Novelas y relatos de Clay Moral Orel

Yale nodded, “It’s odd to have a human actually fated mated to our kind.” Clay played with the wine bottle in his hands, “I know. I quite don’t understand it myself, but she is definitely my mate.” Yale sighed, “Do you think she’s even good enough for you?” Clay looked at Yale with defeat, “I would imagine s,o but who’s to say? She’s from a different timeline, she knows nothing of our world, and she’s odd.” Yale laughed, “She definitely is odd, but like you said, maybe she is the key.”

Clay's neck. . .

"You really think Layla likes you? She's just using you to piss me off. Once she's done venting, she'll dump a low-grade, inferior beastkin like you immediately." Clayton arched a brow. "So? Layla says you're filthy. At least I'm clean. I'll bite the necks off anyone who tries to touch me instead of pretending to resist as you did." Well, this was interesting. Clayton was usually meek, helpless, and honest in my presence. This was the first time I've seen the sharp side of him. "Clean? How dare a gladiator like you speak of cleanliness? Who knows how many of your own kind you've ripped apart?" Salem sneered.

Clay just became interested in chasing girls and I wanted to train to become a hunter. His morals are blurry when it comes to issues of human/wolf relations. Clay is an equal opportunity fuckist. If he vibes on a female, he’ll lure her into his bed regardless of the consequences, whether she’s human, or that one time in his younger days he hooked up with a mated she-wolf from another pack. Clay was her revenge fuck against her own mate whom she thought wasn’t giving her enough attention. River claims that Clay joined the hunters because he had to leave pack lands or the wolf’s spurned mate would kill him. I believe that story to be true.

"Alright, you get points for that, but you're still on probation, buddy." Clay chuckled, visibly relieved. "Fair enough." As we stood there, I could feel the dynamics subtly shifting. This was a critical juncture, not just between me and Clay, but also between two people who held significant sway over different parts of my life. Moro's protective concern was palpable, almost tactile, creating a momentary force field around us. It was as if she was the gatekeeper to my old life, cautiously scrutinizing this new figure who had so abruptly and irresistibly entered my world.

It looked less like a construction site and more like the setting for a folk revival. “Reinforcements!” Clara called, spotting me. She looked tired but energized, her teacher’s voice projecting over the hammering. “Just in time. We’re debating the ethics of bribery via pastry.” “It’s not bribery,” I said, heaving the box onto a picnic table. “It’s strategic morale enhancement. Where’s LJ?”

“Politics is perception, Lady Zanny.” “And what of morality?” I asked. Silence. Clay ran a hand through his hair. “You are letting your anger cloud judgment.” “My anger?” I felt heat flood my veins. “You slept with her in a prison cell, Clay.” Torin stiffened slightly. “And now,” I continued, voice shaking, “you stand here planning her release like she is some diplomatic inconvenience.” Clay’s wolf surged beneath his skin; I could feel it. “Do not bring our private matters into council decisions.”

Clay could have planned this beforehand. “Oh, Clay, what have we done?”

"We need to talk." Clara snorted. "What now? Come here to gloat about catching me?" Morales didn't rise to the bait, motioning the guard to unlock the cell door. "I'm here to make one thing clear," he said from within his bulk, the small space of the cell filled with his massive presence. "You're done. Whatever schemes you think you still have, forget them. You've lost." Clara leaned against the wall. She folded her arms over her chest. Moving hurt her shoulder, but she didn't draw back. "You are so cocky," she said, voice curling with malice. "But you do not know half of what I am capable of."