บททั้งหมดของ Alpha Noah: บทที่ 21 - บทที่ 30

~Abella I have a way of making Noah vulnerable. It’s probably my worst idea yet, however, it’s worth a shot. Not to mention, it’s a question that’s been dwelling on my mind since the moment it happened, disturbing me consistently. I’m hoping this might link to Cian, giving me some answers. Neither of them so far have been able to give me a sliver of information, which means I’ll just have to be more creative in getting it out of them. “Can I ask you something. You have to promise not to be mad,” I say softly. Noah glances up at me from where he was serving himself food. He raises a questioning eyebrow. He touchy now, skept

~Abella  My first reaction is to run.  Despite my weakening limbs and clouding vision, I stumble into the club. The pounding music isn’t helping, and neither are the lights, as I squint, looking around for the sight of the immortal. Instead, I see dancing bodies and alcohol being passed around. A parting in the crowd allows me to see Cian by the bar, holding the bartender by the collar of his shirt.  “

~Abella The door opens slowly.  Noah looks at me through the crack of the door, before he holds it open widely. I give him a tightly smile, stepping inside out of the rain that has just started to come down.  “I’m glad you came,” he tells me lightly. Wiping the splattering of water from my hair, I swallow my pride. I’m here for many reasons. I want to hear him explain himself about what he said over a week

~Abella This is it. This is when he finally realises what a freak I am.  “It’s not what it looks like,” I exclaim immediately. I don’t even care that I’m undressed and still bleeding from my cut toe. Avoiding the purple swirling around in the water, I step out of the shower, wrapping a towel around my body. This should have never happened. Cian doesn’t need to know about this. He doesn’t need to have his hands in any more secrets of mine.  

~Abella  A soft click by my ear wakes me.  For a moment, all I see is darkness. I try sit up, but my arms don’t respond. My wrists, which dangle above my shoulders, are shrouded in a cool, hard metal, which as I startle fully awake, the yanks of protest don’t free me. Chains clang together, a signal of my capture, even if I’m still too groggy to determine where I am, or who has tied me down.  I’m in a