To The Bone Undertale Lyrics Novels & Stories

I am the white wolf princess of the Coyote Pack. By the Moon Goddess’s decree, Barry was meant to be my fated mate. But during the peace negotiations, he gave me away—to Bayport’s crippled warrior, Colin—as a “hostage bride.” Barry smiled carelessly, his voice cruelly tender. “Emily, let me complete the bond with Evelyn first. This is just a deal. You are still my true Luna.” My nails bit into my palms, pain hollowing out my chest. Evelyn was nothing but a low-blood she-wolf he had rescued from the border. Yet for her, he used a truce marriage alliance to force me into surrender. Later, when I sought him out, I found him tending Evelyn’s wounds, wrapping her with gentle hands. He looked up, his tone light as if it cost him nothing. “If you let Evelyn be my mate alongside you, and divide half of your inheritance for her, I will withdraw the marriage alliance order.” I took off the bone pendant he once risked his life to give me and held it out to him. But he let it slip from his hand, shattering it against the floor. “If you don’t want it,” he said coldly, “then throw it away.” On the eve of the wedding alliance, Evelyn fell to her knees before the pack, sobbing as she accused me of hiding the Alpha’s Contract Stone—to help Colin breach our borders. The crowd erupted in whispers. Barry admitted it was he who had gifted me the stone, yet still turned on me, demanding: “If I ask for it back, will you return it?” At that moment, I finally let every hope die.

I'm Caleb Jennings. When I announce my early retirement, everyone in the city cheers. Only Nathan Sloan, my junior from the police academy, who claims to be able to see things from the criminal's perspective, panics at the news. During the party organized in his honor, he openly states his intention to find me. "I owe my success to the guidance Caleb Jennings has provided me all along. I hope everyone can help me find him and bring him back into the police force." Scoffing, I choose to ignore that. … In my previous life, I was the celebrated captain of a criminal investigation team. Yet, whenever I uncovered a clue, Nathan, a rookie in the city police department, would announce it first, beating me to it. After multiple incidents like this, everyone started saying that I was past my prime. To prove myself, I worked myself to the bone for three months before finally locating the hideout of a human trafficking ring. However, when I arrived on the scene with my team, Nathan had already swept through the place. He was launched into stardom, becoming the rising star detective that everyone adored. As for me, the public mercilessly tore me apart, labeling me as incompetent and shaming me. Due to the pressure from work and the negative public opinion directed at me, my mind was distracted. I ended up getting killed while hunting down the remnants of the trafficking ring. When I open my eyes again, I find that I'd gone back in time—to the day we launch a raid on the human traffickers' hideout.

After Cain called off our mate-bonding ceremony for the ninth time—calling it off for the sake of his childhood sweetheart—the Alpha himself came to the Abel family estate to deliver an apology in person. "We are prepared to offer an additional 300kg of frost iron, three hunting territories west of Silvermoon Forest, and nine forges in the pack compound," he announced. "Consider this reparations for the nine broken betrothals." Before his words even faded, Cain's laughter crackled through the phone speaker. "Dad, is she honestly worth that kind of price? I could toss her a half-rotted beast bone soaked in moonlight and she'd still come crawling. You'd be better off funneling those resources into Lina's beast-training arena." The old Alpha ended the call without a second thought. His golden wolf eyes shifted toward me, heavy with visible unease. The gathered wolves stifled their snickers, their throats rippling with suppressed laughter. Every pair of eyes fixed on me, gleaming with anticipation of the show. They all expected me to swallow the humiliation, just as I always had. After all, every wolf in Silvermoon Pack knew the tale: I, the Abel family daughter, had been pining for Cain, the Alpha King's youngest son, for years. Pathetic and devoted. But I'd endured this exact scene eight times before. I was done with it. And more than that, I was done with him. A beat of silence passed. Then I lifted my gaze, searching the crowd until I found the one face Cain despised most: his older brother, Cass. A slow smile curved my lips. "Whoever I claim as my mate inherits the Alpha title," I said. "Does that promise still stand?"

Whenever the Alpha's little sister suffered an episode, my Luna ceremony would end in disaster. On the first attempt, my wine was laced with honey, and I ended up having a stroke from an allergic reaction, with the entire pack laughing at me. On the second attempt, I was stabbed three times in the stomach, rendering me infertile. On the third attempt, a lunatic rogue wolf barged in and crushed every bone in my finger, cutting short my pianist career right then. Whenever I tried to express grief, Yohan Schmidt would always take Eva Brown's side. "She suffered mental regression to save me. Be the bigger person and don't hold it against her." "Next time—the next ceremony will be perfect, I promise." He made that promise 99 times over three years, and on the 100th attempt, Eva gave up on all pretense and set the wedding hall on fire. I was burned to a crisp and had to heal for a month. Through it all, Yohan nursed me and fed me a ton of medicine… until I overheard him talking to Andy King, the shaman. "You're truly ruthless, Alpha. She was thoroughly burned because she was trying to save you, but you're feeding her a suppressant that stifles her regeneration. Over time, she will succumb to her injuries!" Yohan shrugged nonchalantly. "I just can't stand her bullying Eva. Eva saved my life—so what if Yvie Stark pays for it with my life?" Tears rolled down my cheeks in silence. So even his warmth and tenderness was nothing more than cold deception. In that case, I should just leave.

In the third year that I've been diagnosed with late-stage bone cancer, Xenia Jensen, the ex-girlfriend whom I have "abandoned" back then, barges into my rented apartment with the rest of her team that she leads as a police captain. Every day, I have to rely on large amounts of morphine just so I can force myself to stand like a regular human being. I can only twitch violently as I try to grab a pill bottle on the table, my skin completely riddled with needle marks. Xenia chuckles icily as she savors how pathetic I look. "Oh? It's been seven years since we last met, and yet I never thought you'd stoop so low as to become a drug addict. "Where did your gusto to get a better, richer girlfriend go? I can't believe you're willing to humiliate yourself just for some so-called medicine!" As soon as Xenia's words fall, I point at the pill bottle with a trembling finger. "Please, officer… Can you please give me my medicine?" Xenia chortles in response. She picks up the bottle before walking toward the bathroom, soon flushing it down the toilet. "You want your medicine? Go ask the peeps at the rehab for it! It seems both your heart and your body are rotten to the core after you left me for another woman!" I'm in so much pain that I'm convulsing violently right now. "Oh… Then… Am I going to die?" I curl up on the floor, hoping to tide over the latest wave of pain by using the method my doctor has taught me. But Xenia merely gazes at me coldly from the side. In fact, she starts recording me, saying that she wants to make me a living negative example.

After one year of marriage, Nadia Lincoln still remembered every good thing Quinton Zeller had done for her. Grateful for the life they shared, she worked herself to the bone to support his career and played the part of the perfect wife. In return, Quinton gave her a gift of his own. He got involved with an actress, got caught in a scandalous outdoor hookup that left them both nearly frozen to death, and turned Nadia into a joke among the city’s wealthy wives overnight. But Nadia was not about to play the victim. Without hesitation, she hit back where it hurt most and posted the intimate video of Quinton and that woman online. The couple who had once seemed so loving ended up tearing each other apart with the cruelest words. He tried to force her to raise his illegitimate child as her own, then tried to drive her out of the Zeller family with nothing. Quinton was certain she would eventually come crawling back and remain Mrs. Zeller, obedient as ever. In his mind, he had only made the kind of mistake all men made. Besides, without him, Nadia had no one to rely on. But after all that waiting, he finally discovered that the woman he had once believed could only survive by depending on him was actually a world-class floral artist whose work had once been so exclusive that even the richest people in the world could not buy it. By the time regret finally caught up with him, Quinton was the one on his knees, begging her to spare the Zeller family. But Nadia already had another man by her side, someone who could crush Quinton into the dust without a second thought. All Quinton could do was watch as Nadia moved on, remarried, had children, and rose higher and higher, becoming someone he could never hope to reach again.

When my best friend died, his wife, Mia Lewis, was eight months pregnant. Mia said she didn't want her baby growing up without a father. I owed my best friend my life. He saved me, literally pulled me from death's door. So I stepped up, marrying Mia and raising their son as my own. Mia loved her career, so I quit mine. Traded my job for diapers and school runs. For seven whole years, I cooked, cleaned, folded laundry, and handled the housework. Rain or shine, sickness or health, I was there—every single day. Mia, though? She stayed cold, distant. Her warmth only surfaced in the bedroom—and even then, it was a flicker, never a flame. Just soft sighs and breathy murmurs, like she was playing a role she couldn't wait to finish. Afterward, she would quietly check the condom, as if she couldn't trust me. Then came New Year's Eve. A snap. A tear. A broken condom. Her fury struck like a thunderclap. She locked me out on the balcony, left me standing in the freezing rain, soaked to the bone as the wind howled like a wounded beast. Teeth chattering, I shivered as I watched the door like a dog, waiting to be let in. Then I saw him. Our boy, Ethan Bailey. Six years old. My son, at least in name. He came running with an umbrella in his hand. For a second, my heart leapt. 'Maybe, just maybe…' But he didn't even look at me. Just walked past in silence and handed the umbrella to the nanny heading out. Right then and there, something inside me cracked. I knew it was time to go.

Bianca is dying. Acute myeloid leukemia, stage three. The family doctor told me on the phone—bone marrow transplant, only option, perfect match. Identical twins share ninety-nine percent compatibility. I crushed the diagnosis report. My name was at the top: Gemma Blackwell. But the doctor trembled, whispering apologies. A clerical error. The sick twin was Bianca. The cure was me. I had to get home. Rain lashed the taxi windows. I rehearsed the scene: Father setting down his cigar, Mother gasping, me explaining the mix-up. The report has my name, but the blood work is Bianca's. I can fix this before it's too late. My phone lit up. Family group chat. Father's message was short: [Gemma is terminal. Bianca forbidden from donation. Family decision.] My blood turned to ice. They had seen the misdelivered file. They thought I was the one dying—and they had voted to let me rot. When I pushed open the door and saw Father, I felt it— the temperature drop, the world freezing around me. Tears burned my eyes. I couldn't stop them. "Father," I said, my voice barely steady. "I have a question for you." He looked up from his cigar, annoyed. "If it were Bianca dying," I whispered. "Would you have made me give her my marrow?" The room went silent. He set down the cigar. A long pause. "No," he said finally. "Of course. We have resources. We would find another donor. We would never ask you to take that risk." I smiled a little. Just a small, sad smile. "Good," I said softly. "That's exactly what you said. Don't regret this."

One of Ethan Sterling's closest friends got drunk and humiliated me. Called me a nobody orphan who married above her station, said I'd never be accepted by the Sterlings, that I wasn't fit to sit at their table. Ethan smashed a bottle over the man's head. He announced in front of everyone that if anyone ever disrespected me again, he'd make them pay. When I was pregnant and the morning sickness was so brutal I couldn't keep anything down, he went and scheduled a vasectomy. He didn't want me to suffer through another pregnancy. This was a man who loved me like I was his whole world. And yet — when I was lying on the operating table about to give birth, he was standing right in front of me with his arms around Iris, putting on a show for anyone watching. Iris was the daughter of another old-money family and she'd donated bone marrow to save Ethan's mother's life. The night before her own engagement, her fiance betrayed her, and the trauma wiped her memory clean. Now the only thing she knew for certain was that Ethan Sterling was her husband. In her world, I was the homewrecker — the scheming woman using the bastard in her belly to force her husband into a divorce. Ethan promised me it was all an act. Just repaying the debt for his mother's life. Once Iris recovered, he'd walk away from her immediately. But when I picked up the surgical consent form for him to sign, and his first instinct was to pull Iris behind him — to shield her — I knew. His heart had already drifted off course. The fairy tale of a Cinderella marrying into high society was over. Time to wake up.

Luke moved then. Fast. Too fast. One second he was across the room, the next he was in front of her, towering over her like a wall of heat and fury. His hands came up, gripping her arms not gently, not cruelly, but with a force that said he was one second from shattering. “You think I don’t fight for you every damn day?” His voice was low, dangerous, vibrating with something raw. “You think I don’t take bullets for you behind the scenes? Every single move I make is to keep you breathing, Abigail. So don’t you dare stand there and act like I’m doing nothing.” Her breath hitched, but the anger didn’t stop burning. “Then say it to her. Say it to their faces instead of hiding behind silence like a coward!” Something snapped in his eyes then something sharp and blazing. And before Abigail could blink, his mouth was on hers. The kiss wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t sweet. It was a collision hard, punishing, desperate. All the rage, the fear, the need that had been coiling between them exploded like fire. Abigail gasped against him, her hands going up to his chest, meaning to push him away except she didn’t. Just couldn’t. Because the second his tongue slid against hers, the second his body pressed flush against hers, every bone in her body melted. Luke growled low in his throat, a sound that made heat curl deep in her belly. He spun her, slamming her gently but firmly against the wall, his hands framing her face as he devoured her mouth like he’d been starving for years.