Arabella Black Novels & Stories

Six The VIP lounge in the bar was filled with Marco’s men. Soft tunes played in the background, scantily clad ladies sashayed from one end to the other. The bartenders were refilling the glasses as quickly as they emptied. The men were talking loudly and would occasionally burst into laughter. None of it mattered; it was all background noise, all of it except her. Arabella. She was seated on the couch next to Marco, wearing that black leather dress that clung to her like it was made just for her. It accentuated her figure. Her hair was swept back, her lips were a bright red, and by God, did she look smoking hot.

"He’s targeting the people around me. He probably thinks because I’m getting married, I've gone soft." "He knows your history, Adrian," Nathan warned quietly. "He knows how you operate." "I know the history too," a soft, calm voice interrupted from the doorway. They both looked up. Arabella was standing there, leaning lightly against the frame of the double doors. She was dressed in a soft cashmere sweater, her hair pulled back, looking pale but entirely composed. There was no fear in her eyes, only the sharp, brilliant intelligence that had allowed her to reclaim her family’s legacy in the first place.

"Not yet. I still need time to get to her. Her mind is not ready." They were about to open the topic on how to deal with the present problem in the family when Fedor interrupted them. "Sir Vanluke, Sir Danil, forgive my intrusion. Miss Ara is here to speak with you both." Vanluke immediately searched with his eyes until it focused on the very being of the woman he would take for as a wife. "Ara. How long have you been there?" Ara's eyes were blank. Her expression is pokerfaced. Her long brown locks of hair are a bit messy spread behind her back and shoulders. She has a coffee brown scarf protecting her from the cold. "Not a few seconds ago."

I was falling for a woman whose name I didn't even know. We made plans to meet at a quiet lounge downtown. But the night before our meeting, a lingering thread of caution urged me to probe deeper. A quick background check on the digital signature attached to her sketches revealed the truth. Arabella Morgan. Nineteen years old. I sat in my study that night, staring at the screen in cold shock. A twenty-five-year age gap. I was a forty-four-year-old titan of industry; she was a nineteen-year-old girl struggling to launch her life while taking care of a sick mother… still trying to heal from her parents' divorce.

But my thoughts are interrupted, because on the other side stood a tall, dark-haired woman, who didn’t really seem too impressed with me as she glared daggers my way. “You must be Araya, the novel witch. I’m Aries, and I’ll be taking over your training from here. Let’s get on with it. I do have other things to do.” Just great. Another annoying and pushy person I’d be forced to deal with. She was giving me a mix between Celeste and Onyx vibes. I forced my eyes to stay straight as they instinctively wanted to roll back in my head from her tone. The way she talked to me it was like I was beneath her or something. She called me a novel. Well, she didn’t know anything about me. Her aura and power

Alpha. The men rose. Even my father stopped breathing. I did not turn until he passed me, and when my eyes caught sight of him as he looked sideways at me, I knew exactly why they froze. It was Dimitri Volkov. Alpha of the Black Fang Pack. Pakhan of the Volkov Bratva. The monster whispered about by wolves and humans alike. He stopped in front of the table. “Why is there a girl on my floor?” One of the men cleared his throat. “Ivan Morozov brought her as partial payment.”

"We believe she saw something on it that made her cry before she left the café." The words struck Ethan instantly. "She cried?" His voice was barely a whisper. Mr. Oh nodded. Ethan took the phone with trembling hands. He entered Belle's passcode without hesitation. The screen lit up. And there, still open exactly as Belle had left it, was the headline. Young Billionaire of Asia, Ethan DelValle, to Marry New York's Runway Princess Sylvia Smith. Ethan's blood ran cold. His jaw tightened. With shaking fingers, he pressed play.

Jesse surrender her hands She relaxed a bit before clearing her throat "I dont wanna be your friend" She said before making attempts to leave "At least tell me your name" Jesse said "No need to know" Bella sighs before walking, she stopped and looked back once more "I dont know when next I'll come here but I promise to come visit when I clock eighteen mom, dad" She thought then her eyes moved to Jesse who posed like she wanna snap a picture smiling at her "My name is Arabella" Ana said Jesse jumped up happily before going to her

"I didn't *feel* it. I'm Moonborn, Caleb, I'm supposed to—" "Stop." "She was a *baby*—" "Aria." He took my face in both hands. "Stop. We find out what it is. Then we kill it, or close it, or send it home. But you don't get to spend this morning eating yourself alive. Lira needs you present." I breathed. I nodded. Behind us, the healer's door opened. Maren stepped out into the light, wiping her hands on her apron. She was eighty if she was a day, bent and slow, with hands that had delivered three generations of Blackwood pups in a cellar with no windows.