Unscented Novel Emilia And Wesley Novels & Stories

Her hand touched a small box with an unusual symbol on it that seemed to glow like the sun. She pulled open the lid and picked up the book inside to see it. She read its name under her breath, "Exorcism: Eldritch Werewolves." Her eyes widened when she found out it was a witchcraft book about werewolves. The words "magic" and "witches" didn't sound right in her mind, and she didn't want to believe the things she was reading, but somehow she did. She put the book back into the box and saw the ashes that scattered nearby. From among the ashes, she saw a half-burnt picture of Emily and the scarf she had given her on her last birthday. It brought tears to Esen's eyes.

“Say you want this.” “I hate you,” she panted. “But don’t fucking stop.” He didn’t. He pulled out, spun her again, lifted her back onto the counter. Spread her thighs wide, hooked her knees over his elbows, thrust back inside. The new angle let him hit deep inside her with every stroke. Emilia’s nails dug into his shoulders, drawing blood. He grabbed a nearby spoon—still warm from plating—and pressed the flat of it against her clit while he fucked her—cold metal against swollen nerves. She bucked, and cried out.

Emilia's breath caught up in her chest and she struggled but he was too powerful for her. Emilia’s breath hitches as his cold tongue grazes her ears. She held her wiggles but the firmness of his touch sent a wave of pleasure all over her body. This was new; such feelings were new but pleasing in a way she could not understand. “Fredrick…please no.” Her words came out much more scared than confident. The smirk on his face never faded. “And who says it’s Frederick? ….. Dark is the name, baby doll.” Emilia's eyes widen, her body involuntarily trembling. Tales of men losing power to their wolves, but she has never seen one…at least not until now. His red eyes shone with confidence and mischief.

The small room felt hot, and the air was thick with Emilia’s perfume as the women stared each other off. Emilia finally sighed and rolled her eyes. “What do you want?” She snapped again. Fixing her hair to look busy. Delilah raised the book. “I need to know. What inspired this book of yours? Tell me everything.” A knowing smile spread across her lips as she saw the book. Her eyes had a glassy, distant look like she was high on Mount Everest. “It came from my college days, Delilah. All the stories we’d hear about these whoring, loose girls screwing boys all over school, while acting like saints.

I wonder what mental facility Emilia was shoved in to believe that guy was someone who could treat her right. She deserves so much better than whatever comes with Zane. Footsteps approach, light and familiar. I don’t even turn when she steps up beside me — I knew she would. Emilia leans against the rail, the night breeze teasing strands of curly hair across her face. She smells like tequila and citrus and something warmer, something uniquely her. I don’t speak. Neither does she. She shifts beside me, like she’s searching for the right words. But I don’t want to hear anything about how she can’t move on from him or how the body shots messed with her head so I beat her to it. “Had fun?”

I could not understand whatever madness the universe was trying to sell to me because, how can the moon goddess give a maid as my mate? Marcel exhaled slowly, as if I had asked him for the hundredth time. “And yet your wolf disagrees.” I said nothing because he was right. The moment she walked into my room, my wolf was not calm anymore. He kept screaming. Mate. Mate. Mate. And it echoed inside my skull like something trying to break free from a cage and every time I tried to suppress it, it grew sharper and more violent. The door swung open and both of us turned at the same time. And there she was again.

Orwell sleeps at my feet. I used to think I needed chaos to create. Adrenaline. The threat of disaster. The pressure of a con about to go sideways. But the words come easier now. Slower, maybe, but truer. Because I'm not writing lies anymore. I'm writing to you. --- Emilia visits in October. She comes alone — Sophie is home with Luna, who's teething and miserable and apparently determined to make everyone else miserable too. "Marriage is chaos," Emilia says, collapsing onto the porch swing.

Ember says, and I hear footsteps retreating from the library doorway. I mask my scent as they walk away. I didn’t want them to know I was listening in on their conversation, so I unmasked my scent. It’s confusing, but my real scent isn’t the one they all know. It's my masked scent. Except for my mate, none of them can tell I'm the same person when my scent is masked and unmasked. It’s a gift and a curse. Opening my book, I continue to read, hoping to finish this chapter before Ember finds out I am around. ***

"Yeah, well, being brilliant doesn't seem to count for much around here." The elevator dinged, and we stepped out into the lobby. The setting sun streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, bathing everything in a warm, golden glow. For a moment, I let myself imagine what it would be like to walk out of here for the last time, to leave behind the politics and the frustration and just... start over. "Earth to Emilia," Mary said, waving a hand in front of my face. "Where'd you go just now?" I shook my head, pushing the daydream aside. "Nowhere important. So, what exactly does one wear to a mysterious, exclusive club?"

~Emilia Opening my swollen eyes slowly to behold the sunlight, I knew I had to fix the mess I dragged Adrian into. The light crept in through the thin gap in the curtains, pale and quiet, like it was afraid of waking me fully. My eyes burned, heavy from a night with no real sleep. Still, I forced them open, letting the morning air brush my skin. It smelled clean—dew, dust, and something faintly sweet—yet my chest felt tight, as if sadness had soaked into every breath I took.