Blue Heart Celeste Novels & Stories

I had things to find out. I stepped closer to the photo collage. One picture showed Celeste holding a silver cup, champagne bubbles rising in the background. Another showed her smiling with a horse that had eyes like it knew too much about life. But it was the third that made blood in my veins shift direction—Celeste in a pale blue leotard, arms raised, back arched, the very picture of grace under pressure. Her face was mine. Or mine was hers. Either way, someone had copied something, and I had a bad feeling I was the counterfeit.

Celeste’s mother Runa put the finishing touches to both girls hair and make-up. Celeste was every inch the Roman goddess in her white-gold slinky dress, her blonde hair twirled and styled up into delicately cascading ringlet curls that travelled down past her shoulders, making her gentle blue eyes look even more innocent. “You look amazing!” Helena cried and gave her a hug, “last hug you’re getting from me tonight though, I can’t redo this face now!”

“I’m okay, but it’s a lot of magic to use and I didn’t trust anyone to come with me to do it. Even as a queen, somethings are best kept a secret.” I helped her to stand up and lean against the Yew tree she sat under. “What were you doing?” She held out to me a silver necklace with a pendant attached, it was like nothing I’d ever seen before. The silver had been made to look to the yew tree we stood at, the branches wrapping around stone that had been made to look like a moon. “It’s a celestite stone. Go on, take it, it’s for you.” I was about to reach for it when I realized something, “it’s silver?”

We gathered our things. “It was nice meeting you,” Celeste said, shaking my hand. “You too—I hope I see you at school!” I said, my voice a little breathless. I peeled off my blazer, throwing everything back on the seat. Lace thigh-highs in summer… I couldn’t shake the image. My pulse throbbed in my veins. Then my car refused to start. Click… click… click. “Oh, fúck it!” I shouted, slamming the wheel. “Elara?” a voice called. I looked up. Celeste leaned out of a blue Cadillac Seville, sunglasses perched perfectly. Sunlight hit her hair just right. She looked dangerous, beautiful, impossible. My chest tightened, and my stomach fluttered.

I knew she was here. It was now beyond her scent. I could feel it. I could taste it on my lips. Mine. I crushed the thought before it could fully form. Annie sat across the room with Balor, in the obvious and noticeable part of the pub. But that wasn’t Annie. She hated being the center of attention. There was no way on earth Balor could know that. She was in a blue dress – the one I’d gotten for her on her last birthday. It slipped off one shoulder, her ginger curls falling down her back and framing her face. She looked like a wild flower. The only problem was that I didn’t think she knew that. Annie looked too young to be here, too beautiful to be let out.

Dara Lang, the elegant rich heiress with sleek platinum blonde hair and piercing ice-blue eyes, stopped in front of one of Celeste’s paintings, Celeste took a deep breath and walked straight toward her. "Excuse me," Celeste said with a warm smile. "You must be Dara Lang, I have heard so much about you. I am Celeste Reyes, that's my painting you are looking at." Dara turned, her ice-blue eyes locking onto Celeste. "Celeste Reyes, your work has a lot of passion in it. The way you use color... it feels alive." She looked Celeste up and down slowly. "You have fire in you, I like that."

The way she had almost confessed something in the garden before stopping herself. The door creaked open. Kaelan’s breath caught. Celeste stepped inside, and the world narrowed to her alone. She wore a deep wine-colored gown that looked as if it had been poured over her body by the Moon Goddess herself. The fabric clung to every curve. The gentle swell of her breasts, the narrow dip of her waist, the soft flare of her hips before flowing down to brush the floor. The neckline was modest but elegant, revealing the delicate line of her collarbone. Her silver-tipped black curls were loose, cascading over one shoulder, catching the lantern light like threads of moonlight. Her grey eyes met his, wi

“I need help. My daughter, Portia, is having problems. I need you to perform a ritual to fix this for her.” Celeste slowly lifted her head. Her eyes drifted open, and I nearly choked on my own breath. When I saw her earlier, her eyes were a bright, clear blue. Now, the color was gone. Her eyes were entirely dark, like two ink stains in her skull. I could not see the whites of her eyes at all. “What kind of price are you willing to pay for your daughter’s soul?” Celeste asked.

"What if wanting these things—wanting to dominate her, mark her, push her limits—what if that makes me the monster everyone thinks I am?" *Or what if it just makes you human? Someone with complex desires who's capable of both tenderness and intensity? Celeste isn't some delicate flower who needs to be handled with kid gloves. She's a grown woman who knows what she wants. And if the memories are accurate, what she wanted was exactly what you gave her.*

Five minutes pass, then ten. "Jolie" Ryder starts. "Wait." I sense something shifting. "Someone's coming." A car pulls into the lot. An expensive sedan with tinted windows, driving slowly like the occupant is nervous. It parks three spaces away from us. Celeste steps out wearing jeans and a sweatshirt—complete opposite of her usual polished appearance. No makeup, hair in a messy ponytail, dark circles under her eyes. And when she looks at me, I feel it through my empathy. Raw, terrified panic.