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Hazel

  • Unlocked Chapters: 354
  • Novel Reviews: 2

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  • 👁 133.5K
  • 7.2

▷Important note: The story is not finished and has not been updated for some time. “I, Madeline Clark, rejec…,” I started speaking, but Alpha Dimitri stopped me by putting his hand over my mouth. He pulled me closer to him and growled. “What the hell are you doing?!” he shouted. “I am not letting you do this, Maddie. I’ve waited for you for months and I am not going to lose you!” His eyes held so much pain and his voice was laced with panic. “You are mine, Maddie,” he said as he leaned in and pressed a small kiss on my forehead. “You are mine, and I am not letting you go.” Madeline is a 17-year-old girl who still hasn’t shifted into her wolf. Her father abandoned her mother when she was very young. She’s been bullied and laughed at all the time. After she lost her mom, the person who loved her the most, Madeline is completely distraught and broken. Her father comes back to take her back to his pack. Madeline is against it, but her financial situation forces her to go with him. Dimitri is a Lycan wolf, the Alpha of his very successful pack. He is 22 years old, and he still hasn’t found his mate. When Madeline comes to his pack, he is very surprised to find out that she is his mate. He is also very frustrated because she is his stepsister who still hasn’t shifted. She can’t recognize him as her mate. Madeline struggles in the new pack. She doesn’t have the best relationship with her stepmother. She can’t wait to turn 18 and leave. What will happen when Madeline finds out who her mate is? What will Dimitri do after she rejects him? Will he be able to convince her to stay?

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  • 👁 37.5K
  • 8.8

When I was a child, my grandma used to tell me stories. At the time, I never gave them much thought. Thinking they were just that… stories. Growing up, I soon realized that they weren’t lofty fantasies and fairy tales but memories of her past, memories of our ancestors before our world turned to sh*t. You see, what comes from legend, no matter how exaggerated the story becomes, there is always a sliver of truth. You just need to weed out the fiction from fact. My grandmother used to tell me stories of the Chosen One—the one who would save us all. When I was younger, I used to believe that what she said was true. Eventually, someone would be born, just as the Oracle predicted—someone who could save our souls and bind us back to our magic. Once I grew up and saw the world unfolding around me, I no longer believed in salvation. The chosen one seemed to be more of a prayer than reality. Some dream we wanted desperately to come true. Something in which we needed to find hope when there wasn’t any left. When our ancestors turned their backs on us, how were we expected to believe in this so-called salvation? Especially when all we witnessed was death and carnage ever since the great war. Nothing except pain and poverty. I used to believe the stories and used to pray for the mysterious chosen one that would rid our world of its evil. Now, though, I see it for what it really is, just a dream of hope. Some out of reach fairy-tale. A story to create hope. Hope is dangerous; it makes you believe things will get better. I stopped hanging on to hope when I witnessed firsthand that it caused nothing but heartache.

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Heroes

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