Broken Souls Ariana Cane Novels & Stories

she whispered, voice trembling. “Because you survived what my mate could not,” Damon said, his tone both tender and painful. “Because the moon saw your strength. And because only you can carry the burden ahead.” Ariana stepped into the circle. The moment her foot touched the forest floor, energy surged through her like wildfire. Her vision blurred, the ground vanished, and she was no longer in the clearing. She stood in a vast hall bathed in red and silver light. Shadows flickered along the walls, twisting into shapes that whispered her name. At the far end of the hall knelt a figure—Damon’s mate—her eyes haunted, full of sorrow and warning.

“ what day is today? I think I lost consciousness in the evening hours but now it seems to be at noon. Does the world on this land have a reversal time? If yes then, where could be Ariana who could be of much help to me? Is she a deserter or a woman’s sweet poison lips? Who did this to me? And why even spare my life? How will I explain this to Adrian? what wrong did I do to the world to deserve this cruel treatment? Christine muttered to herself though in a struggling low tone. She blubbed bitterly. Christine slides her legs slowly off the bed. Her body had regained back potential. Her feet get inclined with a soft curvy and spongy-like material. She rubs her feet. “A corpse!” she exclaims.

Mia's eyes narrowed with clear distrust, her grip on Ariana's hand visibly tightening. Ariana looked up last. The raw exhaustion and defeat in those emerald eyes twisted something vicious in my chest. Something that felt uncomfortably like remorse. I'd done this to her. I'd orchestrated this moment, manufactured her desperation, and now I was here to collect on her brokenness like a debt. "You came yourself," she said hoarsely. Her voice was shredded, barely more than a rasp. She'd been crying for hours. Maybe days. "I did."

She was smiling at me. "Maren, honey, stand straight," the woman in my head said. "I am standing straight," I argued back. I was talking to a ghost. I leaned hard against the table because the floor felt like it was tilting. "Who is Maren? I'm Senna. I'm the healer." "You have my eyes," the woman said. She reached out and touched my cheek. I could almost feel it. I squeezed my eyes shut, but the pictures didn't go away. They got louder. They got faster.

“Just once?” The Goddess’ expression hardened slightly. “No.” Ariana’s heart sank. “Why?” “You are not ready.” Tears filled her eyes again. “Please…” “You are not part of the spirit world yet.” The words stung her so hard. Ariana lowered her gaze. “…I understand.” Then, “Go.” Ariana looked up again. “What?” “Wake up.” Her chest tightened suddenly. “Selene is preparing to bury your body.” Panic shot through her instantly.

"If she won't listen to me when she trusts me the most, how can I expect her to listen to me if something happens and I need to do something." "It's called fucking trust and if you can't trust you wife, maybe she shouldn't be your wife. You're an asshole who needs to apologize." "Maybe." "Times up. Now I've been doing some research, and I have found an auction that is going to be happening this weekend. We need to send someone to see if the girls in the video are being sold." "How did you find that?" "Some dark web searching." "I'll go." "No. They might recognize you. We need someone unsuspecting."

Then darkness claimed me. The vision came immediately. One moment I was asleep and the next I was somewhere else. I stood inside a collapsed cavern, and broken stone surrounded me. For several moments nothing happened and then I saw her. A body, half buried beneath rubble. My breath caught as I recognised who it was. Clara. She should have been dead. After everything that happened beneath the ritual ground, survival should have been impossible. Yet there she was. Still existing. Her limbs twisted unnaturally with one arm bent at an angle that made my stomach churn. Scars covered her skin and dried blood stained her tattered clothes. She looked horrifying.

Ariana pov: The elevator hums as it climbs, each floor ticking by like a countdown to my execution. I’m dressed in my best, a navy pencil skirt and white blouse I ironed twice last night, but I feel like a fraud, like the world can see the cracks in my armor. My reflection stares back from the polished steel doors: Ariana Blake, twenty-four, former heiress, current fool walking straight into Damien Voss’s world. My stomach twists, and I grip my bag tighter, as if it can anchor me against the storm waiting on the forty-seventh floor.