Celeste Dubois Mga Nobela at Kwento

Percy's rose bush - ouch! My mom has only ever developed two powers and both were on her 18th birthday - accelerated healing from any injury and she can communicate with any animal, mammal, or even fish. She's a regular Dr. Doliitle. But that doesn't mean that's it for her powers - at any point, this can change. My dad still struggles to get his head around the talking to animals part and often wonders if they're all laughing at his expense - especially because he's allergic to dogs!

"Scarlett." ******

And I’ll admit—there’s something almost amusing about it. But it’s not amusement that keeps me here, lurking in the shadows like a phantom. It’s necessity. Celeste is my key, the perfect leverage to make Liam crumble. That smug bastard has been sitting on everything I’ve ever wanted: territory, money, infrastructure, connections—the whole empire. Years of subtle nudges and overt threats haven’t moved him an inch. He’s untouchable. Until now. My eyes track her every movement, cataloging her habits, her routine. She’s got this air of innocence, this naive confidence that people like her don’t get burned. That they’re untouchable, safe from monsters like me. But she’s wrong.

“You enjoy this.” “I enjoy clarity,” I corrected. “And he’s finally close enough to taste it.” That afternoon, Naomi brought me a file. “Background checks came back,” she said, placing it on my desk. “Not on Hayes Innovations—on Celeste.” I didn’t flinch at the name. “What about her?” “She’s ambitious,” Naomi said. “Consultant by title. Strategist by instinct. She’s been positioning herself near powerful men for years.” I skimmed the file.

"People, creatures really, like me don't have mates. However, I do happen to know a lot about yours. Celestial Patara* Jacobs, daughter of Dilexi and Fernando Jacobs. Her pack was destroyed when she was six and she then became a rogue. I growled. I didn't like anyone talking about her right now. Zay wouldn't let me do anything for two days, saying my wolf needed to heal. I didn't give a shit about healing, though, and neither did my wolf. He kept telling me to use my Alpha tones on Zay and threaten to separate her from Kaleshia if she didn't let us get back to finding Celeste. "She grew up into a pretty little thing from one of the pictures I was shown. When you're done with her I wouldn't m

But it seemed she didn't even have a brother called Drake. I bet the lady only knew about Drake's presence after she got to this house. I couldn't help but laugh. The lady invited us to sit, which we did. "I'm Celeste." She introduced herself. "I'm a professional dancer with the alias Dim Angel." My eyes widened. "Dim Angel? The winner of last year's national dance competition?" Celeste clapped her hands, admitting to her identity. "That's me." She said proudly. I felt the urge to roll my eyes.

Which, from the way everyone reacts, she probably does. "What's wrong?" I ask, walking over to her. She glances around nervously, making sure no one is listening. "There's something you need to know." The way she says it sends ice through my veins. "What?" "Celeste is back." The name means nothing to me. I wait for more explanation. "Celeste Hartwell," Luna continues. "The Beta's daughter. She's been in Switzerland for the past two months." "Okay." I still don't understand why this matters to me.

Justin’s office felt unnervingly silent. The man sat behind a large black-glass desk, but his mind was far from the neatly arranged documents before him. His eyes were fixed on the monitor, replaying a nearly one-hour video that had just been sent by Teddy, his most trusted man. Justin’s expression was cold and calculating. On the screen, a petite young woman was cleaning the restroom area of his nightclub. He watched her every movement without blinking, as if he were observing a puzzle-filled film that stirred both curiosity and anger inside him.

"Get inside. Get close to Celeste. Get me Oracle." I opened the folder. The first page is a photograph. Celeste Laurent at some industry event — it takes me a moment to place the backdrop, but I recognize the signage eventually: a tech summit in Singapore, about eighteen months ago. She's tall in the photograph, though I knew that already from my preliminary research — five-foot-nine, one hundred and thirty-five pounds, no visible tattoos or distinguishing marks, all information I've already committed to memory. Her hair is dark, almost black, pulled back from her face in a style that manages to be both elegant and severe. She's wearing something architectural and black — a dress that looks

Level 5 — Surface Exit The final stairwell opened onto a towering blast door, ten feet tall, bristling with locks. Ellie’s lungs burned as she stumbled forward. She slammed the stolen badge against the reader. It blinked green. The second lock lit up. PALM SCAN REQUIRED. Her stomach dropped. “No! I don’t have clearance—” Cerebus brushed past her. He lifted his paw. Massive. Scarred. Trembling with heat and power. He pressed it flat against the scanner.