kendayan race growing. His desire for revenge was fueled not only by his daughter’s plight but by his own torment during captivity.

“Mom, Dad, meet Boulder Bear. I spent a fortune to hire this big man for my protection. He costs, like, a few million dollars! But he more than makes up for it with his sheer might and skills. Like, he once fought a godd*mn brown bear in the forest with his own fists, completely topless, and won! Beating up this pipsqueak? Piece of cak—” Boom. It sounded like a big bag of concrete had just plummeted to the spot next to her. Dust was kicked up into the air, creating a frenzy due to the disturbance and choking the daughter. She sputtered to recover, but the shock and disbelief in her features remained the same. Boulder Bear was lying flat on the ground. Was he dead? He looked dead to her!

Theia muses. “My father took me hunting before the Great Hunt. The last hunt before he died.” I sit in silence for a moment with that memory. “I killed that beautiful stag. I watched the life fade from his eyes with the arrow pierced through his heart. I had entirely pushed away the memory, until that dream. Now it feels so real. Such a mercy to not have to feel the viscous blood on my hands and smell the presence of death. But now it is all I can remember.” I shudder at the memory of it. “Life is brutal.” Asteria says after a long silence. “I understand loss. Trauma. The ugliness of what it takes to survive.”

"Welcome back, sister. We've been waiting for you to wake up." Here, in this family with no shared blood, I felt a warmth I hadn't known in years. I slowly sat up, feeling the strength returning to my body. "Mom," my voice was calm and firm, "from this day forward, Alessia Moretti is dead." "I am your daughter." The moment the words left my lips, I felt a sense of release I had never known. The girl who humbled herself for her family, the woman tormented by poison, the daughter wronged by her loved ones. She was dead.

I exclaimed. “That’s so many balloons!” Lila replied, her excitement for the amusement park returning full force. She snuggled into me then, and we kept quiet as the ferris wheel slowly brought us back to Earth. I lay my head gently on top of hers, allowing my mind to drift wherever my thoughts decided to go. And I couldn’t help but think about what the ticket taker had said, about the fact that two humans somehow had a werewolf daughter – and how that daughter looked so much like Alpha Dominic Blackwood.

Was I supposed to tell him that I wanted to do it again? "She is my daughter." I turned to face her, turning my back on my Beta since I did not want him to see my face. I did not want him to see what I was thinking or to realise what had happened between the two of us. Instead, I looked at his daughter, and I was once again struck by the scent of her. But it dawned on me that it wasn't just her scent. It was everything. The aura around her and the way that she carried herself.

Come back! "I was wrong! I'll give everything back to you! I'll trade my life!" "Forum, can you hear me? I'll trade! Bring my sister back!" But the countdown had already begun. No matter how much they regretted it, it was too late. I felt a wave of lightness. A soft white glow wrapped around me. Maybe this was fine, too. Goodbye. In the next life, let's not meet again. Being Dad's daughter hurt too much.

Mom's face went pale. She gripped the mic, her voice shaking. "Wh-What... what is this? Is this donor cadaver really my daughter, Charlotte?" She stared at Elayne, frozen in disbelief. Elayne took a shaky breath. "Yes. The cadaver in front of you... it's Charlotte." The mic slipped from Mom's hand, slamming to the floor with a sharp, earsplitting crack. People in the audience flinched, hands flying to their ears.

"Just picture it, in an age when women are waking up to their power. A mother financially tormenting her only daughter. If you nail this story, think of the payoff!" Her hesitation crumbled to dust. A true journalist would never pass up a story with real value. Three days later, the announcement hit the video platform. Celebrated educational influencer Jessica Lowell was set to unveil a groundbreaking live documentary series titled, 'Cruel Mom Refuses $80 Allowance, Poor Daughter in Trouble.' My daughter, Evelyn Smith, and I had both signed on for the reality show, agreeing to let cameras follow us around the clock for a full week. No filters, no edits–just raw, unvarnished life.

Third one. The older woman paused at a metal door and nodded at the guard beside her. One of the guards moved forward and unlocked it. One lock. Then another. Then another. Three locks on this door. The door swung inward. The room was bigger than the room I was just in. Still concrete, still cold, but… slightly upgraded. Almost like someone had tried to make it more humane. A narrow window sat high on the far wall, barred. Outside was forest; dense trees, shadowed undergrowth. No visible road, no lights. Which meant we were deeper than I’d first calculated.