Assassination Classroom Uniform Novels & Stories

"You think because you pulled me from the Blacktide Waters, you own my bloodline, Franklin?" David’s voice is a low, predatory gravel, his massive frame trapping me against the cold stone of the den. His dominant alpha scent fills the space, thick with pine and raw, untamed heat. "You made the mating pact. Now stand still and let me claim my debt." "I told you it was a joke, Double D," I snap, my fangs pricking my lip as my inner wolf thrashes against the intoxicating weight of his presence. I twist beneath his grip, but his large, heavily calloused hands slide down my spine, burning right through the silver-weave fabric of my tunic. "We are in the middle of a territory war. My family’s manor is swimming in treason, and you're worried about an accidental bond?" "There are no accidents when our wolves touch," David growls, his lips brushing the sensitive skin right below my jawline, making a violent shiver rip down my spine. "Your scent is driving my beast insane, klinton. If you don't shut your mouth and press your body against mine right now, I'm going to take you right here on the stone floor, council rules be damned." Franklin Sterling is a fierce, exiled omega heir who has spent ten harsh winters enduring the brutal Ashgrove Wildlands after surviving an assassination attempt ordered by his own father. But when a violent storm strands him on the treacherous Skullmoon Isle, he drags a lethal, dominant Apex Alpha from the jaws of the Blacktide Waters: David Duskbane, the ruthless commander known across the territories as Double D. Can Franklin navigate the lethal vipers of his old den while fighting a suffocating, erotic bond with the most dangerous predator in the northern hemisphere?

"Do you honestly think I enjoy this?" He asks, his grip around my wrist so firm, so strong, they hurt as I try to twist, to get away from him. "Enjoy seeing you squirm in my hold like this? Enjoy making you cry?" "Please let me go," I croaked, choking back tears. "Let me go, Alessio." "And then what? Risk you running back to him? You wish he would come rescue you, don't you? You love him." "I love nobody. I will never love neither of you." "And that's where we have a problem, Camille. You should love me. Me and only me. I'm your fucking husband!" — Camille Galitze is a daydreamer. Daughter of Galitze Sturm, a dangerous Bravta underboss, Camille knows her future won't be a fairy-tale, considering her father's formidable influence, and thirst for more power. Obligated to marry Richard Scarfoni, a man she doesn't love but has utmost respect for, Camille is sad. But things take a turn for the worst when, on her wedding day, Alessio Scarfoni, the rightful heir of the Bravta Mafia storms the venue, and gets married to Camille, instead of Richard. Alessio Richard is back for revenge, and all those who had a hand in his assassination attempt have their days numbered. But first, to solidify his place, he steals his younger brother's bride from underneath his thumb. Camille has only ever known Richard, but there's something about Alessio that lays just at the tip of her memory, but always out of reach each time she tries to recollect. When their twisted arrangement turns into something either of them saw coming, Camille must learn to trust and find peace in her new, blazing feelings for Alessio if she wants to live, and rule by his side as his queen.

I'm ten years older than Vincenzo Corleone. He had just turned 23 years old when he took over the Corleone family as the patriarch. A hint of teenage childishness could still be seen etched onto his youthful features. I was the one who held his hand and helped him calm the turbulence of his family affairs. I blocked three assassination attempts that were made on him. I used five years of my life to help him grow from a useless scion into the fearsome don who wielded the utmost authority in Nowork's underworld. Once, Vincenzo had embraced me in the church. He rested his forehead against my palm as he swore, "Age, identity, or the world's viewpoint of us will never stop us from being together, Freya. I will protect you with my life." But after that, he told his older brother, Marco Corleone, "Freya is too old. She's already 38 years old; I can practically smell the rot of age rolling off her. Even the crinkles in her smile disgust me to no end." Some time later, Vincenzo found himself a mistress who bore some resemblance to me. She was young and vibrant—like a white rose who had never experienced the ugly side of society. While Vincenzo gave me the title of the Donna of the Corleone family, he reserved his gentle, doting, and even passionate side for the mistress named Lina Marino. Vincenzo thinks he can pull everything off flawlessly. What he forgets is that the reason why I can establish my reputation in the underworld isn't because of his protection. I've been relying on my ruthlessness and my sharp sixth sense this whole time. When I slam the signed divorce agreement onto the spot before Vincenzo, I say with a smile, "You've fought by my side for so many years, so you should know very well that I can afford to go for high-stakes risks and withdraw my chips whenever needed. "But once I lose, someone here has to pay the price!"

I have always had an almost pathological sense of paranoia. Ever since I was a child, I was convinced that the people around me were out to get me. Back in elementary school, when everyone was lining up for their student ID photos, I flatly refused to have mine taken. I insisted that the district office was going to use my picture for identity theft. The situation escalated so badly that the principal had to personally sit me down and spend half an hour trying to convince me otherwise. Then, there was the fingerprint registration system in middle school. The school required every student to submit their fingerprints to access the campus buildings. I was so terrified that someone would steal my biometric data that I literally rubbed the skin off all ten fingertips to make them unreadable. Even when my fingers were bleeding, I kept shouting that they were trying to steal my identity. I would rather climb over the school fence every day than cooperate. Every relative I had called me crazy. My parents were so fed up that they seriously considered having me admitted to a psychiatric hospital. I did not care. I guarded my privacy with obsessive determination, gritting my teeth and holding my ground all the way up to the eve of the final exams. Then came the day before the exam. That afternoon, our homeroom teacher, Tracy Collins, walked into the classroom carrying a metal lockbox. A warm, motherly smile spread across her face as she set it down on the desk. "Everyone," she said, "to make sure nobody forgets their documents tomorrow, I'd like you to hand over your IDs and exam admission slips for safekeeping tonight." She patted the lockbox reassuringly. "Tomorrow morning, I'll personally return them to each of you outside the testing center. This way, there's absolutely nothing that can go wrong." The class was deeply moved by her thoughtfulness. Some students even looked close to tears as they eagerly pulled out their documents and lined up to hand them over. Everyone except me. My hand clamped down over my pocket so tightly that my knuckles turned white. Cold sweat poured down my back. A sharp alarm bell was ringing in my head. Trying not to attract attention, I fished out a spare flip phone from my bag, ducked beneath my desk, and dialed emergency services. As soon as the call connected, I lowered my voice and spoke into the receiver. "Hello. I'd like to report a crime. My name is Charles. "I believe a teacher at St. Alden High is working with an identity-fraud ring and is planning a large-scale operation tonight involving examination fraud and identity theft."

My family hates me for causing my brother's death. From then on, I become a child no one loves. Meanwhile, my cousin, Evelyn Green, who looks like my brother, becomes the apple of my parents' eyes. From the age of ten to 18, my days are a cycle of beatings and forced apologies. On my 18th birthday, Evelyn wears a gorgeous gown and basks in everyone's adoration, while I'm shoved around in a maid's uniform and hit like I'm not even human. In my darkest moment, Morgan Oakley, the mafia boss, saves me. He takes me home, and step by step, wins his way into my heart. Because of him, I learn what love can feel like. He treats me like a treasure and promises me forever. However, on the day we're supposed to register our marriage, he keeps me waiting for a whole day and night. He never shows up. As I'm about to leave, my phone starts buzzing. A text from Morgan pops up. "Jasmine, I'm sorry. I ran into an enemy and couldn't make it to the city hall. A storm's coming, so make sure you get home quick!" My heart clenches in panic. I'm about to text back and ask if he's okay when Evelyn's message comes right after his. "Jasmine, I'm the one he loves. He skipped marrying you today because of me. You must be devastated, right?" Then, she sends a video. In it, Morgan holds her gently, his voice soft as he comforts her. "Evie, don't cry. You once saved my life, so I'll do anything for you. If you don't want me to marry Jasmine, then I won't. I love you. I only took her in so I could keep her close. That way, she'd be right there when you needed blood." My parents were off to the side. They chimed in tenderly, "Don't cry, Evie. Morgan loves you. He only pursued Jasmine because of your condition. You have a coagulation disorder and need transfusions of Rh-negative blood whenever you get hurt." I stagger back when I hear that, dropping my phone to the ground. So, Morgan's sudden passion is laced with poison. He only pretends to love me just so he can turn me into Evelyn's walking blood bank! Everyone goes to so much trouble to hide the truth from me just so Evelyn doesn't need to suffer from her condition! Rain mixes with my tears as they slide down my face. I stare at my phone on the pavement as bitterness floods me. A thought forms—I want to leave them forever. I want to disappear so they'll never find me again.