Angel Layla Novels & Stories

Her anger could lead her to a disaster. ‘Screw my victory! My victory was Aramis, and he left me. I don’t want this mansion or the crown; I want my mate.’ She tapped her foot on the floor while dropping on her butt. ‘Layla! What are you doing? You are pregnant, don’t forget that,’ Ayla tried to warn her, but Layla’s anger couldn’t simmer down. She kept crying and screaming in anger.

Declan praised as he noticed the sky outside through the open crater atop the gigantic nest that Layla placed Seraphina in. "She should be out for the rest of the day," Layla kissed her on the forehead and Zander picked up on something. "You are in love with her," Zander mentioned, and the others got quiet. Layla's face converted into shock, but she quickly brushed it off. "Well, she isn't mine to mate. She belongs to Ignatholon The Lavatongue. A weird entity that appears and disappears in a black mist captured him." Zander froze. "When did this happen?"

daring, beautiful face those were the ones who get the job done. “Argh!” I groaned, tossing my hands in the air. “Just when I thought we were getting along!” “Fuck.” “Elena?” I jumped a little. A familiar voice called from behind me. I turned. “Darling, look up,” the voice said again, and I tilted my head. Layla stood on her balcony, dressed in a pale pink satin robe, hair in a bun, holding a steaming mug like some elegant fairy godmother. She looked too rich to be this nosy, honestly.

“Glad to see you made it, Luna Layla, but I didn’t expect you to bring the Lycan King.” “He is my fiancé now. Why wouldn’t I have him accompany me? I’m certain this involves us both,” Layla says gracefully. She looks gorgeous in a black skirt and red silk top, paired with black heels, and her hair is pinned back in a loose bun. She looks like a sexy little secretary, and somehow that’s sexy-as-fuck. A few strands of her blond hair framing her face, her sea-blue eyes trained on the three men. “Well, this is concerning some misconduct possibly from the king’s pack-”

A relaxed smile finally appeared on Makhaylus' face, and he drifted into deep sleep. Lysander remained by his side and pulled out the golden holy emblem hanging on his chest. Beneath it was a crystal pendant. Inside it was a photo of a woman charging forward with a blazing white sword in her hands. Arya Fleury, the Battle Angel, head of the 12 Angels and the Spear of Light of Lomuia Grand Cathedral. As the Cathedral's number one angel, she had never known defeat. Rumors said that Arya was a true angel reborn. Her beauty was breathtaking, as if a real angel had descended, and her holy power rivaled that of a god.

I shared softly. “And this little girl, otherwise known as pup two, is now named Layla. Layla means angel, and we could not be happier to think of our baby girl as our angel,” I said, beaming proudly at everyone. There was dead silence, and my heart started to stutter. Did they not like the names?

I spat. _____________ Third POV: Leyla, Angel’s wife, was considered a rogue since she renounced and fled the Blood Moon Pack. Rogues have a distinctive smell when they no longer belong in a pack. Their scent is described as an old dumpster or rotten eggs. _____________ “It’s funny how you’d think I would stay. I left for MY baby, Angel. You’ll never see her.” She smirked. “At least I know I left her in good hands in a peaceful environment, receiving the love she needs, you know…the type of love you know nothing about. You never deserved me, so what makes you think you deserve her? I don’t understand why the moon goddess fated me to you…you worthless piece of cra—”

With that kind of force, blood started seeping through the bandages. I let out a low groan, gritted my teeth against the pain, and looked up at this woman who'd appeared out of nowhere. Totally baffled, I asked, "Who are you?" She seemed shocked. She let out a scoff of disbelief. "Keep pretending. Keep it up. I just went overseas to celebrate Dylan's birthday. Is that really worth you acting like you're dying, Connor?" Judging by her reaction and the way Mark had shrunk back into the corner like a bystander, it finally clicked. So this was Alyssa—the one Mark had been talking about.

It was the whisper of the Death Goddess, a command that brooked no argument, a truth absolute. “She is the key, My Queen. The catalyst. The vessel. The great uprising cannot begin, the world cannot be purged, unless Layla is whole. Her essence is vital. Her spirit, entwined as it is with the very fabric of this realm, is the linchpin. Her torment, her unwilling ascension to my champion, is what will tear the veil. Do not deviate. She must be captured alive. At all costs. Do you understand, Evelyn? At. All. Costs.”

A small smile crept onto my face as I looked back at her. "You are his salvation, even when he doesn't believe he deserves it. He carries so much anger and hate for his past," she continued. "I can’t save him," I commented. "All I can do is love him and hope it will be enough." Serafina's eyes softened, and she cupped my cheek. "You are the angel who knows exactly how to keep him calm, to help him rein in that anger. That is how you will save him." I didn’t know how to respond to that, and we sat in silence until we both retreated to our rooms for the night.