Confession Of A Rebel Get A Room Novels & Stories

(Skylar’s Confession — The Truth Rebel Was Never Supposed to Hear...) Rebel barely recognized the sound of her own voice when she spoke. It came out thin and unsteady, stretched tight with fear, like a thread ready to snap. “Mom… am I really crazy?” Skylar didn’t answer immediately. She ushered Rebel into her bedroom with shaking hands and closed the door behind them. The soft click of the latch echoed far too loudly in the small space, carrying a weight that made Rebel’s stomach twist. This wasn’t comfort. This was a countdown.

Rid simply whispered. I replied narrowly, "Crush!! We have fallen into a trap, Sophia will wage a war from which only a miracle can be spared." I said that as I listened to my rebellious whisper to her wolf Alora, "This is who you are supporting!! Let him and the ugliness wait. I'm sure they'll love my surprise for them."

Victor's voice was almost a whisper, and like an Idiot I turned to face him. "Good night Mo!" His voice matched the softness in his gaze and I just turned around and ran upstairs. I some how managed to hold my tears till I was inside my room and closed the door behind me.

I know what neophytes can do when they’re overtaken by their new urges – none of us is immune to it when we’re reborn. I lean against the door and take a few deep breaths while I listen to Simone as she rages around her room, throwing furniture over and screaming profanities. At least she’s not trying to get out of the room, which was my biggest fear, but I can't leave her by herself. She's in the worst head space a neophyte can be, and it's usually that kind of thing that leads to mass slaughter. “Vesper,” I say, summoning my brother.

"Just… go to your room. Please." I fled, stumbling into the blessedly dark hallway and into my own room, locking the door behind me. I sank to the floor, my back against the wood, my body still trembling from the raw emotion, the conflicting terror and the lingering echo of pleasure. This was a nightmare. This was everything I’d ever wanted. ---

That would be their mistake. It only took him a handful of minutes to locate his target. An entrance to the kitchens connected to the private conference room where the Pact members were meeting. Rebel was patient, slowly making his way inside, slipping among the shadows. Once near the room, he watched a server enter, allowing him a quick glance inside. Immediately, he spotted her. He couldn’t have missed her if he’d tried. Not with the way his heart was pounding. Standing in the conference room next to her beast of a brother, talking with animated movements as she pointed toward a massive chart behind her, she was breathtaking. Everything he remembered and more.

Playing for the NHL was a terrible choice because once they dig deeper, they find out what kind of shit you truly are. My chest constricts reading the last message sent by my mother, but I don't respond to it. I can't, not after what I did. Because, in a fucked up way, I agree with her. I'm the devil's child, indeed. With my eyes glazing over, I return to enjoying my latte. But even after I've downed it and ordered lunch, I still can't relax. Rebel told me her deepest secret, but would she still like me and be willing to date me if she knew mine?

Wallace busied himself cooking and cleaning every day. One night, I felt particularly exhausted and went to bed early after dinner. The house was dark when Wallace crept into my room silently. Seeing the motionless figure in bed, Wallace grabbed a pillow and pressed it down hard on the blanket. He said in a venomous voice, "Rachel, go to hell!" However, he realized something was off the moment he touched the blanket. It didn't feel like there was a person lying under it. In shock, he pulled back the covers and found it stuffed with pillows.

The dried wax that clung to the edge of my ribs. And the collar. I ran my fingers across it feeling not restrained, but claimed. Underneath the pillow, I found another card. Rest. Breathe. You're not broken. You're opened. When you're ready, write your next confession. There were no flowers. No demands. Just space. And the echo of everything we’d shared. Somewhere between heat and silence, I smiled. Because I wasn’t just a submissive anymore. I was a story unfolding. One confession at a time.

Hanson moves forward while commanding to others, “Release her!” When no one listens, he moves to do it himself. “Hanson, stop!” His body obeys as his mind churns, his heart burns, and his eyes yearn to follow through with the task. The Alpha Female. “COME BACK TO ME!” Hanson straightens as his body obeys a call the rest of him wishes to ignore. As he comes to stand next to his new female, he watches Jezebel and pleads for forgiveness and offers false promises of freeing himself from his Alpha Female with his eyes. Jezebel closes her eyes before looking straight ahead. That was the last time she looked at him. The thin silver thread grows even weaker from the final betrayal. He was going to s