Elio Perlman Novels & Stories

Liman turned and strode from the windowless inner room they'd turned into a sort of holding cell. Elio lay on a sofa, eyes shut, breathing even. There wasn't any visible indication he was waking up. A man trained as well as he was shouldn't give away something like that. Liman kept his distance, watching Elio's chest rise and fall. He'd lost some weight, but was still lean. In all the time Liman had known Elio, he'd always been very focused. Liman had seen the earliest videos from when Elio hadn't even known how to speak or walk. He'd been full of determination, and he'd carried that on into his training.

I walked outside to spread some clothes and I ran in immediately. Laman stood on the floor, his legs shaking. He had fully shifted into a small wolf pup with blue fur. He was wagging his tail repeatedly while Leo was hailing him, clapping his hands and laughing. The shift had torn his clothes to pieces and a large piece of the crib was laying just beside him. “Laman!” I whispered, carrying him up quickly before anyone would walk past the open door and try to attack him. His little wolf form was warm and soft on my neck. Leo reached for me with his hands, his own eyes flashing

'There was a sudden deem lights, Phelan remembers someone, who was Don Carlton telling her to go lay down and rest. She tried to refuse, but he was too strong, and she was unable to stop him. It was so sudden that Don stood, watching Phelan in a distant approached her in a smile that shed some lights in the deem lights that came from the window. A meter from Phelan, Don put his hands on her shoulders, and then made an excuse and left.

That makes me very angry, it makes me believe that man is completely inhuman. In my mind, only terrible things come to mind, and because of the love I have for my son, I had no intentions of revenge. I thought it was time to leave everything behind, of course, not having any romantic relationship. "Dolores, that man is not just anyone, do you know who Adal Müller is?" Lucero questions with fear in her eyes. "He's a man who plans every step he takes, he's not one to act on impulse. Do you think he doesn't want to know what happened to her and her baby?"

When I look up, Luca Padre is standing in the doorway. The entire cafeteria watches as he walks in — calm, slow, deliberate. His eyes sweep the room, and when they land on me, something unreadable flickers in them. He doesn’t say a word as he crosses the floor. He stops right in front of me. His hand wraps around mine — firm, steady, grounding. “This is Eloise Perkins of sophomore class A. I am sure that many of you are currently familiar with her,” he says, voice sharp enough to slice the silence.

My eyes turned into a deep shade of golden, I could see their glow in Killian’s pupils. “Is that so?” He asked, tightening his grip around my wrist, threatening to break it, making me fight back a laugh. The man didn’t know what I would do to protect what my parents entrusted me with, and him breaking my wrist would be the last thing I could worry about right now. I caught sight of Ezra who was watching me with eyes, processing what he was seeing. His parents didn't know who I really was. I had used my pack’s last name as my own, Elica, to hide myself from the Lycan, and though I was curious about the fact of how he found out who I was, I didn’t have time for that right now, watching me with

POV: ELI He had checked his watch four times in the last twenty minutes. Marco had been talking about Palermo for most of that time and Eli had responded at what he hoped were appropriate intervals while Debbie Pelt, head of the Obsidian Ace's construction firm, angled her aggressively low neckline in his peripheral vision. He was not interested in Debbie's neckline. He had not been interested in any neckline that wasn't a specific one for the past several days and the realization was not entirely comfortable.

-⁠-- Kaelan The penthous⁠e was too qui⁠et.⁠ K‍aelan‌ h⁠ad taken t⁠o working‌ from the library,⁠ t‌he⁠ ro‍om th⁠at still held t‌he ghost of the‍i‌r co‍llaborati⁠on. He was reviewing t⁠he now-compl‍e⁠te‌ fore‍nsic a‍udit—a da‍mning,‍ b⁠ook-le‌ngth d‍oc‌ument detailing Thor‍ne and Alistair’s conspir‌acy—⁠when Marcus entered. “Sir, a piece of informatio⁠n has come across my desk. The New York Arts F‍oundatio⁠n has shortlisted‌ Elara for th‌e‍ ‘New Visionary’ g‌rant.”

The scent of fresh paint and lemon-scented cleaner filled the air, and the ring of laughter and the mad clacking of computer keyboards came through open doors. Elara, the foundation director, was a sixty-ish woman with kind eyes and a strong handshake. She wasn't one of those people who fawned over Clarkson, much as Jonah was passionately thankful about it. She spoke to him in a respectful, but also with the focused determination of a general discussing a battle plan.