The Wild Edge Of Sorrow Novels & Stories

"What? Why?" "Just go." He shout to me​. "Okay. I'm sorry." I say getting inside the Land Rover. He paces for 5 minutes and then finally comes inside. "Sorry. Has been hard to resist you so near the full moon." He confesses. "Are our wolves... Doing it?" I ask. "Definitely. You're scent is driving me crazy." "Will I remember it?" "You will remember." I stay silent for a few minutes gathering the right words but gave up and simply said:

Tentatively, I reach out a hand, but the wolf steps back, its eyes following my movements with a mixture of curiosity and caution. “Wait,” I whisper, feeling a sudden, inexplicable connection with the creature. Tears continue to slip down my cheeks, and I see the wolf’s eyes soften. It starts to howl softly, a mournful sound that resonates with my own sorrow. The howl seems to fill the emptiness around us, creating a fragile bridge between my grief and the creature’s empathy. Sensing its sadness, I wipe my tears with the back of my hand, and the wolf’s howling fades away.

"Yes..." Brady ran both hands through his hair, pacing a small circle next to the table. "I am literally losing my mind right now." Trevor reached out, his fingers gently grabbing the sleeve of Brady's jacket. "I'm really, really sorry, Brady." Brady froze, looking down at Trevor's hand on his sleeve. For a split second, I saw the hard, angry tension in Brady's eyes soften. But before I could even process it, he violently jerked his arm away, grabbed his heavy bag from the table, and stormed off down the path without another word.

Like it knew something she didn’t. She rubbed her arms, shaking off the thought. She had sat in the living room alone for a while after Elara had left her but she was starting to feel suffocated so she slipped outside when no one noticed, and decided to go out for an evening walk. The Liaison estate was grand, spreading out into well-trimmed gardens before filling out into the wild treeline. Garrick liked to say he kept the wild at bay, but Irvine often thought the wild kept itself alive, waiting, and bidding. Tonight, she wanted to feel it wrap around her.

INTRODUCTION/PROLOGUE A hulky, menacing Man with a thick scar running down his right cheek, cleaned the sweat from his brow, hitting the punching bag in front of him for the thousandth time in the past hour with enough fury to kill an elephant barehanded. Perfidy is intolerable in his world, stealing from THE PREACHER is a death sentence and Pete just signed his certificate. He hated to end his men but it’s unacceptable to allow betrayal to happen and go scot-free.

The shattering pain of rejection, a soul-cry ripped from my chest as the bond tore and I became nothing and no one and everything all at once. The woods. The cold. Sage’s wild grief running with mine, both of us raw-nosed and feral, building a home out of sticks and stubbornness and refusing to die. The rogues’ teeth, the taste of iron, the ache in my bones that said live when every other part of me had forgotten how. Then Crescent’s border—no, Melting Moon’s border; gods, how the lines blur now—and Tristan’s sentries. The cuffs-turned-ropes, the suspicion in his eyes, and the green within them that found me familiar and didn’t yet know why.

“You didn’t harmonize the rage; you annihilated it. You are thinking in binaries. Light versus dark. Love versus hate. You must think in spectrums.” She led us to another formation, a pool of quicksilver that swirled with patterns of deep sorrow. “Try again. Do not destroy the sorrow. Understand it. Accept it as valid. Then… find the note that makes it sing.” This was a thousand times harder. It felt like trying to embrace a knife. We focused, not on changing the sorrow, but on acknowledging it, on feeling its profound, aching truth. The golden light that emanated from us this time was softer, more complex. It didn’t erase the sorrow; it wove through it. The quicksilver pool didn’t become jo

A defined, if tragic, end. I watched him from a distance, my heart a conflicted knot in my chest. The rejected, hated part of me wanted him to suffer, to drown in the consequences of his choices. The Luna, the vessel who felt the pack's pain as her own, understood that his suffering would be a festering wound on the pack's fresh start. And the woman who had seen him throw his broken body between death and innocence... that part felt a pity so profound it was almost physical. He took a step. Then another. Not toward the compound, not toward the work, but away. Toward the deepest shadows of the grove, toward the path that led to the wild, unclaimed forests beyond our borders. The ghost was cho

I can feel the weight of their doubt pressing down on me with every step. At the far edge of the clearing, a young soldier kneels beside a dying wolf. The animal’s fur is matted with blood, its breathing shallow. He strokes its head, whispering something too soft to hear before raising his blade and ending its suffering. The sound of steel slicing through flesh echoes faintly. The soldier’s jaw trembles, but he doesn’t cry. None of us do anymore.