These Tangled Vines Novels & Stories

He followed her winding path, navigating with unwavering focus, refusing to let the storm impede his progress. An hour passed, and the wind began to pick up, teasingly scattering Camden's scent and making it increasingly challenging to track her. The rain, at first a gentle drizzle, quickly escalated into an unrelenting downpour. The forest floor transformed into a slippery mud bath, as rivulets of rainwater slithered their way through the undergrowth.

His hesitantly brings his fingers to my tattoo, his touch ghosting over my skin. I scrutinize the tattooed letters on his fingers. A, M, L, R, O. They don't spell anything but here I am, telling myself that they probably stand for something. He's barely touching me but my entire body is on fire, I want his touch so bad it hurts my chest. I feel like I'm trapped in a small box and I can't breathe or move or think. Our eyes lock and I realize that we're both panting, chests heaving, fucking electrifying.

That was a different thing—that we were connected through a mind link, and none of us found anything until my eyes landed on Andrew’s hand. ‘His body might be around.’ I thought, looking around for any clue. ‘Or maybe not if he would have become the food of wild animals.’ Lotus commented. ‘I don’t think so. There was not a single wild animal around. I bet they would have become the food of vampires.’ I responded, and all of a sudden, a scream escaped my mouth, and I fell to the ground when a heavy net fell over me. The way it was burning my skin, I knew it was silver.

"You denied me the opportunity to be by his side And for you." Tears spilled from Sharon's eyes. "I never meant to offend you Davis. All I was doing was surviving." Their conversation got hot, their voices rising despite their best efforts to keep quiet. Isabella entered the garden neither of them noticed until she spoke. "What's happening here?" Like a razor, Isabella's voice sliced through the tension. Sharon froze while her heart hammered. Davis turned to face her, his expression unreadable. "Isabella, I—"; Sharon mumbled.

He knew this was going to happen when he opened that window. Ava felt the walls closing in, their worlds merging, binding, tightening in ways she couldn’t escape. And Tristan? He simply sat back, watching Xander agree to his own undoing.

The weekend sun was high, scattering golden light across the Batangas estate. The garden smelled faintly of bougainvillea and sampaguita, the air heavy with the quiet dignity of old wealth. Mateo stood at the gates, clutching a bouquet of fresh flowers in one hand and a basket of fruits in the other. He had heard from Marge that Celia was sick. He had been texting Ainara for days, but she hadn’t replied. Silence was all he got. So he decided to take a chance — to visit, unannounced, hoping his gesture would be welcome.

“But remember—the same roots that bind can also strangle. Control requires balance.” I tested the limits, expanding the vines farther across the soil. They obeyed without hesitation, moving wherever my focus went. When I imagined an enemy, they surged upward like snakes, piercing through invisible targets. When I pictured defense, they wove together, forming a barrier strong enough to absorb impact. It drained me quickly—my breath came shallow, sweat slicked my neck. The vines trembled before retreating into the ground. The connection faded, leaving me dizzy but exhilarated. [Skill Progress: Verdant Bind +12%]

VIKTOR I burst out of the building, following the sentry along with Caspian and his Beta, our eyes sweeping across the surroundings. The sight before us shook me to my very core. Vines. They were everywhere. Thick, grotesque coils of dark green and black crawled across the pack grounds like living things. They slithered over the stone paths, wrapped themselves around the training posts, and climbed the walls of nearby buildings. Some of them were extremely thick, their surfaces slick and strangely pulsing, as if something beneath the bark-like skin was breathing.

My hands rise instinctively, brushing against the rough tendrils as if they might whisper their secrets. Where is the hole Flynn spoke of? How would I even recognize it? My palms trace over the scratchy lattice of stems, pressing, tugging, searching. Some vines cling tightly to solid concrete, firm and unyielding. Others give way slightly, pliant beneath my fingers. Yet nothing seems different enough, nothing feels like a passage. Frustration gnaws at me.

I pulled and tugged until I had enough to work with, constantly fighting against the resistance it was showing, eager to get back into the weave. With the vine gripped in both hands, I floated towards Jenny’s body. She also had a bunch of vines growing out of her, but only one that attached to me, thin and barely visible as it was. I touched the vine in my hand to the thread between me and Jenny. There was a chance that Jenny’s thread would slice Claire’s in half. It was razor sharp and had cut me before when I’d tried to interfere with it. But that didn’t happen. The two vines, fat and thin, Laurel and Hardy, stuck together.