Novel & Cerita Alastair Carstairs

"You know Volder has lived longer than any other creature, some of us are more than a few centuries old. Living that long can drive you crazy, Eleanor. That's why many Volders choose to commit suicide when their life isn't ... that interesting anymore. I investigated his background behind Alastair after he sent the video. No one knows how old he is, but more than four centuries I think." Over four hundred years? I remember the look he had when we first met that afternoon. His two gray eyes looked empty to me, maybe it was the effect of living for four hundred years? But why did he attack me? "Alastair just lost his wife 50 years ago." Greg looked at me without saying another word. I stared i

“As a father, it must be your greatest wish to marry off your daughter to a good man. Uncle Yorke had nothing at the time. It’s completely normal for you to be infuriated, King Quelch.” Alastair also chuckled and said, “Indeed, but I can also misjudge people sometimes. I did not expect that Carson could be such a good man. He deserves his current title of the Southern King. I heard from Heather that Carson’s accomplishments are largely thanks to you, is that right?” “We just complement each other,” Tyr replied with a laugh. At this point, Alastair became solemn without warning. He said, “Tyr, given Carson’s character, he will definitely support you now that your feud with the Capell royal fa

Carter still denied it without batting an eyelid. Her husband threw her an angry look. Their silence stretched for a moment, before Alistair's chilling voice came—more grave this time. “You dare accuse my wife without proof. You dare drag her name into the mud for your convenience. Do you think I’ll let that slide?” He turned toward his assistant and casually gave him an order. “Tell our men to throw this garbage into the den. It's time to feed my pets.” The couple’s jaws dropped, and so did mine. Who wouldn’t know about Alistair's strange taste for keeping pets? He was actually raising a pack of wild wolves! It had been reported many times that he rescued wild wolves whenever he went huntin

he hesitated “— have grown colder. Shorter. As if I were a stranger.” Isabelle’s gaze lingered on the ripples in the fountain. “Indira does not forgive easily. Perhaps she thinks you helped Victoria escape.” “I did,” he said quietly. “At least, I looked the other way. And now I think Alastair knows.” The name alone seemed to chill the air. Minister Alastair, Malcom’s in-law, always at Indira’s side, a man with eyes like steel filings. Isabelle had never trusted him. “What will you do?” she asked.

The two of them faced each other, both refusing to look away. Callum was taller, but Alastair had never been intimidated by anyone’s size. He had spent most of his life protecting us. He had worked jobs meant for adults when he was barely a teenager. He had learned how to survive long before any child should have needed to. He wasn’t afraid of Callum. That was exactly what frightened me. I hurried between them before either could make the first move. “Nothing happened.” Alastair looked down at me. “Then why was he holding your wrist?”

She stood, wiping her hands on her trousers, and walked back to her spot by the wall, leaving the stunned hall in her wake. Alistair. He had withdrawn. Not in defeat, but in strategic recalibration. He had exposed a festering secret to the light, and it had briefly stunned the world. But men like him don’t retreat. They regroup. He was out there, in the clean, cold night, deciding whether to smoke us out, burn us out, or simply wait for us to turn on each other

My attention drifted until the words Alistair Montrose yanked me back to reality. The anchor’s voice was steady, yet the gravity of her words was undeniable. “Alistair Montrose, the billionaire once featured on the Forbes list, is now at the center of a massive scandal. Allegations have surfaced, accusing him of being involved in the murder-for-hire plot of Mr. Allan White.” My stomach churned as the image of Alistair appeared on the screen. He stood tall, his sharp eyes glaring into the camera with the same confidence he always exuded.

Before I can even budge from my seat, a head pops around the corner. "We'll be heading off in five. Hope you girls are ready for a party." Alastaire leans against the doorway, still wearing the white v-neck top and skinny jeans he wore on stage. He always looks sort of angelic in photos and videos, (inhumanely perfect according to Jamie), and the real life version doesn't disappoint. Tall and lean with clear blue eyes and a halo of messy gold hair, beautiful is the only word that does him justice. In fact, he's prettier than most girls.

"Ouch! Why do you always do that to me, Titus? You're so mean! What will you do if my nose was broken, huh? They'll definitely put you under supervision. You should go find someone and get laid already!" Pinching the bridge of my nose, I reminded myself to take deep breaths. Alastair Campbell was Spxtro's biggest moron and as someone more intelligent, I should be more understanding. That aside, it was impossible for a third generation body to break so easily. Alastair's nose will remain intact unless he annoys me more than usual. The kid loved to exaggerate and was always poking fun at me ever since I told him I wasn't interested in girls or boys for that matter. My lower half wasn't malfunc

Serves her right. “You see, it's a dead end now, Karheel. Give me the tribrid and I will be merciful to spare your lives.” Alastair scoffed. “I could kill you right now and here, Alessandra. The only problem is, I don't want to stink. My mother herself told me not to hold filthy things, so my apologies if I won't be touching even a strand of your hair.” She clenched her jaw. “Really? You must be a coward then.”