Wicked Willows Novels & Stories

POV: Siena Blake The moment the words “I miss you” left my lips, I wanted to choke on them. They tasted like ash, like decay, like something I should have buried long ago but was now forced to resurrect. Every syllable scraped against my throat, bitter and vile, but I let them fall anyway. I had to. I needed to. Because if Zane wanted me to play the part of the shattered, heartbroken woman who was too desperate to move on, the woman still clinging to the ruins of a love that never existed, I would give him that.

I smiled innocently at her. “No, that’s not why I’m here,” Willow snapped. “I’ve come for the missing pages from my mother’s perfume notebooks.” “What missing pages?” My tone was pleasant, despite Willow’s hostility. “Don’t play innocent, Beatrice,” Willow seethed. “I don’t have time for your games. I know you took them. Now hand them over.”

My younger sister, Ivy White, died the day before the new semester started. She jumped from the 16th floor of Redwood Heights, where our family lived. She didn't bleed much, her head twisted to one side. Her body was curled in a pool of blood. It was eerie that her face wore a smile. When people saw the expression on Ivy's face, they all gasped. She was so young, yet her smile looked unnaturally sinister and cruel. It gave everyone goosebumps.

“Being a werewolf isn't enough? You gotta be something else on top of that?” Troy asks, turning fully toward him and crossing her arms over her chest. “So, what are you then?” The wind moves softly over the hilltop, carrying the scent of grass and distant pine from the forest below. Jackal stands a few feet away from them, lazily chewing on the tall grass while flicking his tail every now and again. Dorian glances at her before tilting his head slightly.

Willow wasn’t sure she should approach the gathering, so she slowly looked around the area closer to her. On a table to her right were various sex toys: dildos, vibrators, butt plugs, and a few things Willow didn’t recognize. A small card in the middle of the toys read, “Find all these and more at Censored Gifts!” Hanging on the wall above the table were whips and floggers, which both instilled fear and made her pussy tingle more than it already was.

Now, as they have crossed the border, Willow on my order used her magic to make a magical screen on the wall from where I was able to watch my mate and Adrian. I really appreciated her for the effort, it took her more than an hour to fetch their location and connect her trick behind them, it was impressive and stunning. I am glad that Margaret came here and told us the true story of South Hills Pack. I am not hating the idea of having a witch in the pack, but condition is that she has to be a good witch and not like those three, pure evil and disgust.

But all that was left was heaping piles of ashes. The pain kept spreading, like every inch of my skin was being ripped apart. “Aaah!” I screamed, falling to my knees. The wind cried out violently, and I could hear trees breaking. The darkness. It was taking over me. Stop fighting it, Evelyn. “Eve!” I heard my name. I needed reality. Just a touch, please, please… PLEASE! The earth I stood on dropped to the ground with force fitting back into where it was before. I couldn’t feel much. It was like I was watching myself slowly disappear, and I couldn’t do much about it. Arms wrapped around me, and I felt a beam of heat hit my face. Slowly, I faded out, the last thing on my mind being three words

How much alcohol is in that drink, and how did it give me a different kind of confidence? It's all vivid now! The scenes played over and over in my head like a broken record. From the dinner, the concert, and the conversation on the balcony. I couldn't believe I was the one who initiated the conversation! Just what the fuck, Nola Florentina?! But hold on a second. What if they were all simply a dream? When I looked at the bed, I noticed bloodstains, which indicated that my cherry had popped. I know everything was real, but there's a part of me that wishes it had all been a dream. The stain on the bed and the soreness in my genitals are proof that it was all real.

It was as if the whole place was shaking from its foundation and I am drifting away farther and farther from the ground as the taste of the air around me changes into a suffocating fog of smoke and fire. “Victoria!” it was as if someone was catching me as the intensity of hatred that started to bloom within me was staggering, to say the least. I don't even know that I'm capable of such hatred and how my heart could withstand such feelings for a single person. The vindictive part of me simmers as it grows into an overwhelming vortex of bitterness and darkness. Yet, even inside my head, I could still feel the ground shaking just as Alaric tighten his hold around my shoulders.

Turner kicked Jackson off and turned to face him, but Brodie was already on his back, digging his claws into his fur. Turner howled and shook Brodie off, then charged at him with full force. Brodie braced himself for the impact, but Jackson tackled Turner from the side, knocking him off balance. The two werewolves rolled on the ground, biting and scratching each other. Brodie joined the fray, aiming for Turner’s throat. Turner fought back with ferocity, wounding both of them with his sharp teeth and nails. He managed to free himself from their grip and ran towards the door, hoping to escape. Brodie and Jackson chased after him, determined to finish him off.