Angela White Books Novels & Stories

I approached the cabinet where I keep the files that John handed me before. My hands were shaking as I flipped the page and scanned the details of Angela. Then, I stopped after I read something. Tears were rolling down my cheeks as the papers fell on the floor. I was blankly staring at the wall while the information I had read slowly sank into my head. "Occupation...prostitute in the entertainment club," I whispered as I weakly bend my knees on the floor in disbelief.

The hallway tilts. I thought... I thought the mate bond meant something. I thought the mark on my wrist, the way he shook when he saw it, and the way he called me Angel even while he was bleeding out meant that I belonged here. With him. But she's right. I'm human. I'm the cleaner who writes smut under a fake name because real life never let me have anything good. I'm the girl who got sold and mocked. And now I'm the idiot who let herself believe that happiness was allowed.

TRIGGER WARNING THIS BOOK IS STRICT EROTICA - 18+ ONLY CONTAINS EXTREME EXPLICIT SEX, HEAVY BLASPHEMY, PRIEST/YOUNG WOMAN TABOO, ROUGH SEX, CHOKING, SPANKING, FILTHY DIRTY TALK, AND RISK OF GETTING CAUGHT IN CHURCH. READER DISCRETION IS STRONGLY ADVISED. "Angela's POV" At twenty-three years old, I was pretty sure I was going straight to hell — and I was surprisingly okay with it.

Kale said chuckling nervously. They sighed angrily and went to their previous positions. Angela groaned once every one minute. The search for the book was making her feel sleepy but no rest for her or anyone else until they find the book. Seconds passed, minutes passed, hours passed but they hadn’t found it. It was getting frustrating. Angela’s eyes were hurting from reading and she wasn’t paying attention to what she was reading anymore. The Witch of the sun, The Moon Goddess, The Icy Witch, The Cinnamon Witch, The Witch Queen, The Sugar Witch, The Witch of Doom…

“Royals... he lied to me. He set me up.” “And you let him,” she snapped. “You let yourself get played by that man. Do you think that excuses you?” I shook my head, biting back tears. “Enough,” she said, her voice icy. “You need to understand something, Angela. We are White. We don’t let people walk over us. And we don’t wallow in self-pity. You’ve had your time to sulk in that cell. Now it’s time to stand up and fight back.”

Samantha's mother - I have nothing left to do but sleep. Taking refuge in my dreams, I drift off into slumber. I heard someone calling my name. It is a woman with the most angelic voice. “Lisa,” the voice calls to me. “Lisa, it is me Serene.” Questioning, “Serene?” “No, no, you heard me wrong, I am Selene the Moon Goddess and I am here to give you instructions.”

"Are you still hung up on being sent to the psych ward for five years? Do you really need to hold onto that anger? Did you ever stop to think that if you weren't such a bully to Walter, if you hadn't been so vile, we wouldn't have had to send you there?" Her laugh was sharp as ice. Every fight, she would throw my past, my bullying of Walter, right in my face. She would just stand there, watching me unravel, lose it. However, not this time. I just shook my head, calm as could be. "I'm not mad, not at all." Yet she seemed furious, her foot slamming into the table. … When I saw Liliana again, I thought I would be overwhelmed, that I would spill out all the pain I had carried for years. However,

Exactly one week before Bridget’s arrival Clare had taken a call from Angela, her oldest friend, just as she'd arrived home from work. ‘Hi, darling, how’s tricks?’ Angela always sounded chipper. ‘Don’t ask. I’m up to my eyes in building rubble.’ ‘That’s what I thought. Do you fancy a bite to eat, and...’ ‘And?’ ‘A little diversion.’ Angela Barker was a journalist for a glossy magazine, a sinewy blonde whose long hair seemed to attract men like moths to a flame. Like moths too, many had got themselves badly burned. Angela was forthright and down-to-earth and not one to suffer fools, even handsome or rich fools, gladly. Her attitude to men was entirely pragmatic. If they gave her what she want

"Wake me up later if you want to sleep. I'll help you move you to the bed." Angel nodded, then she moved her wheelchair back to the table. Her fingers began to type on the laptop keyboard nimbly. Angel wanted to finish this book as soon as possible no matter what. At least before she died, she wanted to bring out another book. The thought that this would be her last book made Angel even more determined that everything she wrote had to be perfect.

What's a little fun that I can't have? “I'm specifically looking…” he paused as he opened a page in a book and then turned it to me. "For the White Wolf.” The page had a picture of a white wolf in it sitting under a huge moon. This was supposed to be alarming to me, but I wasn't bothered. This might prove Axton's theory of humans wanting more after finding little. Maybe they were the ones that carried the bodies of those lycans, and now they're back for more. But somehow I disagreed with that thought. What if this guy has read some books and done a little research, and now he wants to discover one for himself? That also makes sense.