Under The Oak Tree Uncensored Novels & Stories

Those witches snickered as they walked closer, their lips parted and joined and they appeared at Weston Hills High. “Come on.” Dania said. A werewolf was seen holding the firestone while the oak tree opened up leading into the emptiness called the unbinding. The school was so quiet. It was sixteen years back, but they weren't many differences. The oak tree was smaller than it was in the present day, but it was more alive. These women surrounded the oak tree while Edmond and his comrades collided with it before being consumed by the nothingness. A dagger appeared and each witch cut their palms, their blood dripped on the floor, quickly creeping up to the oak tree. The tree glowed when their b

Cat's last email replayed over and over in my mind like a sinister song, highlighting the shadows in Lachlan's past that seemed to loom over me. Then, I saw it: a grand oak tree, its gnarled branches stretching skyward, beckoning me closer. I didn't understand what it was doing here on a desert island. And more than that, how did Cat tell me to meet her at an oak tree just yesterday and here was an oak tree. What the fuck was this?

My body betrayed me with a warm ache between my thighs. 'Alright,' I said finally, voice steadier than I felt. 'But where? Right here on the road?' 'Nah, too exposed.' He jerked his head toward the woods. 'Follow me.' We trudged into the trees, branches snagging at my jeans, the ground soft and muddy underfoot. Moonlight filtered through the canopy in silver slivers, casting shadows that danced like secrets. He stopped maybe fifty yards in, by a massive oak, its trunk wide and gnarled. The air was thicker here, alive with the scent of wet earth and pine. Far enough from the road that no one would hear...or care.

Most striking is the tree's response—its leaves shiver and rustle though no wind stirs them, branches bending subtly toward Maris as if straining to hear her better. I pause at the clearing's edge, unsure whether to interrupt what appears to be a private communion. But as I watch, thin tendrils of golden energy flow from the tree into Maris's palms, spiraling up her arms like living vines before disappearing beneath her skin. The sight is both beautiful and unsettling. Before I can retreat, Maris speaks without turning. "The oak remembers when this land was ocean floor." Her voice carries easily across the clearing. "Its roots touch water that hasn't seen sunlight in ten thousand years."

But every year, at the same time, one of her comrades delivered a pack of shortbread cookies. At 60, I taught my final class. Before the bell rang, I looked out toward the hillside. A flourishing willow tree stood there. My son lay beneath it. "Cyrus, Dad misses you." —The End

It was the ancient grove. It was the exact same clearing where Cullen and I had shared our true mate run months ago, long before the war with Bronson had consumed our lives. The massive, ancient oak tree stood in the center of the grove, its thick, bare branches reaching up toward the gray winter sky. The snow covering the ground was completely untouched, smooth and perfect. Cullen stopped in the center of the clearing, directly beneath the sweeping branches of the ancient oak. He turned to face me. The playful, relaxed energy he had carried on the walk up the mountain suddenly vanished, replaced by a deep, profound intensity that made the true mate bond in my chest flare brilliantly.

As soon as the car stopped rolling, Dominic gave Leesa a quick thumbs up—the signal they had agreed on that she should proceed as planned. She grabbed the ivory box from her bag and got out of the car. After waiting for a truck to flash by, she hurried across the road and found the spot Dominic had described to her. The old oak tree—almost twice as thick as any of its neighbors—was just barely visible from the highway. Its gnarled branches spread wide in every direction, and Leesa could imagine the huge canopy of shade they would provide when the leaves grew back. She imagined the tree had probably been left standing sometime far back in the past while its neighbors were felled for lumber an

He worked smooth, making his cut clean, his shoulders locked as he buried the blade deep into the heart of the tree. ​The giant oak groaned once, a sound like tearing iron, before its top tilted toward the creek. ​"Marcus! Pull!" Kaelen shouted over the roar of the saw. ​Marcus dropped the tractor into low gear, the logging chain snapping tight as the machine roared, its tires spitting chunks of wet turf behind it. With a loud crack that echoed off the rock faces of the quarry, the oak gave way, crashing down straight across the creek lane. Its heavy branches dug deep into the soft dirt of the far bank, completely blocking the trail with a wall of green branches and solid wood.

The sound of soft weeping draws my attention to one of the few remaining trees on the lot, a large, aged oak that at this distance I can see a patch of pale skin contrasting with the tree's wood. I change the course of thoughts of the past with the inopportune curiosity of discovering who is hiding, I look over my shoulder confirming the endless line of associates sucking up to the most important new name within the mafia, with his pet dog beside him feigning pain with the loss. The funereal atmosphere is not strange, the cold wind raises some fallen leaves despite the clear sky at that moment the announcement of the storm lurks around the corners like the darkness in my chest, hidden by the

Instead, I opened it. The first page was already too much—bare skin, silk ropes, commands written in clean, dangerous fonts. It was like falling down a rabbit hole I wasn’t supposed to touch. I turned to the next page and it was a gorgeous shirtless man in just a boxer brief, his partner was wearing just panties and a bra that barely covered her nipples let alone the flesh of her br**st. Her breast pressed to his chest, one hand held her by the waist while the other squeezed her a*s as they french kissed.