Draculaura Boots Novels & Stories

I suggest only to have her as far from me as possible. With a nod, Laura turns to the right. As she goes away, the lilac aroma fades. I stand there staring at her, surprised at how effectively she climbs in those sandals while grasping the hem of her dress. Since she is a strigoi, I should have expected she wouldn't need any special equipment for a mountain trek.

Doll said walking towards Amelia and she smiled. An hour later Amelia was dressed in lingerie.. same like the girls in a Playboy magazine. Her creamy and fair body was matching with sexy black lace lingerie. Her thighs were fine and she had sexy legs, the breasts hung out from the bra she was wearing. A soft makeup done on her pretty face and she was wearing black flat pumps. "Why aren't you wearing heels?" Jewel came out and she was the sexiest of them, she was wearing six-inch heels, her legs were long, thin and sexy.

Clayton stated coldly. “No!” Laura screamed, kicking at the guards as they dragged her away. “Clayton! I’m perfect for you! I am your Luna!” As she was hauled through the hallway, Laura turned as pale as a ghost. She knew the punishment for using dark magic was execution. She needed to contact Milana. Milana had given her the potion, and now, she was Laura’s only hope of escaping death.

I never let myself remember that one magical Christmas night when I was eighteen when I’d wanted to change my life to be worthy of Andrei's love. The night I’d promised myself that I would never—for any reason—gamble or cheat or lie again. Even though he’d left me, I’d kept that promise. Until now. I reached into the back of my closet, pulling out my black boots with the sharp stiletto heels. “Illyra?” Lyra said anxiously. Not answering, I sat down heavily on the bed. Putting my feet into my boots, I zipped up the backs. It was the first time I’d worn these stiletto boots since I was a rebellious teenager with a flexible conscience and a greedy heart.

His cold little dumpling face looked even more adorable. Lyra wore the skirt she bought yesterday, gritting her teeth to spend 2,500 dollar on it. It was a sky blue V-neck long skirt, cinched at the waist, length to her knees. She had light makeup on, her long black hair in gentle curls. Her exquisite beautiful features were like a blooming flower. She was 1.73 meters tall, slim waist and long legs. She wore a pair of thin high heels. As she held her son's hand and walked downstairs step by step, she was like a fairy descending to earth, stunning the wolfmen.

He walked into the room, his boots crunching on the glass. Lucas groaned from the corner, trying to stand up. "Who... who are you?" The intruder didn't even look at Lucas. He lifted a heavy, booted foot and kicked Lucas in the chest, sending him crashing back into the drywall with a sickening crack. The man turned his gaze to me. His eyes were glowing. Not the yellow of a normal wolf. Not the blue of an Alpha. They were Red. The color of fresh blood. The sign of a Lycan King.

But damn it… it works. I catch my reflection and almost don’t recognize myself. Alpha. Warrior. Queen. Lyra pulled my hair up in a high bun. It looks elegant but severe. A few soft curls fall around my face, in sharp contrast to the steel in my spine. My golden stiletto heels wait beside the bed. Lyra, of course, looks like she’s about to destroy men for fun. She’s gone for a rich, royal purple dress. It is off-the-shoulder silk. The kind of material that kisses every inch of skin it touches. The dress has twin slits that nearly reach her hips.

The grand hallway stretched before them like a silent witness to the wars of politics and power. It’s marble floors gleamed beneath the golden morning light, casting their long shadows side by side as they walked with quiet purpose. Damian’s stride was steady, strong, his posture was the embodiment of an Alpha Reborn. But it was Laura who stole the air from the room. She walked beside him in a float navy blue dress that cinched at her waist, silver embroidery wrapping her body like star dust.

Laura chose a tightly fitting cotton top, matched with a black hugging skirt for the big day. It would be the first day of practice leading to the big performance, she wanted to feel good. Laura had realized that she didn't mind when people looked at her. She kind of enjoyed it. Grabbing her bag which housed her cello, make-up kit and other girl essentials she was skipping from the apartment when her swollen knee ached in pain. The knee had swollen some more through the night. Her heels were putting too much pressure on it. Ruffling through her shoe stand she picked out a pair of black loafers. They were not as glamorous as the heels but they would do. She had to get something for the knee.

He heard the sharp, rhythmic click of boots on the stone floor—a sound of authority that didn't belong to his warriors. The doors swung open. Lyra walked in. She wasn't wearing the mask. She wore a dark, high-collared coat trimmed with silver fur, her long black hair tied back in a lethal, professional braid. Her sapphire eyes were cold, scanning the room with the efficiency of a general. Behind her walked a small boy, his hand tucked into hers.