Doon From City Of Ember 소설 & 이야기

happy? No thoughts of Dante. No thoughts of my father either. Just the rush of the wind, the pulse of music, and the wild, reckless joy I didn't know I was capable of feeling. I closed my eyes, letting the sound consume me. We sped down the highway, streetlights streaking above us like golden blurs. The city felt alive tonight. Like it had opened its arms just for us. Eventually, Katya slowed down as we pulled into the city center. Towering buildings blinked with neon lights, and one in particular caught my eye.

“Misha—” “Stop.” I turn to Donn. “Leave.” Donn’s smirk fades, just a little. He studies me, then Damon, then me again. Then, slow, he pushes off the wall, straightening his shirt. “As you wish, little storm.” He ports out in a swirl of shadow, leaving only the scent of pine and leather behind. Damon’s hands come to my waist, his grip bruising. “He’s dangerous.” “I know.” “He wants you.”

No moon. The black car rolled down the old road into the city. Inside were James, Cole, and Jennie—dressed in black, alert, ready. James gripped the wheel. “We’re almost there.” Cole checked his pistol. “No signs of tail.” Jennie sat in the back, watching the buildings pass by. “This place feels wrong.” “It’s the right place then,” James said. They pulled up to a small, abandoned warehouse near the edge of the city. The gates were rusted, half broken.

And trust me—if you think things are intense now… you haven’t seen anything yet. So stay close, stay ready, and keep reading, because Claimed by the Don is only getting hotter, darker, and more irresistible from here. Wishing you a Merry Christmas filled with joy, love, and a little bit of dangerous romance. 💋🎁 With love, Your Author 💖

"In exchange for three months of your time. The soul part is optional." *** That night, I stood at the window of my pretty cage. Outside nothing and the distant glow of security lights. Thinking about the Sanctuary and the way Frank's hand had felt against my skin. My phone buzzed. Unknown number. Against every instinct screaming don't, I answered. "Hello?" Breathing. Then: "I know you're alive, Jane." I froze for a moment, caught by the familiar tone. My lungs stopped working. A shiver ran through me; I felt the chill under my clothes. Two years since I'd heard it, but my body remembered.

The evening breeze toys with the hem of my skirt. Eric Bellini—the new Don whose very name can silence the East Coast's underworld for three whole seconds—is now carefully adjusting the lapel of my coat with the same hands that once signed blood-soaked pacts and pulled countless triggers. His touch is so gentle it feels almost devout. His fingers brush against my collarbone, sending an almost unbearable jolt through my veins.

“Because you keep it steady. And you never gloat.” Carolina considered this, then flicked her a half-hearted salute. “I’m saving it up.” Night swelled quickly, shedding the usual half-measures. The city felt like it was holding its breath, the old tides struggling against new, raw currents. They met Ember in an old cold-room behind a cannery, redolent of rust and fish bones. She was smaller than Carolina expected, her face crowded with the delicate geometry of someone who had never, for a moment, been a child.

Ember’s heart pounded as they made their way through the dark corridors, following a scent that smelled faintly like Neil. Eventually, the trail took them to the stairs leading down to the dungeons. The scent was even stronger here, and they paused at the top, glancing at one another. Eric’s final words echoed in Ember’s mind as she looked at Castor, but she schooled her face into dark determination. Not now. Those feelings, too, could wait until later tonight. Castor gave her a grim nod, and they continued their descent into the dungeons. The distant sound of voices soon reached Ember’s ears, and she slowed, pressing herself against the wall as they approached the source of the noise.

he said one night, his voice raw. “You didn’t choose for me,” Isabelle replied. “But I’ll choose for myself.” At the heart of Duskmoor, beneath the ruins of the old abbey, lay the Ember Shrine ,a place Isabelle had only seen in sketches and fragments. Together, they uncovered it. A stone chamber, lit by an eternal flame. On the walls, carvings of women in flames. At the center, an altar—and a symbol etched in gold: two names intertwined.