Trembling Hand Equilibrium Novels & Stories

He presses her hard to the wall, but make sure to secure the little girl head, his hands at his ex-wife waist tightened as his trembling lips opened, his voice quivered as he said something near her ears. "I wont be a bad guy anymore Xiara, dont leave me again, okay?" he repeated it over and over again like chanting a spell, but the pit at his stomach only continued to grow. His eyes flash a bit of crazy obsessiveness and paranoia as the hand that hold Xiara head a while ago gently stroke her head with great restraints. Tilting her head, Xiara blinked, "Who are you?"

Book One. He had chosen her, not all other beautiful princesses humans had to offer. ____ "Roselle never once thought she would one day find herself married to a Werewolf, a creature she, and every human, grew up believing to be a savage monster. She had expected she might not be able to speak at all to her husband without trembling but somehow, conversing with him wasn't as dreadful as she thought. She was tense and stammering but she was glad, she wasn't muted because of fear and she wasn't trembling before him as she had thought she would be." "She couldn't take her eyes off his as she slowly lifted her hand to place it in his outstretched one. His eyes were golden yellow, akin to the bright moon, and they were full of life, as if there were many stars swirling within them. Then there were his lashes… they were so indecently long and thick for a man. His lips, his jaw, his nose… every single part of him rendered her speechless. She had never seen another human who had been fashioned with such beauty and perfection. But then again, she remembered that he wasn't human to begin with."

She signed her freedom away with a trembling hand and a heart full of rage. Two years as Lucien Cross's contracted wife, playing the role of loving spouse while he remained her enemy behind closed doors. Mara Quinn made a deal with the devil to save her family. He married her to claim his inheritance. Their marriage is a battlefield, their home a cage gilded in wealth she never wanted. But hate burns hot—and somewhere between the fights and the forced proximity, between the public kisses that mean nothing and the private moments that mean everything, the line between enemies and lovers begins to blur. She promised herself she'd walk away when the contract expired. He promised himself he'd never care. They were both wrong.

On the night of the Benedetto family's Harvest Festival, my Mafia husband, Salvatore, told me to bring our son, Giuseppe, to the family gathering. He said his madre had finally accepted us into the Benedetto bloodline. I was trembling with excitement in our little cottage as I dressed Giuseppe in his finest little suit. He had carved a single wooden rose by hand, a project he'd saved for over five years. He said he would present it to his grandmother at the celebration, a plea for her to accept our place in the family. But the moment we stepped into the stone manor, I saw Carmela. Salvatore had her pinned against an oak barrel in a deep, searing kiss. In the moonlight, her hand was undoing his tie. In front of everyone, Salvatore smiled and gently pushed her away. He walked toward the family members gathered in a semicircle and raised a crystal glass. "Tonight, in addition to celebrating the harvest, I have an important announcement." "I would like to introduce you all to the woman I have married in the eyes of God and the Church." "Miss Carmela Torrino." Before I could even process his words, Giuseppe tore his hand from mine and rushed forward. "Papa, what are you saying?" "Isn't my mother your wife?"

- Oh yes ... there ... again ... stronger! Saccaded groans resounded through the walls, sneaking like a poison to the ears of Élodie. His breath was cut. Her heart tightened in his chest. No ... not that ... His trembling fingers gently pushed the door ajar in the guest room. And what she saw cut her legs. His fiancé, Victor, naked, in sweat, tackled Isabelle's offered body against the mattress, her hips hammering her basin with frightening brutality. -Damn, you are so good ... he growled, grabbing his sister's hair. Élodie gave her mouth a hand to stifle a cry. His big sister. His landmark. Her lifelong ally. And there, before her eyes, she stole the man she loved to him.

He had chosen her, not all other beautiful princesses humans had to offer. ____ "Roselle never once thought she would one day find herself married to a Werewolf, a creature she, and every human, grew up believing to be a savage monster. She had expected she might not be able to speak at all to her husband without trembling but somehow, conversing with him wasn't as dreadful as she thought. She was tense and stammering but she was glad, she wasn't muted because of fear and she wasn't trembling before him as she had thought she would be." "She couldn't take her eyes off his as she slowly lifted her hand to place it in his outstretched one. His eyes were golden yellow, akin to the bright moon, and they were full of life, as if there were many stars swirling within them. Then there were his lashes… they were so indecently long and thick for a man. His lips, his jaw, his nose… every single part of him rendered her speechless. She had never seen another human who had been fashioned with such beauty and perfection. But then again, she remembered that he wasn't human to begin with." Book Two of the Werewolf series.

On the day the true heiress and I swapped places, my childhood sweetheart, bound to me by a promise made in youth, gripped my hand before our families and declared, "I chose you, not your title." Anna Pedersen, tears brimming in her eyes, enveloped me in a trembling embrace. "Joanne, we'll always be family. I'd never take what's rightfully yours." Everyone assumed I'd turned misfortune into fortune. Though I lost my status as the Pedersen heiress, I gained a steadfast lover and a selfless sister. But three years after fate corrected itself, photos of Calvin Thomas escorting Anna to a prenatal checkup flooded the internet. When I confronted him, he exhaled a plume of smoke and said coolly, "Anna is my true betrothed. This is just setting things right. Why are you so worked up?" He seized my wrist and dragged our engraved engagement ring across the back of my hand, leaving a bloody gash. "This scar will remind you of the twenty years of life you stole. Your life and I belong to their rightful owner."

The day Yancy Shepherd died, Benedict Page poisoned our dinner. His eyes were wild, and bloodshot, as he watched me writhe in agony. There was a madness in his gaze, but worse was the hatred, a disgust so deep it twisted his face into something unrecognizable. "If it weren't for you forcing your way into our lives, Yancy wouldn’t have died from heartbreak. You ruined us! It’s all your fault!" A photo slipped from his trembling hand and landed at my feet—Yancy at twenty, looking radiant, her smile as bright as a blooming flower. I collapsed to the ground, my strength fading fast like a rose withering in the final grasp of winter. Helpless, I waited for the darkness to claim me, consumed by despair and bitter regret. Why hadn’t I listened to the system and killed him when I had the chance? But when I opened my eyes again, everything was different. I stood watching Benedict flee our engagement ceremony. My brother moved to chase after him, but I quietly raised a hand, stopping him. This time, things would be different.

I quickly rushed ahead and saw her lying near the edge where the huge cut tree had fallen a few days ago. Half of her body was resting in water while the other half was resting on the side of the tree. "No," I whispered as I ran ahead, instantly jumping into the river and grabbing her body, pulling it into my arms. I was sniffling and trying to hold back my tears while I swam back to land. Once she was placed on the ground, I looked at her helplessly, tears running down my cheeks. My body was trembling, and my wolf was whimpering loudly. I felt nauseous, and my head was throbbing badly. "She's fine," I said to myself in a cracked voice as I raised my hand and placed it on her chest. "Alpha!" Harvey called when he reached where I was. I looked at him with blurry vision, then back at my mate. "Why?" I whispered in a cracked voice. "Why can't I feel her heartbeat, Harvey?" I asked with a heavy heart, then moved my hand to my chest as I felt like I was suffocating.

His large hand wraps around my throat just enough to make my pulse race, pinning me to the rain-slicked cabin wall as thunder rolls outside. “We can’t keep doing this,” he growls, but his hips grind against mine, hard and insistent, while his free hand slips under my skirt to find me already soaked. I whimper, arching into his touch, craving the sharp sting of his palm across my ass, the way he commands me to come for him like I’m his dirty little secret. My father’s best friend, the man who’s been in my life forever finally breaking every rule to claim me roughly, deeply, until I’m trembling and marked by him. What begins as one reckless, forbidden night spirals into an addiction of heated stolen moments, whispered dominance, and raw need… until the truth crashes down, pregnancies and betrayals threaten to shatter us, and everyone we love demands we end it. But how do you walk away when the only person who owns your body and heart refuses to let go?