Bloodstained Celeste Room Novels & Stories

A narrow hallway, dimly lit, smelling of old carpet and older secrets. We walked to room 214. Celeste knocked. No answer. She knocked again. "Victor. It's Celeste Laurent. I'm not here to hurt you. I'm here to talk." Silence. Then—the sound of a lock turning. The door opened a crack. One eye appeared—bloodshot, wary, unmistakably Kane's. "Celeste," he said. His voice was hoarse. "You're the last person I expected to see." "I'm sure." She pushed the door open wider. "Can we come in?"

"As the wife of Mr. Weston, you must stay by his side always. Help him with anything or anyhow you can. Now, please go inside and prepare the bath water for him." Heaving a sigh, Celeste picked up the towel and entered the room. The moment her eyes caught a glimpse of her surroundings, her jaw dropped and she blinked twice in utter disbelief. "Wow. Is this really his room?" Celeste muttered, her gazes wondering around. While the dark interiors spelt mystery, different shades of brown on the furniture added more to it and the dark walnut walls matched the bare wood floors. From the room, she reached his bedroom quickly.

"You did good kitten, where's your sister's room?" Celeste pointed up the stairs and at the same time, Liam and Fredd came running in. "The only room downstairs is the storage room and a study...Celia's scent is weak in both." "Not to worry, Celeste said it's upstairs, come!" All four of them headed upstairs and Celeste's mother followed them, yelling for them to stop, yelling for her mate... Zillon paid her no mind though, not until one of the room door flicked open, revealing the past beta, yawning as though he had just woken up. "Nadine...? What's up? What's the yelling fo—?"

Celeste kept slipping. The room was just as she remembered. The same stale scent of incense. The same blood-stained walls. A single lantern burned low on the far wall. Shadows clung to every corner. Celeste lay there under the thin sheet, still. Too still. Her skin had turned almost white. Her lips cracked. Her forehead was soaked in sweat. She looked smaller now. Shrinking. Dying. Elara’s chest tightened.

Since the moment his world had crumbled. And then, at last, he reached the grand rotunda. The room was vast, lit by chandeliers that flickered ominously above. Marble floors gleamed like polished bones, the stained-glass ceiling casting fractured light down upon them all. At the center of it all stood Celeste, her posture regal, poised like a queen in exile. Her hand gripped Elena’s arm, the delicate curve of her wrist in sharp contrast to the gun she held in her other hand. It gleamed with a deadly, lethal promise.

“And watch as others take what is ours because you fear to act? No. We will begin the rites. We will do it tonight. If she dies, so be it. The Goddess will see a worthy blood on her altar. You will live, Malach. You will survive to hold the power.” My chest tightened so hard it hurt. The argument tapered into murmurs and then silence, and for a second I thought I had dreamt it. Then the heavy stone door at the far end of the chamber opened and a scent filled the air that made the world tilt — roses, ash, and iron. A presence stepped into the candlelight and everything else seemed to fall away. Celeste. She moved like someone who owned the room before she walked in, like she’d set the walls a

The light from the corridor cut across the room like something surgical. Levi moved first, sitting up, and I pulled the sheet and we both turned toward the door with the particular stillness of two people who have just run out of places to hide. Celeste stood in the doorway. She was exactly as I remembered her from the two times our paths had crossed at pack functions. Tall, composed, the kind of beautiful that came with knowing exactly what it was worth. She was wearing a dark green wrap dress and her hair was up and she had a glass of something in her hand, which meant she had been somewhere in this wing already tonight and had found her way here by following the roses, the same way I had.

Everyone was getting further away from me so I picked up my pace to catch up. Celeste had entered a grand bedroom after walking down a set of spiral stairs. Little Helia bounced on the bed way bigger than any king bed I'd seen. I wondered what we were doing in here for a moment but chose not to ask. Celeste ran her fingers along the mahogany wall. There didn't seem to be anything on it but she paused with her fingertips on something. She pushed on it and the wall caved in. the walls expanded and opened. Celeste

he said, pointing at on of the chairs. Celeste hesitated briefly, her options dwindling to nothingness, and reluctantly complied. As she settled into the chair, her eyes caught the faint traces of violent experiments etched into the surface, hinting at a tumultuous and cruel past. In the cavernous room, mechanical sounds and hushed electrical crackles intermittently punctuated the silence, sending a delicious shiver down her spine.

Not yet. She stepped up the steps slowly. She peeked into the dwelling room. Empty. Kitchen. Also empty. But something was wrong. She felt it. Then she saw it. The glass at the back door was cracked. Someone had entered through there. She stepped back. And then — she heard the floor creak behind her. She turned fast. A shadow moved in the hallway. Celeste ran. Straight back into the bunker. She slammed the wall door shut and pressed the lock. She dropped the metal bar.