Winter's Mourn Novels & Stories

She's on live right now and more than five hundred people have tuned in to watch my mate dance sultry. I had no doubt in my mind somehow Jane and Masha were involved with Winter being up there. She was a bartender not a stripper. Hunter slammed against the walls of my mind, completely furious. The uneasy feeling from moments ago made perfect sense now. Winter was in trouble. I could see it in her eyes as she looked down. There's fear in those depths. She didn't want to be here. Hunter snarled so loudly inside my head my vision blurred red. 'Go to mate! Now!'

I've lost everyone because I pushed them away. The tears are flowing as the words wash over me, but it's a good cry. It's a healing cry, that acts as a balm for the soul. My hips are swaying to the music and despite the emotion choking me, I'm quietly singing along. “Please come home for Christmas... Please come home for Christmas... If not for Christmas, by New Year's night...”

Her tone was sweet, but her golden eyes gleamed with fear. Rowan hesitated, his voice low. “No. Dorian said… Mira’s been dead for three winters.” “Dead?” Voss’s brow furrowed. “Impossible. She’s hiding, trying to guilt us. You know how dramatic she was.” He didn’t answer. The silence pressed between them like fog before a storm. Voss sighed, feigning sympathy. “That must be it. Mira’s still angry over what happened three years ago. If she refuses to help, then fine—maybe I should turn myself in to the Elders.”

"Don't kill him! He's my friend's brother—he's family. My friend will be devastated if her brother dies." The Hunter's smile fades, replaced by a look of impatience. "Enough with the excuses," he growls, raising the stake above his head. Winter's eyes go wide with fear, and then, something changes. Her gaze hardens, her jaw setting in determination. "No!" she screams, the sound echoing through the yard like a thunderclap. A forcefield of wind explodes from her body, like a bomb going off, the shockwave rippling through the atmosphere.

On the day I was diagnosed with stage four cancer, Vivian Cross handed me a contract for a divorce reality show. I already knew that meant she'd lost another bet to her secretary, Miles Smith. They'd made ninety-nine bets over the years, and every time, Vivian let herself lose on purpose. She lost the house we decorated for our wedding. She lost the wedding itself. She even lost our son's body, handing him over so Miles could satisfy his twisted curiosity about the human body. Our baby had been seven months along when they donated his remains. He'd been so small. Vivian slid the contract across to me, tapping the papers. "Ethan, I lost another bet. It's just a reality show. Help me keep M

Dad's fingers trembled as he tried to open it, but he kept missing the button. Finally, Uncle Arnold reached over with a shaky hand and tapped it for him. The image was taken under the harsh light of a flashlight. The background was a stark landscape of white snow and black rock. Curled up in the snowdrift was a livid, purple-blue figure. His thin windbreaker was torn to shreds, exposing a gaunt, bony back beneath. The person's face was buried in the snow, his expression impossible to make out. But his hand—raised high, frozen mid-air—was clenched around a half sheet of blood-stained paper in a death grip.

His sincerity and remorse were palpable, and it was evident that he grappled with the consequences of his past actions. "I apologise for the things I said at the council. And I wish I could take it all back. But I was overwhelmed. I really apologise, and I am glad she is with you. You will be able to give her the things I couldn't. Do for her what I couldn't and protect her better than I could," Brandon expressed, laying bare his remorse and acknowledging the reality of Winter's happiness lying with me. His words resonated with genuine pain, and it was evident that losing Winter had left an indelible mark on him.

"How… How could this be…?" Seeing her anguish, Nurse Faith quickly tried to comfort her. "Chief, it's alright. You have to let him go…" "Yes, I have to let him go…" Winter's eyes turned blank as she laughed miserably. "Could you do the same if you killed the one you love the most? Can you?" Nurse Faith felt pained as she looked into those empty eyes too—she had never seen such despair, misery, and endless helplessness in Winter's eyes. Nurse Faith tried to say something but eventually breathed a long sigh as she had no words that could comfort Winter. "It's not your fault, chief."

“Zayn MacQuoid, you can’t be this selfish! I’m working hard right now. I can’t have kids!” I compromised to quell her anger. I valued her career, but she resigned so that she could take care of Charles and Caleb better. Besides, she used the money I had saved for retirement for Caleb’s wedding. My leg hurt terribly during that winter, but I was too poor to see a doctor. Moreover, the temperature at home was freezing. It made me shiver. I tried calling Layla for money, but she hung up on me repeatedly. I could not hold on since I was old. In the end, I froze to death.

She wiggled her eyebrows at me—as if what she were saying made the idea somehow more appealing. "It's a private school." I chuckled, shaking my head at the stupidity I found in her statement. "Every dance we have is invested with over thousands of dollars. They're all the biggest." "Yes—but this one is the winter one which is always better than the spring one." Preslie retorted, her tone defensive. "Yeah—peanut butter and jelly is always better with bread." I rolled my eyes, sighing at my weak comeback. "How does the season signify which will be better?"