Trampled Rose Novels & Stories

I smiled. Rose had mud covering her clothes, with splashes of water on her top as well. "You should change your clothes, otherwise you will catch a cold." She nodded with a sheepish smile, "I went to collect water from the river but slipped over the rock and fell." I paused but continued stirring again...the river. "Can you add the final petals and stir this? I have some work to do." Rose looked at me in shock and to my surprise, she shook her head in a no immediately, "I can't do that, you shall always complete your work other..."

I was immersed in a world that did not care about things that did not concern them, and those outside of it who cared to enquire frequently expressed their surprise at how well I handled it. I had no idea how I was handling it, but I do know that I took it upon myself to leave a rose by his bed every morning for three days. My father died so quickly that I had no chance to say goodbye to him, which turned out to be my only regret. Now that my grandfather was slowly dying, I felt compelled to say goodbye, and this was my only way of doing so.

She tossed the invitation back onto the desk with an effortless flick of her wrist, stepping directly into my space until her hand rested flat against my chest, feeling the thud of my heart. "I spent five years swallowing their insults, taking their pity, and letting them treat me like an invisible ghost," Rosemarie whispered, her dark eyes glittering with wicked resolve. "If Tracy and those arrogant elders want a show under the crystal dome... I'm going to walk into that pavilion and make every single one of them choke on their regrets.”

“The rage and the mercy. You swore once that you would remember, when the moons bled again.” “I don’t understand.” She lifted a hand. The world tilted; images burst behind her Ares bound in chains of light, Clara standing in flame, the pack beneath a burning sky. My pulse matched the heartbeat of the land. “Three nights,” she whispered. “And then the trial will choose which promise you keep.” Her fingers brushed my forehead. A brand of heat spiraled down my wrist the same pattern of light I had glimpsed before and the temple shattered into a thousand shining shards.

The waterfall roared louder than usual, but a rancid smell overpowered the usual scent of roses. Rogues were waiting for her, not Xavier. One of them was the unkempt man from the market. Rose readied herself, then she felt him. Xavier, running flat out, drawn by the bond. He burst into the clearing, eyes blazing. “Rose, run!” “No, we fight together.” Then the wild roses moved like a living thing. They had always grown thick here, but tonight they came alive. Vines wrapped her ankles, thorns gentle against her skin, petals brushing her face.

Ten years ago, I brought my distant cousin Sofia to New York after finding her cornered by her stepfather's creditors in an old Sicilian port. I taught her English, etiquette, and the laws of our world. I even introduced her to my fiancé, Alessandro Moretti. On the eve of our wedding, I found a secure family thread on my brother's computer—a thread that excluded me. My mother had written, "Sofia is pregnant. Are you really going through with tomorrow's wedding?" Alessandro replied, "The legal marriage is hers. The ceremony and the Moretti name will be Isabella's." That was when I learned they’d already gotten legally married. Our wedding was meant to seal a truce between two Mafia families a

“Like flowers… and vanilla.” “You smell like the ocean after a rainstorm,” she said, her hands working into the taut muscles of his back. She could feel him reacting to her touch between her legs and longed for him to scoop her into his strong arms and carry her into the bedroom. But Rome pulled up, climbing off of her, leaving her feeling cold and barren. “I’m so sorry, Ella. I let my emotions overtake me, and I wasn’t thinking clearly.” He was sitting on the floor next to her now, and Ella’s hard pounded out of her chest.

" There were plenty of flower shops along the way, but none of them satisfied Willow. Eventually, she picked a store that looked clean and pretty and had beautifully wrapped flowers. Willow stepped inside. The shop owner greeted her with a smile. "What kind of flowers do you want to buy, kid?" "Roses!" Willow declared boldly. She heard that roses symbolized love. If she gave roses to her parents, they would surely understand just how much she loved them. The shop owner led her to the roses. "You can choose the roses, kid." "Thank you." Willow watched carefully from the side. There were different colors of roses—white ones, red ones, and even roses that gradually transitioned from white to bl

The warm atmosphere chilled significantly at the interruption. The waiter stood there awkwardly, holding the roses, unsure whether to do as she said. When Heather remained silent, he chose to leave silently. This did not deter Charles at all. He continued to send a bouquet of roses, pink this time, to her studio every single day. None of the bouquets even made it inside; they were disposed of in the trash can almost immediately. At another art exhibition, Charles confronted Heather at the entrance and demanded why she refused to accept his flowers.

Even if the girl is a human they were still thankful for risking her life to save their Alpha. It has been years since everyone entered the Roseate Garden. There is no sign of life all of the trees and rose shrubs were dead. Drops of snow slowly poured down from the skies painting the ground with white particles. In the middle of the garden was a large fountain on top of it was a flat platform big enough to fit a person. The pack warriors laid down Iris' body on the platform. Lauriel was holding a rose and placed it within the girl's hands. She placed her hands on top of her stomach with the red rose. She can feel the coldness of her body.