Elena Norwood Novels & Stories

Her silence was more terrifying than her anger. The morning of the gala, I was in my office, trying to focus on a speech I had to give. My door opened and Eleanor walked in. She did not sit. She stood in front of my desk, her hands clasped in front of her. "I found her," she said without preamble. Her voice was flat, devoid of emotion. "Michelle Wood. She lives in a small apartment in Queens. She works as a waitress. She is twenty two years old. She has no family in the city."

But i still picked the call anyways. "Hi, please are you by anyways, Miss Selene Woods?" - A feminine voice came from the other end, soft, polite and yet, straight to the point. "Yes, i am she!!. How may i be of help to you?" - I replied in a wary tone. "Great!!. My name is Anne Moreau, i'm a manager at Livelia entertainment and also a friend of the professor." - She introduced herself briefly, her tone filled with strict professionalism. " Oh..." - I gasped.

“Don’t wait until everything falls apart before you realize what’s really important.” I didn’t answer. Because I didn’t want to admit I already knew what he meant. I stepped out into the hallway, only to find her waiting. Not Sienna. My mother. Evelyn Lockwood. Luna. Wife of the man who had nearly died. The woman who was proving to me that she was not going to leave this subject unspoken of. She stood with her arms crossed, eyes sharp, lips pressed together. “I saw you leave the guest room this morning,” she said quietly.

Leone had gone very still by the window, with one thumb hooked into his belt. "Elena Romano held an Italian passport for two years, Mrs. Moretti," Reyes said, sliding a photograph out of her coat and laying it on the edge of a broken table, her voice level and polite. "A widow, an art dealer, born in Palermo. The records say she died in a car accident before she ever opened her gallery." "Then she was a very unusual widow," Isabella answered quietly, looking down at her own face in the picture, with its black gown and its dark glossy hair.

“Selena.” The woman slowly walked down the stairs. Each step graceful. Confident. She stopped in front of Elara and examined her openly. “Hmm.” Elara shifted slightly under the intense stare. “And you are?” Elara asked politely. The woman smiled. But it wasn’t a friendly smile. “I’m Selena Blackwood.” Elara’s stomach dropped. Adrian’s sister. Selena tilted her head slightly. “You’re prettier than I expected.” “Thank you,” Elara said carefully.

A single glance at Elara that said you again and then away. Lucian Vale — younger than Derrick, quieter, with watchful eyes that moved to Elara once and stayed a beat too long before moving away. Collecting information. Helena Vale — Adrian's stepmother. Late fifties. The kind of woman who had maintained herself with discipline rather than ease, handsome in an architectural way that had more to do with structure than warmth. She looked at Elara the way certain women looked at things they had decided not to dignify the deliberate unseeing of someone who had determined that acknowledging her existence would be a concession she wasn't prepared to make.

"I know, but Damon…" My mother had suddenly appeared at the door, attracted by the brewing noise; her eyes had grown wide as she spotted Damon and Cassandra half-naked. "What is the meaning of this, Damon? Annie, why are you sobbing?" Cassandra seized the opportunity. She pointed at the pizza I mistakenly spilled on the floor. "Look, Mrs. Scarlett! Your ‘precious’ daughter tried to sneak in and attack Damon! She's trying to get obsessed with him! She doesn't want to accept that the Alpha already chose me. Your daughter keeps doing crazy things even when I'm the true Luna. I have been waiting for this poor thing of yours to leave him for me!"

Nobody could just become the Alpha of another state, and there had been no news of some Alpha ousting another Alpha. “How don’t you remember someone you were engaged to?” Fred asked him with a frown on his face. “I think someone messed with my memories,” Noah said. “It’s the only thing that makes sense to me.” “Well, Josephine is now married to Alex and they have two children, she features in the newspapers regularly with some charity place she has on their ranch, a safe haven for abused women. Alex doesn’t feature a lot and I wouldn’t even know his outcast status if I didn’t have friends in Montana,” he said.

Neither of them noticed me watching, and I had to put down the patrol roster and breathe for a minute. --- Elena had settled in with a speed that surprised all of us, and a shyness that didn't. She'd driven nine hours with one small bag. My mother put her in the room across from Marissa's and filled the dresser with cardigans from three different relatives before she could protest. She didn't know what to do with her hands, so she did dishes. She didn't know where she belonged at the table, so she took the chair nearest Marissa, and no one ever mentioned it. At night I'd find them in the kitchen, whispering over cocoa, Marissa learning twenty-one years of her mother's life in pieces. Elena h

The ground under the pine trees was getting softer turning over to show the dark earth that had been locked away for months. Elena sat at her oak table in the central library, the wide windows open a little to let in the fresh breeze. Her notebook pages were blowing gently in the wind. On her monitor the master deployment matrix of the Nora Vale Imprint was working smoothly. For 15 years her creative energy had been used to fuel a corporate machine that demanded constant work. Now as she watched the seasons change her writing rhythm was slower and more deliberate.