Beautiful Creatures Lena Duchannes Novels & Stories

There is a photo indicated in mama's email. Long straight hair, with her gray eyes. Her natural eyebrows are thick and her nose is pointy. Accompanied by her perfect lips that’s pinkish. Fuck! Is this one really a maid? That was my question when mama sent it. And since then, mama has always sent me pictures of Zella. Damn! I'm always excited whenever I received an email. And sometimes I get a bad trip when the email doesn't come from mama. She's fucking too attractive to be our nanny. Not to mention her perfect body figure.

Lena raved in anger " you had one job yet the witch still lives after all I the plans and instructions I had given you all “forgive me your royal mistress it was not the girl that posed a threat but the creature she travels with he had seen us at the forest and had shown no mercy as he slaughtered my can and your ever loyal warriors, please forgive mistress they head north to us right now “you say a creature had destroyed your brothers " Lena asked cautiously to which the creature nodded with a dismissive wave the creature fled it seemed the little witch finally had some courage. She dares bring the war to her she would show the little high and mighty chosen one just his powerless she truly

She flipped open one with a dragon on the cover and settled in, humming contentedly to herself. Lena returned, holding out the paperback to Mr. Crane and talking with him about his wife's surgery the other day. She listened—actually—sharing a gentle word, a suggestion for a recipe, and a gentle laugh. And when he left, she stood leaning against the window for a second, arms folded, watching the rain pool in little lakes outside. She had no idea how beautiful she looked then. Not pretty like the models glued to billboards or the women Julian Blackwood spent time with. No, Lena was pretty in another way—silent and radiant, like sunlight streaming through curtains at morning. The kind of pretty

Chloe added proudly. I nodded, swallowing a lump in my throat. “You really are.” “We’ve got to run now—Chloe has ballet.” The woman extended her hand. “I’m Natasha, by the way.” I shook it. “Lena. Lena Venedetta.” “It was lovely meeting you, Lena. Enjoy Hermosa Beach.” “Maybe we’ll see you in New York next year!” Chloe shouted with a grin. I smiled. “Maybe. And thank you—for everything.”

Lena. She steps into the center of the ballroom with Daren, her gown shimmering like liquid silver under the spotlights, her dark hair curled soft around her shoulders. She looks ethereal, untouchable, like she doesn’t even belong to the same world the rest of us do. And the man at her side—the man I once called brother—has his hand on her waist.

A brawny, towering, chiselled-jawed child. “Sorry that I can’t help but be the best at everything.” I wink, turning back to look at the little family. But the smile on my face turns into a scowl when I see Naomi’s has arrived and settled comfortably beside Zeke. Vincent and Luzia have lined up for their first dance. “Any moment now,” Marco teases. “She’ll drop dead.” “I really wish I could kill with my eyes.” “Who’d you kill first?” he asks, sounding genuinely curious.

Something softer. Something meant only for her. “Miss Hart,” Lady Beatrice said. Lena turned immediately. “Lady Beatrice. Thank you for inviting me.” “Thank you for coming.” Lady Beatrice’s gaze moved over her dress, her hair, her hands. “You look appropriate.” Ethan coughed into his drink. Lena decided to take it as a compliment. “I’m glad.” Celeste smiled faintly. “Appropriate is high praise from Lady Beatrice.” “Only because it is so rarely deserved,” Lady Beatrice replied.

I approached the glass-walled office and knocked softly. Angela looked up, and I was struck by her eyes. Sharp, intelligent, with the kind of alertness that came from years of hunting down truth in a world full of lies. This was a woman who asked hard questions and didn't accept easy answers. "Angela Martinez?" "That's me. You are?" "Lena Brooks. I have something for you." I pulled the package from my purse, my hands steadier than I'd expected. "Someone asked me to deliver this directly to you."

“I’ll go wash my face.” Adrien didn’t stop her. He watched her walk toward the bathroom, her steps a little slower, one hand absentmindedly supporting her belly. She wasn’t showing yet, but the gesture was instinctive. He ran a hand through his hair, taking a breath. Everything felt heavier now, but in a different way—not like a burden, but like a promise he wasn’t allowed to break. When Lena returned, her hair was damp, her face fresh, her presence somehow gentler. She looked… beautiful. Not the dramatic kind of beautiful that demanded attention. A softer kind, born of quiet strength and vulnerability.

Across the courtyard a woman knelt beside a raised flower bed. Dark hair. Blue sweater. Gardening gloves. A smile. Lena. Not thinner. Not hollow. Not broken. Healthy. Calm. Happy. Bea hated that smile instantly. Because she'd spent six months imagining a prison. Chains. Isolation. Suffering. Instead she found this. Lena carefully lifted a flower from a tray and settled it into prepared soil. A staff member stopped beside her. Said something. Lena laughed. Actually laughed. The sound carried faintly across the distance.