First, it was Cyrill who was framed for a murder. Then Rozelyn.
‘What’s going on in this world? Why do people keep blaming other people for the heinous crime of their own?!’
These were the words she thought as she was being escorted towards outside the police station by Milah.
Milah is Ezra’s wife and an Irish detective who graduated at the University of Dublin. Truly, when you have a family member who’s proficient in dealing with the law and taking legal actions, you can achieve justice and make yourself innocent—whether you’re truly innocent or just pretending to be one.
“Are you okay, dear?” Milah asked her as she looked quivering even from a distance.
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“What happened in Surrey, Dorrien?” Dorrien could only listen to his alpha’s voice. He couldn’t move or open his mouth or perhaps even blink his eye. ‘What have those heathens done to me?!’ He conversed with himself, asked himself rather. He could see the frustration in Avril’s face—the disappointment, the worry, and the fury that were all painted on his beautiful face. He couldn’t stare or glare; his eyes were open but more like blankly gazing to nowhere. The faces of the two ladies in Surrey flashed back in his mind. Their faces—her face. The face that he tru
Leonardo had vowed to know if Nyra’s new pet was his Rosette or not. But he didn’t manage to know the answer for years, decades, or perhaps centuries—he didn’t know as he lost track of time. Leonardo tried to search for his Rosette, letting the oceans of time and seas of sorrow just pass by. If only he could pour all his power so that he may locate his Rosette in a snap of a finger, he shall do it. But his sister, the Heathen Queen Rhella, forbade him and wouldn’t teach him that secret magic. So, he manually and physically looked for his Rosette everytime the sun rose and the moon awoke. “Let’s have our supper at Ezra’s Diner, Leo!” The voice of his mortal friend who was driving the cab was the one who drifted h
Rosette tried to breathe—reminding herself that she was still alive, that she was an immortal. The encounter earlier made her entire body stiff and covered in redness. Rosette was wholly shamefaced and…guilty. She had managed to choose over her own happiness than their—her and Leo’s—domestic felicity. Rosette exhaled and inhaled; repeating it until she managed to think and speak and move properly. ‘Damn it!’ She shrieked in the walls of her mind. At least, she had managed to see him once; at least for a second, at least for a minute.&
Eku Mazari Zadzisai always knew that the Blood Rose myth is true. Gone are the nights he kept on wishing under the starry sky. Gone are the days he kept on praying to whatever god, goddess, spirit, or supernatural force that exists in this realm with a match of a Palo Santo incense or sage whatsoever. Myths do have a basis of reality, or at least inspired from one. He glanced at his bedridden wife, Visenna, who was pregnant with their child and is due a few months’ time. Yet, according to the doctors, only one of them will be able to see the sunlight for the next ten years or so. But Eku loved both of his girls&md
Rosette found Rozelyn sitting in the living room, drinking an orange juice. She looks cozy, calm, and as if she hasn't just been interrogated at the police station. “Care to join me for dinner?” The Thaumaturge then smiled at her. “I just had one.” She put down her juice and vanished in thin air. Rosette looked around, looking wholly nervous and worried. “Some things that you’d been looking for are just behind your back all along.” Rosette whipped her head to the back, to where Rozelyn was standing and gri
Dorrien heard Avril call the old woman ‘Thalia’. Thalia. Such a youthful name for a woman who already had several silver strands of hair amidst its gleaming onyx color. “Ms. Thalia Turner, isn’t it?” Avril asked the old woman. “Yes, Mr. Arke. And it is my pleasure to meet you,” she greeted while extending a hand to the Irish Alpha. “And to you, Mister—” “Dorrien Ronan. His name is Dorrien Ronan, a Shapeshifter Werewolf.” It was Avril who introduced him. “Ah, a Shapeshift
It had been two days since Samhain. Still, Avril Arke and Anaztasia Arryn didn’t ceased taking chances for a kiss, sex, or both to one another. “We should find out why Romaine isn’t there,” Anaztasia said as she parted her lips first from Avril’s. “She only said she’d be late on Samhain since she has an important thing to do. I did not think she wouldn’t attend our most important festival at all,” Avril replied as he gasped for breath then leaned to Anaztasia for more of her lips. “So do I,” she said as he was about to kiss. He halted. “
“What is your kind again?” “Winnowers,” Laara replied while accepting the pudding that Rozelyn gave. “Which means?” Rozelyn continued squeezing for answers. “Folks of the Wind.” It was Thalia Turner who answered. The rest nodded in discernment. But Rozelyn Zadzisai was hungry for more answers, curious for what else the folks of her nanny could do. Yet, she couldn’t pass through any of their mental defenses. It seems they have an amulet of sorts. ‘A Thaumaturge has limitations then…