The Thirteenth Tale Novels & Stories

A hand pressed against the inside of the glass. The older Lily closed her eyes. "I hoped we'd have more time." A deep, resonant voice rolled through the tower, the sea, and the darkness beyond. It was calm. Almost kind. Yet every word carried impossible weight. "The thirteenth story has reached my door." Luke tightened his grip on Lily's hand. The voice continued. "Now let us discover... whether it ends differently

number thirteen said confidently. Lord Adonis chuckled as he looked at number thirteen. "I guess your time here has not been a waste and you've managed to learn a thing or two about proposals. What is your name?" Number thirteen was awestruck, she couldn't believe the king of death was asking for the name of someone as irrelevant as she was. "I'm called number thirteen, my lord." Lord Adonis shook his head. " I know your tag number, I'm asking for your real name?" "Ceren"

FREYA The iron poker felt heavy in my hands, the rough metal biting into my palms as I kept it raised between us. The fire popped behind me, spitting sparks against the stone hearth, but the heat at my back did nothing to warm the sudden chill in my veins. "The Legend of Three," I repeated, forcing my voice to remain level. "You think a fairy tale makes you clever?" Adrian took a slow sip of his wine, watching me with amused condescension. "A fairy tale to common wolves who only know how to hunt, breed and die on their borders. To the royal bloodline, it is history. Very specific, very carefully preserved history."

Scheur POV I kept my eyes fixed on the stone floor as I carried the heavy laundry basket down the dimly lit hallway. In this world, humans knew their place — especially when serving werewolves. Two years in the palace had taught me one unbreakable rule: avoid them like poison. Speak only when spoken to. Never meet their eyes. Never linger. A burst of excited voices echoed from the servants’ quarters. I hesitated, then stepped closer and set the basket down.

And he falls silent. Waiting for my response? "That's good," I say, "because I don't want to share you either." He smiles and sits back, sipping his wine, his expression thoughtful. "Tell me about 'redbreast' and 'ravens'," he says. "I expected you to simply give me 'yellow' and 'red' or something similar. It sounds as though there is a story behind the two words." "It's from when I was a little girl," I say. "There were ravens at the bottom of our garden, and when I was small, they seemed so huge."

“I’m just afraid once your wounds heal, you’ll forget the pain.” “The moment that woman sheds another tear, you’ll soften again.” I lifted the glass and downed it in one go. The burning liquid scorched my throat and stomach, yet I felt relieved. “I’m not a fool.” “I won’t cling to her even after getting betrayed like this.” “Ha, you never know.” Sebastian smirked, mercilessly pulling apart my vulnerabilities. “You’re hopelessly love-struck, remember?” “When grandpa asked you to return to the Stone family and inherit your mother’s shares… What did you say?”

He whispered to her, gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Elika was caught off guard by his actions, her frame beginning to shake uncontrollably; she realised then that her uncle couldn’t be saved, that he was too far gone in his insanity. Chronos had truly won, his son had snapped when his lover was killed, drowning himself in the darkness of the world’s and their was nothing the princess could do to stop it now.

the shrill voice whispered. “Look, asshole, I'm not playing any silky game with you, Alright?” I asked, my breath coming in short gasps. “I’m gonna screw your ass if anything happens to Hope. I'm gonna make the rest of the days of your pathetic life miserable, you hear me?” I bellowed. A mirthful chuckle escaped his lips. “Let's make this quick. I'm going to count from one to three, and I'll make Hope a history,” he threatened.

Zenith’s POV Plot Thirteen had always been wrong. Not cursed, not hostile, just… unfinished. Like a sentence the land had started and never been able to finish on its own. It lay beyond the eastern tree line, past the manicured edges of the villa grounds, where the forest dipped into a shallow basin ringed with stone markers older than any foundation the Haven had built. The pack used it rarely. Training, sometimes. Silence, mostly.

Chapter 5 Tristan's POV: I sat at my high throne that stood majestically in the grand hall, its presence commanding reverence and awe. Carved from a single block of polished ebony, it absorbed the light around it, radiating an aura of power and sophistication. Intricate patterns of gold and silver adorned its surface, depicting scenes of mythical creatures and celestial bodies. The armrests were shaped like lions' heads, their mouths open in a fierce roar, while the legs were designed to resemble serpents, coiled and ready to strike.