Huckleberry Finn Kindle

For centuries, witches have fallen victim to the cruel tradition of witch-hunting. Baila is their only hope at salvation but she destroys all chances the witches have to gain power and freedom by repeating the horrible mistake that started the witch hunt. Hunted and ashamed, Baila dives into more trouble by trespassing into werewolf territory where the ruthless lycan king reigns. When she faces him, she realises that stories of his brutality may just be stories and not the truth. Time is running out and thousands of witches are being slaughtered because of her mistake but Baila's plan to use the lycan king to save her people gets complicated when she finds herself falling. Will the lycan king catch her? If he does, all hell will break loose and every dying flame and hatred against lycans and werewolves will be kindled.

As Shawn’s stay-at-home Luna, I spent twelve winters scrubbing his floors and washing his clothes until my knuckles bled, and he called me Low-rent. I bore his children. I forged his son’s armor with my own hands. I waited for him to take me back to my birth pack—but he chose his adopted sister, Marga, over me, even for a simple journey to my father’s coastal lands. At dawn, I dried my tears and swallowed every ounce of bitterness. Then I returned to the territory I had abandoned and became the heir to the Pearlcoast Pack. The wife Alpha Shawn discarded now rules everything he cannot touch. And the word he feared most—alone—is the word I finally taste as power.

The night I found out, I almost fixed it. Almost. My assignment had been changed to Everglades Academy. Two thousand miles south. Swamp territory. Three omegas died there last year. I'd asked Kael to file my school preference. Silver Peak Academy. Together. The way we'd planned since we were twelve, lying in the snow making promises to the stars. Now the screen said Everglades. I called him immediately. He picked up on the second ring, relaxed as always. "Hey." "My assignment," I said. "It says Everglades." "Oh." Not guilt. Recalibration. "Lil came by while I was filing yours. She wanted to play a prank—switched it to Everglades for a laugh." He laughed. Light. Careless. "Deadline's tomorrow night. Just override it yourself. It takes thirty seconds." "If I hadn't checked—" "But you did check." That patience. "Fen. You always check everything. That's why she knew you'd catch it. It was just a joke." Just a joke. So my future was a punchline. My life, someone else's entertainment. I said nothing. I packed my gear. I left for the transport hub on departure day. Kael found me at the platform. His smile was gone. "I told you to override it. You didn't change it back?" "No."

They say Don Julian Marconi would burn the world for one tear of mine. Five years ago, at the Met Gala, he spent millions to hang emeralds around my neck and swore I was his Madonna. Five years later, beneath the velvet boxes of our anniversary, I found a lace strap soaked in sin—and a fresh, crimson smear on his collar that told me exactly whose bed he’d left. I smiled. I asked him to sign a blank sheet of paper. And that meant he was agreeing to whatever I wanted. He called it love. I called it the death warrant for his empire. In fifteen days, I finalized our divorce papers. I boarded the Stella d’Oro as Serena Cole and burned Celeste Marconi to ash on the deck. Then I vanished with his fortune, his power and the one secret that would destroy him. I was the saint he worshipped. Now I am the ghost who haunts him. No groveling. No forgiveness. No second chance. Just ashes.

Bianca is dying. Acute myeloid leukemia, stage three. The family doctor told me on the phone—bone marrow transplant, only option, perfect match. Identical twins share ninety-nine percent compatibility. I crushed the diagnosis report. My name was at the top: Gemma Blackwell. But the doctor trembled, whispering apologies. A clerical error. The sick twin was Bianca. The cure was me. I had to get home. Rain lashed the taxi windows. I rehearsed the scene: Father setting down his cigar, Mother gasping, me explaining the mix-up. The report has my name, but the blood work is Bianca's. I can fix this before it's too late. My phone lit up. Family group chat. Father's message was short: [Gemma is terminal. Bianca forbidden from donation. Family decision.] My blood turned to ice. They had seen the misdelivered file. They thought I was the one dying—and they had voted to let me rot. When I pushed open the door and saw Father, I felt it— the temperature drop, the world freezing around me. Tears burned my eyes. I couldn't stop them. "Father," I said, my voice barely steady. "I have a question for you." He looked up from his cigar, annoyed. "If it were Bianca dying," I whispered. "Would you have made me give her my marrow?" The room went silent. He set down the cigar. A long pause. "No," he said finally. "Of course. We have resources. We would find another donor. We would never ask you to take that risk." I smiled a little. Just a small, sad smile. "Good," I said softly. "That's exactly what you said. Don't regret this."

My sister fled on the day of her Bonding Ceremony. I was forced to marry the Lycan King known for his brutality. Six years later, she returned. Still as bold and brazen as ever, she pressed a crimson kiss against Kael’s collar—right in front of the entire Council of Elders. Kael went rigid. Then she turned to me, her eyes gleaming with mockery. “Little sister, thank you for keeping my throne warm all these years. Now that I’m back, it’s time you gave me back my place as Luna Queen.” Silence swallowed the hall. Everyone remembered what happened when she ran away. Kael had nearly slaughtered half a rival territory in his rage. So now? I wondered too. Would this unpredictable, brutal King lose his mind for her once again?