Novel & Cerita Blonde Shadow Root With Money Piece

The main room was packed with people, all facing the center where Marcus stood there. Her Marcus. Tall and handsome with his blonde hair that caught the light. His bright smile that used to make her heart skip. He wore formal clothes, the kind pack members wore for important occasions. For matings. For anniversaries. Next to him stood Isla. Lyra's best friend. The girl she'd grown up with. The one she'd told all her secrets to. The one she'd trusted with everything. Isla wore a beautiful dress, deep blue like the evening sky. And on her head sat a silver circlet, the mark of a Luna.

I grinned, leaned forward, and whispered it aloud, my voice slinking around the numbers like silk. “Four hundred million dollars.” The sound of it made me giggle, an almost giddy sound bubbling out of me. I swayed in my seat, tipsy not from the wine but from the intoxicating thought of my extra wealth. Four hundred million. Mine. Every penny of it ripped from under Marcelo Bernardo’s nose. Marcelo. The great, merciless mafia lord. So feared. So respected. And yet, his bride-to-be had stripped him bare without him even realizing it. The irony was delicious.

“You’re here to cook, not to play detective.” But deep down, that little voice one that always got me in trouble — whispered Yeah, but don’t you want to know? Why does Domenico wear shades in the house? Why does Alessandro act like everyone is a threat? Why does this mansion feel like a golden cage? And why, oh why, does my bank account now have five figures sitting in it after just one day? I sighed again, pushing up to my feet. Lunch was done. Counters were clean.

"You'll pay for this! You'll see!" Then, after she's done raging, she finally turns around and looks at me. Her hair is black, but it's not the natural color of her hair because her roots are blonde. She gives me a once over with her bright blue eyes before asking, "And you're in here for what exactly?"

“You’re drooling, Little River.” He teases lightly, and I flush. “Sorry” I murmur, but before he can say anything, something moves beside him and moves towards me as if coming in for a hug. I scream and jump back, only to take a close look… What in the Dr. Facilier shit, is this? Is that his shadow casually coming my way? “I-uh-I…” “Back.” He says, and the shadow seems to deflate sadly and then retreat into his actual shadow.

Anna remained perched on the stone altar, the white shroud clinging to her skin, but her gaze was fixed on the space between the boiling iron pot and the old woman. Standing there was a shadow that didn't belong to the dead or the living. It was a young woman, translucent and radiant, her hair the color of midnight and her eyes the same electric blue that had defined Anna’s life. She looked so much like Elara, but the age was wrong,she was a snapshot of a girl who had never been allowed to grow old. The shadow girl pointed a delicate finger at the Crone, then at herself, and finally at Anna.

Two figures stood there, confronting each other on the dark, quiet campus. “What did she offer you?” Roy’s voice was hoarse. “A million dollars.” Willow said, “Your mother paid me the full amount all at once.” “Ha…” Livid, Roy smirked. “A million bucks? Was that all? I spent a lot more money on you than she did. I can’t fucking believe the lengths you went through for a million–” A fit of violent coughing wracked his body, his eyes bloodshot and his back humped. Reluctant at first, Willow then proceeded to put her hand on his back, but Roy swatted her hand away.

This must be Ambrose's Shadow then. Almost in an answer, the swirling dark haze solidified, to form a rather petite and curiously feminine figure. Slim muscle-clad arms were covered in dark leather and armor. Short muscular legs, strapped with knives and blades. Black wavy locks of shoulder length hair, framed a pale face with piercing blue eyes. She did in fact look like shadow personified. Her ebony boots were silent on the red carnelian stone, as she approached the stairs before Ambrose and Sephora. Those blue eyes wholly on Ambrose, as she lowered herself onto one knee and bowed her head.

Blaze narrowed his eyes at me, a low guttural growl erupting from deep within his chest, inaudible to human ears. “Well!” The MC looked nervously between the three of us. “We have a bid of five million dollars. Do I hear six?” The human man shook his head, lowering his number. “Six million,” Blaze announced across the room, staring daggers through me. Brenna tried to yell at us through the gag, but we ignored her. However, another man walked up to help the first man restrain her. Just hold on, Baby Girl, I thought silently, thankful she couldn’t phase now. If she did, she would kill herself from the gold collar around her neck. The humans had no idea what they had.

“The money is fake. Interest is now higher. Two lives are required.” “You idiot!” Raven shouted, tackling Enzo, dragging him away from the pit. The purple oil slithered across the field, snaking toward Sarah and Dante. Cold dread flooded June. She stared at the silver coin in her palm: a heart on one side, a star on the other. It wasn’t just a bill—it was a scale, weighing lives. She grabbed Dante’s hand. “Dante, hold on to me!” she yelled. His fingers shook, but he reached out. When their hands met over the purple oil, the silver coin began to melt. It turned into liquid silver. It slid over their skin, sticking their hands together like glue.