Nine Tails Seal Novels & Stories

While enrolling my son in an elite school, the administrator suddenly tells me my marriage certificate is forged. "According to our records, your marital status is listed as single." "But I've been married to my husband, Chandler Leighton, for seven years!" Behind me, other parents waiting in line burst out laughing mockingly. "Did she just say Chandler Leighton? She must be dreaming." Amid their ridicule, I leave and head straight to the city hall for a confirmation. And as a wife of seven years, my marital status in the system is stated as "Single". A cold dread washes over me as I press. "Who is Chandler Leighton's legal wife?" The clerk flatly spats out a name, "Heather Hammington." It was that name again! I rush home, ready to confront Chandler, but pause just outside the door when I hear voices inside. "It's been seven years, Mr. Leighton. Do you still have no plans to grant Mrs. Leighton a legal status?" After a lengthy pause, Chandler finally answers, "Just wait a little longer. Heather lost both her parents… I'm the only one who can help her, so she needs this title." "What if Mrs. Leighton finds out?" "Danielle loves me too much to leave, even if she finds out. Once Heather has established her foothold in the business industry, I'll make it official with Danielle and give her a true marriage certificate." He sounds so certain, unaware that I'm standing just outside the door with tears streaming down my face. "You'll be disappointed, you liar." I take out my phone and dial a number I haven't called in years. "Mom, I accept the Atwoods' marriage arrangement."

A doomsday blizzard hit just before Christmas. The zombie virus exploded. Our fortress was a top-tier ski resort. Now, it was about to fall. My husband, Ethan, was a former Navy SEAL. Our head of security. He swore his defense system was foolproof. The blizzard knocked out the power. But he’d sent all the backup generator fuel to the summit. Just to light up a Christmas tree for Chloe. He even had a few guards up there with them, throwing a party. In my last life, I fought him. I herded everyone into the last bunker. But Chloe whined. A crowded Christmas was boring, she said. She stormed out of the safe room and ran right into the jaws of the horde. Ethan carved a path through the horde to secure the walls. Then he sat in silence, cradling Chloe’s bones. He pretended he wanted to start over with me. He let me get pregnant with his child. The day I gave birth, he knocked me unconscious and dumped me into a nearby zombie nest. He always rescued me just before I died. He’d inject me with a serum that kept me from turning. Nineteen times, he threw me to the zombies. I died in agony as they tore the flesh from my bones. "If you hadn't sabotaged my defenses," he’d hissed, "if you hadn't crashed our party and led the horde right to us, Chloe would still be alive!" I opened my eyes. I was back. Christmas Eve.

"I love you, Nate." My head was bent and I was staring at my feet, nervous like a child who had done something wrong and was waiting to be scolded. The man in my embrace froze. He broke the embrace and took three steps backwards. "We are ending this relationship." I finally heard him say after a few minutes of awkward silence. "Huh,why? I thought I still have a month left?" "Why? you breached the contract, that's why." *********************** Aviva Alexander who has just turned twenty-three crossed paths with the arrogant, dominant CEO of Dove's enterprises, Nathan Lewis. Love at first sight? That's what you may call it in Ava's case. Determined, she chases the hot Nathan Lewis and Nathan who had developed feelings for her gives her the privilege of being his contracted girlfriend after she had seen him break up with Camille that night in the garage. “ I knew you were the one when I saw you at the garage” They're writing their love story but will there ever be an happy ever after when Caryn Jones is hellbent on getting her one-time lover, Nathan? “ I love you Ava, I really do. Everything about you drives me insane... Allow me love you, please. Let me love you tonight, princess.” ” There can be no happy ever after... or maybe there is. ” - Ava & Nate

"...don't... stop..." The vibrator would not turn off. I wrapped myself in a throw, clamped my thighs around the thing still going inside me, and hobbled to the door to let the delivery guy in. Begging him, in my head, to please just help me.

Victor’s private jet has barely cleared the runway when Amelia gives in to the one man she’s never allowed to touch: her husband’s son. She has everything money can buy, except the intense, raw passion her body craves. Ethan has the fierce intensity that finally gives it to her. For nineteen stolen days they turn the penthouse into their personal playground: the marble island where she loses herself in his embrace, the glass shower where he holds her dripping wet, the marital bed where they lose all control night after night while Victor is away thirty thousand feet in the air. She was a bored trophy wife. Now she’s obsessed, counting the hours until her husband leaves again, because only Ethan can break through her walls, ruin her composure, and make her forget she ever belonged to anyone else. Nineteen days. No limits. No mercy. And when Victor comes home, she’ll greet him with the memory of Ethan still burning inside her, smiling like the perfect wife.

I was known throughout the Shadow Pack as the perfect, obedient she-wolf. So obedient, in fact, that when my mate David left me during our eighty-eighth Bonding Ceremony, I still chose to forgive him. Until that fateful day—our eighty-ninth ceremony—when an anonymous werewolf gifted us a wedding present worth five hundred million dollars. The screen meant to play our sweet memories suddenly switched to a live broadcast: Amy, auctioning off her virginity for exactly five hundred million dollars. In our Pack, the first night symbolizes the deepest loyalty and love between true mates. If a she-wolf loses her first night to someone other than her mate, she is shunned by the entire Pack—branded with shame and rejection. Tears shimmered in Amy’s eyes as she looked straight into the camera, like it was her final goodbye. “David, if I can’t be your mate, then my purity means nothing.” “I only hope… you’ll never forget me.” David didn’t even hesitate. He threw away our moonstone ring and bolted from the ceremony hall. The Pack murmured in stunned disbelief. Everyone knew one thing: I loved David—but David only had eyes for his so-called savior, Amy. Now, the only question anyone whispered about was whether we’d make it to the ninetieth Bonding Ceremony. But I knew the truth— There would never be a ninetieth. So I left, my heart shattered in silence. But later, I heard he had regretted everything he had done— And had been desperately searching for me ever since. Because the truth was, I was the one who saved his life—not Amy.

At nineteen, you're expected to have the perfect blueprint. To navigate university effortlessly and finally act like a real adult. ​Kelsey Vance is ready for it. ​But reality doesn't care about blueprints. When the illusion fades, nineteen becomes less about having the answers, and more about the beautiful chaos of who you become when the expectations vanish.

Three years after our breakup, I ran into my ex-girlfriend, and she had her new boyfriend by her side. "Hey, isn't that Henry the expert?" Diego Stanley taunted with a smirk. "Three years post-breakup, and you're slumming it here playing with clay?" I furrowed my brow, ignored them, and carefully moved the Victorian-era porcelain musician figurine onto its preset base in the display case. When I wasn't biting, he reached out to grab the figurine from my arms. "What's this junk you're treating like gold? Let me take a look." Cynthia Wyatt frowned, her voice laced with that familiar arrogance. "Henry, I've given you three years to shape up, and you're still the same loser? Come on, hand over that clay doll to Diego. Don't kill the vibe. If you play nice, I might even reconsider our old engagement." As Diego's hand neared the figurine, I dodged quickly and barked, "Hands off! It's a historical artifact!" Diego got pissed off and shoved me hard. "Some flea market find, and you're acting all high and mighty?" In the ensuing scuffle, I lost my balance, and the figurine slipped from my grasp, crashing to the floor. That sealed their fate. This entitled pair was about to go bankrupt trying to fix it.

In the dead of this frozen apocalypse, the shelter's fusion core was on the verge of overload. I grabbed my repair kit and sprinted for the basement, only to have the guard captain's girlfriend, Miranda Dunn, step right into my path. "Everyone, come look! Zach’s about to dump poison into the vents. He's gonna kill us all!" Her voice cut through the air as she shrieked. "I didn’t approve a private room for him two days ago, and now, he wants us all dead!" The guards didn't bother asking questions. They slammed me hard against the freezing metal door. "Zach, are you going to kill us all over a room? We're taking you in for interrogation!" I stared at the control panel, its readings spiking into the red, and shouted, "If the core blows up, none of us will make it out alive!" But they were too busy trying to impress Miranda and brushed off my warning, thinking I had lost it. Nineteen minutes remained before the core exploded.

Vivian Grant lost her memory and forgot everything about me. Her memory stopped in the year when she loved her ex-husband most. No matter how the people around her tried to explain it, she still believed I was the third party who had come between them. The doctors said her amnesia might be treatable, so I held on to that hope and refused to let go. For three years, we got divorced and remarried over and over again. We became the biggest joke in the city's elite circles. Some people even started betting on us. They bet on when I would finally give up, and when Vivian would finally remember. Then news of our eighth divorce hit the trending charts again. Reporters rushed into the law firm with cameras on their shoulders. They shoved microphones in my face, their questions full of provocation. "Mr. Sterling, as a divorce attorney, how does it feel to have been divorced eight times yourself?" The firm's sign was smashed. The commendation banners clients had given me were trampled underfoot. Before I could respond, my supervisor fired me for damaging the profession's reputation. "Julian Sterling, let me give you some advice. Have some self-respect. Stop clinging to Ms. Grant." I clenched my trembling hands and suddenly felt exhausted. They were right. This time, I really should give up.