Elena Coats Novels & Stories

“Breathe.” Elena sent her Mate a hopeful smile, and the astonishment on his face melted back into ease. Elena wore a light gold dress, light enough to melt into her alabaster skin. Her long white hair was down, with two braids wrapping around her crown. A diadem wrapped around her forehead with a single Moonstone in the center. Instead of flowers, she carried her daughter in her arms.

“I was hoping you would ask. I will explain inside, dear, if you will let me come up. I have come alone.” Elena pressed the buzzer. She set the chain on the door and unlocked the deadbolts, because she did not want to fumble with locks while Mrs. Cross stood watching her in the corridor. A minute later, the soft knock came. Elena opened the door the width of the chain. Mrs. Cross stood in the corridor in a long camel coat, pearl earrings, no other jewelry. She looked exactly as she had at the gala. “Good morning, Elena.” She greeted with a wide smile

It' s about everyone involved. Including the woman I' m trusting with your life. Elena Marsh. I have proof she was paid by the Coles to spy on me. To sabotage the investigation. She thinks I don 't know. But I do. And if she tries to use this data for herself, for revenge instead of justice, the files contain evidence that will destroy her too. She killed people, Lana. Helped cover up deaths. Took blood money. She ' s not innocent. None of us

PENELOPE "What are you doing here?" I asked it before I turned around completely, sensing someone step close in a way that meant they wanted to be heard but not seen by the crowd. Elena Vale. She wore a dark coat and held the same calm expression on her face. Adrian stood a couple of steps away, talking to someone from his firm. He hadn’t noticed her yet. "I needed to speak to you without an appointment," she said. "Appointments give people time to prepare. I prefer the truth before they can dress it up."

“You’ve touched a variable he doesn’t control.” Rowan’s expression didn’t change. “Good.” Two Hours Later. Elena sat inside a quiet café near the river, eyes scanning every reflection in the glass. She didn’t look like someone born into dynasties. Simple clothes. No security detail. A sketchbook on the table beside her coffee. An artist. Normal. Rowan stepped inside first. He felt it immediately. The pull. Not emotional. Biological. She looked up at the sound of the door. And froze.

~ELENA’S POV ~ I stood before the grand mirror in my chambers, staring at what was left of me. My hands ran down the embroidery of my ceremonial gown—heavy and suffocating. Just like the weight of being the Alpha of Sizzle pack which I carried for years. Unfortunately, that weight was taken off my shoulder. At first I was happy I was doing something like that. Sacrificing my position for my mate, Vernon. That was the best decision to me given the fact that I couldn’t morph.

Elena slid it across the counter with an effortless flick, hair falling over one shoulder, posture loose and unbothered. The sales associate’s face lit up like she was being blessed by a deity. Approved. Lysandra’s lungs stopped working. “Oh you have GOT to be kidding me...” she whispered, fury building like static electricity under her skin. She imagined Elena screaming. Crying. Begging Roman to protect her. Not buying fifty thousand dollar coats like she was choosing snacks. One security man leaned quietly toward her. “Ma’am,” he murmured, “would you like us to go in again?”

“My goodness, you scared the life out of me!” Aunt Caroline was a short and plump woman in her mid-forties. Her hair was always dyed blonde because she took after her idol Madonna. She kept her face hidden with all the cosmetics she covered it. The only time she was seen without her make-up was when she applied facial mask. “Aunt Caroline? What’s got you all fired up?” Yet inside Ellaine’s head she was still thinking about the empty town and the huge tree. “You were having a bad dream!”

Eliana said. She was sitting on the beige sofa, a makeup artist hovering over her, dusting powder onto her nose. She looked impeccable. She was wearing a midnight blue dress—a nod to the engagement party—that was modest but sharp. Armor. “I’m not pacing,” I lied. “I’m strategizing.” “You’re thinking about how many ways you can legally strangle Elena Costa on live television,” she corrected. “Elena Costa is a vulture,” I muttered. “She made a career out of tearing women down under the guise of ‘journalism.’ If she comes for you, Eliana…”

Her hair was loosely curled, eyes lined in kohl, and lips painted the color of crushed berries. Elena opened the car door and slid into the passenger seat like she was walking into a throne room, elegant, confident, quiet fire in her every move. “Evening, Mr. Johnson,” she said sweetly, sliding into the passenger seat. He leaned in with a smirk. “You seem to be a trouble tonight. I can feel it already.” She raised a brow, pretending innocence. “Me?” Ryan shut the door and got in beside her, starting the car. But before he could shift into gear, Elena unclasped the belt of her overcoat, slowly, deliberately. The fabric fell open, and she threw it to the back side.