Davina Claire Death Novels & Stories

Claire asked worriedly, but Kaithy just shook her head and immediately hugged Nanay Lucing. Only now did Claire notice that her mother, Nanay Lucing, and Tita Kaithy were around the same age. Her eyes widened as she realized they must have been friends—especially given Tita Kaithy’s reaction. “Dahlia, you’re here! You’re alive! We all thought you died—we never found your body—“ “No body means I’m alive.” Tita Kaithy cried even harder at that. Slowly, everything began to sink in for Claire. She remembered there had been some trouble that had caused her to lose her memories.

"I saw her." Hope flickered and faded inside the cabin. Daniel lowered his eyes. Victor looked away. Even Gregory's shoulders seemed to sink. The reminder was necessary. Painful. Necessary. Claire was dead. Every piece of evidence pointed to that reality. Every year that passed reinforced it. Every sacrifice made in her name depended on it. Then the voice outside spoke again. And this time, something changed. Not in the room. In Serena. Because the woman outside didn't call for Evelyn.

Then some of his father’s personal friends spoke. “I’m Claire Michelson,” she introduced. Her hair was up in a loose-fitting bun. Her frame was very slender. Her long black dress with long sleeves hung on her like a coat would hang on a rack. “During my second year of marriage, my husband, David, and I took a trip to the south of France with Walter and Violet Dawson. Violet was pregnant with her first born at the time. My sons were little. Our husbands needed a short break from wheeling and dealing. We were on the beach – well, Violet, Walt, and myself were lounging on the beach. David was in the water. Everything was fine at first, then we heard yelling from the sea.” Claire took a breath.

But tucked inside a manila envelope was a coroner’s report. Cause of death: overdose. Circumstances: unknown. Witnesses: none. Claire hadn’t believed it then. She believed it even less now. She ran a finger over her mother’s signature, barely visible at the bottom of a medical form. Her hands trembled. Her throat tightened. Adrian appeared beside her, quiet. “She didn’t overdose,” Claire said, voice breaking. “They silenced her.” Adrian placed a hand over hers. “Then we find out how. We expose it. And we end this.”

Khloe said. "Did she hurt you ?" Claire asked looking at the bruises around Khloe neck where she had gripped herself. "No she didn't ." Khloe nodded her head , "I was just worried about how she was feeling,she appeared devasted seeing the man dead." "About the man ." Claire looks at Khloe with pleading eyes. " I won't definitely say anything to anyone ." Khloe said wondering why Claire would think she was going to talk to any other vampires aside Claire ,her daughter and probably Melvin.

a young man reported to his commander. If they didn't know Claire's status as a commander in this special forces, they would have thought that this woman was an ordinary woman, but her appearance now seemed far from that. "They can't just die from drowning at the bottom of the lake!" Claire hissed fiercely. She still couldn't forget what those astral beings had done to her. She was unconscious when it all happened until the special forces team found her in the kitchen. And then Claire got the news that her best friend, Ellen, had passed away and it was very likely that those bastard creatures had killed her. It was an indisputable fact, there were no other suspects in this case.

"Where did you get that?" "From someone who wanted justice even more than we do." I looked at Owen. "Sienna gave it to me. Audio recordings and bank records proving Blackthorn paid a surgeon to kill Claire during her operation." Owen went very still. "What?" "I'll explain everything once we're safe. But Owen, Claire's death wasn't an accident. And it wasn't your fault. It was Blackthorn. All of it was Blackthorn." His eyes closed. Grief and rage and relief warred across his face. "He killed her. He killed Claire to hurt me."

"Claire, you look terrible. Did you not sleep well? Should I—" He didn't finish. Claire's hand closed around his throat. The fruit bowl flew out of his grip and shattered across the floor. "Claire—what—what are you doing—" She pinned him to the couch, her grip tightening. "Dylan. You've played me for a fool." Her voice was sharp enough to draw blood. "You killed Wesley. You killed his father. You turned his own daughter against him. You deserve to die." Dylan choked, his face contorting with rage. But Claire didn't give him a single chance to beg.

He must have been feeling light headed, from all the blood he’d lost. “What’s your name, sweetheart?” He asked, and I noted the gentle lilt to his manner of speech. “Claire,” I said. “And don’t call me sweetheart.” “I’m Declan. What’s a nice girl like you doin’ in a place like this?” I rolled my eyes, tugging down one of my sweatshirt sleeves and pressing it against his forehead in an attempt to stem the bleeding. “I’m not such a nice girl. And if you don’t quit being so goddamned smarmy, I’m just gonna let this bleed until you pass out.” He smiled up at me then, a bright, earnest thing that lit up his entire face. I found myself smiling back.