Chaunticleer Novelas e Histórias

“For now, we wait for her to be crowned.” A week later, the day of the eclipse... Jubilant music played as everyone waited for the coronation. The ball room was filled with demons enjoying their blood wine. On the other hand, Veronica Vane was on her chamber waiting for her to be called by Lilith. She was standing in front of a huge mirror wearing a black ball gown, with that perfectly sits on her curves, the gown has thin golden vines around it, glittered that shines whenever any light reflects on it. Her hair tied into a curled plait bun, some strands of her cascading by her rosy cheeks, and her lips colored as red as cherry. A smile curved on her lips as she curls the hair cascading by he

I counted data points. Day nineteen of the current assignment. Three vampire sightings in the northern corridor, all within a twelve-mile stretch of territory that should have been neutral ground under the terms of the treaty. Two of those sightings within the last week alone. Movement patterns consistent with scouting, not feeding. They weren't looking for something to eat. They were measuring something. The difference mattered. A feeding was opportunistic, random, manageable. Measuring implied intent. Measuring implied a question being asked repeatedly until the answer was clear enough to act on.

Those girls went wild. "This piece of shit tried to hit on my man," Beatrice snarled. The Crazy Bitch look really didn't suit her. I knew she was a wild one but not this crazy. What was she even talking about, "my man"? Was she referencing Andrew, who dated Tracie first before he cheated on her with Beatrice? "Bitch! You stole him from me first!" Tracie snapped right back. Her eyes were bloodshot, an obvious indicator that she was high. David hadn't said anything about doing drugs tonight.

Why the fuck is he calling me precious then? "No, I am just here to assist Madame Marcella's niece. I have a lot of errands to do, so I can't join the excursion," he continued. I noticed him move to my side and extended his arm. The young woman, whose name was Clara, simply gave me a once-over and in a bitchy way sent me an obvious glower. My mind immediately screamed bitch! "This is Andrea Anthoni by the way. Madame Marcella's niece," he said to her.

She is a fool who has made a complete mess of her life and situation. *Yilan, my dear friend, your advice was right.* *My impulsive actions turned me into a frivolous and wanton woman. I teased and mocked every man, and they only saw me as an object of desire. This stupid behavior left me with nothing but fleshly pleasure, and my former reputation is completely gone. Do you remember my father's mistress whom I used to ridicule at the academy? That vulgar, indulgent, unrestrained, pleasure-seeking, and spendthrift woman—I have become no different from her.*

Everything is ready. The "guests" arrived discreetly last night. Five women. Not just any women. Serena, the wife of one of our Genoese partners, who has always looked at Auracio with barely veiled greed. Isabella, the young wife of a Milanese banker, ambitious and frivolous. Clara, a cunning widow who trades in information. And the two Moretti sisters, vicious heiresses who collect scandals like others collect jewels. Perfect spectators. Curious, well-connected, and sufficiently involved in our world to understand every nuance of the spectacle. They are having breakfast on the covered terrace, laughing with too-sharp laughs, casting intrigued glances at Auracio, who remains silent near the

I yelled, grabbing the doorframe to steady myself. Rachel leaned into him, whispering loud enough for me to hear. “She’s still stupid, isn’t she? Still as gullible as ever. I can’t believe we even have to explain this to her.” Still in denial, I shook my head. “This isn’t real. It’s just a nightmare.” “Could you just shut up and leave, stupid bitch? You’re ruining my engagement,” Rachel snapped, rolling her eyes. My fists clenched and unclenched. I waited for someone, anyone at all, to rush out and tell me this was a prank.

Skin against skin. I didn’t breathe. I didn’t blink. I just stared. Damien’s hand slid down the curve of her waist. Her hair spilled over his chest. A familiar scent hit me, floral and expensive. Chanel No. 5. My mother’s perfume. The bouquet slipped from my hands, hitting the hardwood with a dull thud. The sound made Damien’s head jerk up. His eyes met mine over her shoulder. His pupils dilated. His mouth fell open. “Elara.”

“Is that… what I think it is?” Elena groaned. “Clara—” “That’s her, isn’t it?” Clara whispered, eyes wide. “Scarlett. The mafia queen. The owner of Club Vixen.” Elena said nothing. Clara grinned. “I remember the other night now. That’s who you’ve been thinking about.” Elena’s face turned crimson. “Clara, stop.” “Oh my God, girl,” Clara teased, taking a sip of her drink. “No wonder you were staring like you saw a ghost. She looks even more dangerous in daylight.”

The ballroom glittered with crystal chandeliers and polished marble, the perfect mask for a night that promised ruin. Bianca stood beside Matteo at the Romano charity gala, her emerald gown clinging to her like armor. Voices rose and fell around her polite laughter, the clink of glasses, the murmur of deals that never named names while her mind kept replaying the graveyard vow and Carmela’s smile like a splinter beneath her skin.. Cameras flashed, laughter rolled but underneath it all, the air was charged, sharp with danger.