Thicker Than Water Novels & Stories

She was the lowest among them, an omega meant to serve, to obey, to be forgotten. Until the Alpha touched her. Until he marked her with words that felt like a promise... and shoved her off a cliff like she was nothing. Ayla thought betrayal had a name, a face, a heartbeat she once trusted. She thought the crashing water would be her grave. But death didn’t claim her. The dragon did. She awakens not in darkness, but in silk sheets soaked with sweat, her body wracked with fire, strangers calling her Queen Liliana. The child they beg her to bring into the world is no wolf pup, it’s something older, deeper… and hers. Now fire sings in her veins. Scales burn beneath her skin. She remembers being Ayla. But they swear she is a queen, reborn through flame and fury, the last of the dragon-blooded line. Torn between two lives, two names, two fates… Was she reborn by fate’s hand, or was she always meant to rise? Because if this isn’t death, then it must be the beginning… of the Dragon Queen.

I was six months pregnant when my husband, Michael Greene, shoved me off the edge of a yacht during a birthday party. Why? Because Lily Clement, his childhood sweetheart, had fallen into the water, and apparently, the yacht was too small for all three of us. After being pulled from the ocean, suffering from hypothermia and shock, I was taken to the hospital. Doctors determined that emergency surgery was necessary and required a family member's consent. However, no matter how many times they called, Michael never picked up. At the same time, lying in a hospital bed, I scrolled through Lily’s Instagram and saw the post she shared just hours earlier. It was a photo of the two of them, soaked but clinging to each other like lovers out of a movie. "Sometimes love comes from the most unexpected places. Thank you for always being there for me—quietly, selflessly, unshakably." That was all I needed. The day I was discharged, I left Michael a signed divorce agreement. If he wanted to be her knight in shining armor, I’d let him.

My roommate, Quinn York, is a nice person who knows how to pay one's act of benevolence back. At the orientation party, a classmate gives Quinn a cheap lipstick. She insists on repaying that classmate by giving her my expensive custom-ordered dress. When the supervisor of the girls' dorm gives Quinn a bottle of water, Quinn tells me to treat the entire class to a meal at a five-star hotel. When the campus bully, Kendrick Olsen, helps Quinn out of a sticky situation, she has the audacity to deliver me to his bed just to thank him. Because of that, I'm infected with STDs. That's when Quinn posts the report on the Internet purposefully. Since then, everyone views me as a loose woman who has zero love for herself. Not wanting to suffer from such humiliation, I decide to take my own life by jumping off a building. When I open my eyes again, I've returned to the orientation party. Since Quinn likes repaying others that much, she should be the one doing the actual repaying!

“Fuck, Ada…”“Brad...oh, fuck... deeper... harder!” Ada’s shrill voice begged between breathy moans.The banging of the headboard against the wall intensified as Ann froze. No... it couldn’t be!Ann took a deep breath and nudged the door a little more. Her chest felt like it would explode as she held her breath whilst the crack widened.When it revealed her sister lying underneath her husband-to-be, her hands flew to her mouth to stifle the gasp of horror as her heart shattered instantly.As Brad roared his release inside her sister, Ada turned her head towards the door with a smirk.An icy chill descended over Ann as if a bucket of ice water had been thrown over her and she stood and stared, her eyes wide and mouth slightly open in disbelief.Ada lifted her hand and waved in Ada’s direction with a smug smile plastered on her face as Brad collapsed on top of her, kissing her neck tenderly.Is there anything you can do if your mate had sex with your sister?

When I was seven years old, my father began subjecting me to extremely strict parenting. Not only did he withhold any support for my food, clothing, housing, or daily necessities, but he even charged me for drinking water in our own home. As a child, I endured relentless suffering and bullying. When I was critically injured by a vehicle that broke the law, I was severely injured, and my father refused to save me. Only after my death did I learn the truth that he already had a son somewhere out there. Everything he did to me was meant to drive me to my death. After rebirth, I no longer adhered to rules nor endured silently. Exploiting the fact that I was still a minor, I stabbed his secretary, bullied my classmates at school, and even set a fire on campus to force my father to give up on his brutal methods. When I grew up, I took everything he owned and sent him to prison. Only then was my revenge completed.

On the first day that my parents' biological daughter, Lilith Ashbourne, comes home, everyone praises her refined temperament. They say even her body exudes a pleasant fragrance. I was born with the ability to see both the living and the dead. So, only I know that it's actually the stench of a corpse at its worst. In my previous life, I tried my best to persuade my parents and my childhood friends not to bring her home. However, they were convinced that I was jealous. They said that I was petty and intolerant. Left with no other choice, I kept warning them and trying my best to drive her away again and again. After the last time I chased Lilith out, she ran out crying. She accidentally fell into the water and couldn't be found again. They blamed everything on me and forced my head into a toilet, drowning me alive. When I open my eyes again, I choose to stay silent. After all, one can't save people who are determined to die.

My parents were stranded in the middle of a blistering desert—no water, temperatures through the roof—while my wife, Michelle Reid, was three miles away building a splash park for her buddy Teddy Williams's dog. By the time I found them, they had already died of thirst. Their bodies were decomposing in the sun. I called Michelle, livid. She brushed it off like it was nothing. "I told you I was in a meeting. They're just lacking a little water. Relax." Then she added, "If they're still alive, don't give them any water. Let Teddy 'stumble' onto them during his livestream—he can hand them a bottle on camera. It'll be great for his numbers." She paused awhile before continuing, "And if they're already dead? Say Teddy found them. Makes his survivalist act look more legit." I laughed—because every word out of her mouth was for Teddy. But she didn't realize: the ones who died of thirst were her parents—my in-laws.

My roommate was a classic bimbo. When I went to arrange a jogging meetup, she mistyped it as a hookup and sent it straight into the group chat, then burst into tears and claimed she didn't know how to retract the message. When I went to meet my jogging buddy, she told everyone that she ran into my "hookup buddy." At the end, she even covered her mouth and giggled sweetly, saying, "I always mix words up." After a few stunts like that, my reputation was utterly ruined, and the entire class shut me out. Later, she used her "clumsiness" as an excuse to spike my milk with sleeping pills, causing me to miss a major exam. She even dropped toxic bacteria into my water cup and killed me outright. And all of it was over something that stupid: the guy she had a crush on had casually helped me carry my luggage on the first day of school. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the very first day of freshman orientation. This time, I am going to let her experience what it felt like to be ruined—and killed—by a so-called idiot.

I quickly rushed ahead and saw her lying near the edge where the huge cut tree had fallen a few days ago. Half of her body was resting in water while the other half was resting on the side of the tree. "No," I whispered as I ran ahead, instantly jumping into the river and grabbing her body, pulling it into my arms. I was sniffling and trying to hold back my tears while I swam back to land. Once she was placed on the ground, I looked at her helplessly, tears running down my cheeks. My body was trembling, and my wolf was whimpering loudly. I felt nauseous, and my head was throbbing badly. "She's fine," I said to myself in a cracked voice as I raised my hand and placed it on her chest. "Alpha!" Harvey called when he reached where I was. I looked at him with blurry vision, then back at my mate. "Why?" I whispered in a cracked voice. "Why can't I feel her heartbeat, Harvey?" I asked with a heavy heart, then moved my hand to my chest as I felt like I was suffocating.

As soon as I get off the surgical table after my miscarriage, my husband, Presley Quinn, sends me a text message. "You were ten cents short when you paid your share of the power bill this month. Transfer the money to me immediately." I can only sit on the cold bench in the hospital on my own. The anesthesia has yet to wear out, but my belly is already hurting so much that I can practically feel it constricting on itself. The next thing I know, a new post appears on my social media homepage. It's a post made by Vivienne Ashford, the intern Presley is in charge of tutoring. In the photo, Vivienne can be seen holding a bouquet of flowers folded from money bills. A bright and radiant smile blooms on her face. The four-leaf clover necklace adorning her neck is the same necklace I've seen in Presley's purchase history two days ago. The caption of the photo writes, "I don't want a lot of money. I want a ton of love instead." Only then do I remember that today is Valentine's Day as well as my fifth-year anniversary with Presley. Over the past five years, Presley and I have been splitting every single bill, down to two decimal places. If I take a shower for more than 20 minutes, Presley demands that I pay extra for the water heater's power bill. When I cook myself some supper in the middle of the night, Presley wants me to split the gas bill generated by the stove. Even when my mom is hospitalized due to kidney failure and is waiting for her surgical bills to be settled, Presley refuses to lend me a single cent. Instead, he sends me a few links leading to web loans. As I stare at the social media feed, I chuckle all of a sudden. It turns out that Presley does know how to spend money. It's just that he doesn't have the heart to spend it on me. I smile once again as I leave a like on the post. Then, I transfer the ten cents to Presley. From now on, I don't owe him any single penny.