The Orphan Collector Novels & Stories

She looked not a day over thirty, but she chose to dress like an elderly librarian from the fifties. “As you are aware, Hannah, you age out in a month.” Her words wiped the laughter from my face. “How is the search for a job and apartment going? Have you found anything yet?” “No.” my shoulders slumped heavily, “Nobody wants to take a chance on an orphan with no work history.” “Well. I have great news than!” Barb chuckled. “I’ve recently been authorized to add another caregiver to the orphanage. The position comes with room and board as you will be responsible for the younger children and their needs round the clock.”

The warmth drops from his face like someone flipped a switch. "Then I start harvesting organs. Beginning with Subject 7. She's young. Healthy. Her organs will save lives. Transplants. Research. Her death will serve a purpose." The camera zooms in. Focuses on Subject 7's face. Everything stops. She looks like me. Not similar. Not related. Like someone took my face and put it on a seventeen-year-old girl. I can't breathe.

Now that Sam knew I had recovered, I could no longer play games with them like I used to. I chose to return to my mother's care, driven by a fear of making further mistakes at Fenelle’s and a desire not to disrupt Sam’s life after everything he had done for me. For a period, my mother took wonderful care of me and even introduced me to Lydia Burke. Lydia was lovely, and we shared a strong connection, though her career meant we lived apart and only saw each other during holidays.

After hearing him out, Daniel and I decided to drive home overnight. Before we left, Great-Uncle Harold added that once the spirit-bound blood disappeared, she would suffer retaliation from the infant’s soul. As for what kind of retaliation, he didn’t say. By the time we reached home, it was already past midnight. Once inside, we turned on the lights and found the sculpture in the northwest corner of the living room. We used a power saw to cut it open. Sure enough, at the base of the sculpture was a transparent sealed vial.

I picked up the signed papers and walked toward the door without a backward glance. Behind me, I could hear Carmen's desperate sobs as she came to, mixed with Vincent's broken whimpers. It had nothing to do with me anymore. The moment I stepped out of that room, I felt free. Sunlight streamed through the estate's massive windows, warm and bright. The man who betrayed me paid his price. And I, Isabella Marconi, was free again. This is the price for betraying a Marconi.

He is always fascinated about making himself clean and neat. “ You can have her in this house until we came up with a plan to get rid of her. Just a quick reminder, my executioner, she doesn’t belong to you. And a woman is nothing but a whore,” he finished his words with disgusts to the other species that causes him to embrace the darkness of life Gently, he patted my back before he walks out of the office leaving me in between some unknown feeling. Throughout the night, I just stare at the ceiling or tried to come up a plan to fucking get rid of her. Alpha Riley is right. If Alpha Vladimir is not looking for her then she’s useless for us. A nobody and just collateral damage of our revenge.

The battle is won, but looking at the silver scars covering my side, I know the war has just begun. "Your Highness!" A guard approaches. "We found something in Margaret's car. Documents. Plans." Byrde takes the papers, his face paling as he reads. "This isn't over. Marcus and Margaret were working for someone else. Someone called 'The Collector.'" "The Collector?" I repeat. "According to this, he collects rare wolves. Wolves with special abilities." He looks at me, fear in his eyes. "And Margaret sent him information about you. About a silver wolf who survived concentrated wolfsbane."

Two of the bounty collector’s henchmen and women looked at the directions of the screams. “The bounty collector is killing anyone who hasn’t leave the city yet, what a gruesome thing to encounter after the warning, they’re unlucky anyways.” The fair skin middle-aged lady said as the cool wind blew revealing a marked ‘O’ on her right side of her waist. “Well it’s already over for them. We warned them to leave before this happened—but. Look over there at those three stony giants, probably the skill of a Divine Humane.” Said the hairy middle-aged man with a bearded Norse skipper, glowing in gold as he pulls his muffler scarf up to his mouth area.

“Each one is a different experiment. Different DNA, different stressors, different harvests. The North was just the one that turned to iron. In the East, they turned to water. In the South, they turned to the storm. And the Harvesters… they were just the collection crew.” ​I looked at the map, my stomach turning. The world wasn’t a wasteland; it was a laboratory. And we were just one Petri dish among hundreds. ​“Why are you telling me this?” I asked, my voice low. ​“Because the collection failed here,” the Librarian said, turning his milky eyes to mine. “And when a collection fails, the Owners don’t just walk away. They send a Clean-Up Crew. And they won’t use resonance or seeds. They will u