Fran Bow Remor Novels & Stories

And now that bastard’s son, Vincenzo, smug, broad-shouldered, too much of his father’s arrogance trapped in one body, thought he could stroll back into my circle and reclaim my spoils like he earned it. My fingers curled over the railing so hard the metal groaned. Below, in the piss-yellow light of the ring, Remo was dancing with death. Or rather, with Adriano Capone. Remo. My boy. My blood. Eighteen... almost nineteen in a couple months. Built wide through the shoulders, heavy through the arms. Fists that had been shattering noses since he was thirteen and wild enough to laugh about it. And none of that meant a damn thing against the animal waiting for him in that ring.

Andrea clutched her hand, whining, "Ow! This bracelet is way too clunky. It bashed my hand." Her smug glance at me spoke volumes. The burn on my hand from the wax still throbbed, but I ignored it, slipping out as they swarmed around her in a frenzy of concern.

Main character's POV ( Shrey) It's dark and half-past eleven with no sign of vehicles nearby, except a yellow Lamborghini Urus shining under one of the street lights; the Door of the house suddenly opens, and I come face to face with my Boyfriend, Louis. I wasn't ready, but I knew he was my only solution and hope for my futuristic problems and lost memories. When he saw me, he was dumbfounded and mumbled, "Shrey? What are you doing here, and where have you been for so long?".

A chuckle of pain escaped from me upon realizing he looked like he was protecting his queen from a villain. He's sweet, after all. Ronan looked at me with a frown. I'm confused by the way he looked at me. Is he angry because I fought with his woman? Thinking about it made me even feel worse. I glared at him as the back of my eyes warmed. Dejavu. Seeing them together brings back the nightmare. How they looked down at me without remorse while kicking me out of the house. It's painful… It was too painful for me to handle at that time.

Bowie turned his eyes towards Remona, he scanned her up and down for a few moments before shrugging his shoulders. "I don't know her, do you? Is she pregnant for you? Did you impregnate a girl?" Bowie remarked still acting clueless, he picked up a glass of wine to sip from. Anger flared up in Remona, how could he pretend like he didn't know her and like she was a piece of trash? "Hey! Who the hell are you to act like you don't know me? You don't know who I am, you don't? Why don't I make you remember?" Remona mumbled matching towards him, she pulled his hair making him whine in pain. Her eyes were spitting fire at him.

Remy shifts mid-air and tackles the Revenant with spectral mobsters riding his back like it’s a 1920s gangster pile-on. Frankie floats beside me, directing traffic like a conductor. Frankie: “Left flank, sweetheart! Give it the Chicago typewriter!” I slam my katana into the Revenant’s core at the exact second six ghostly tommy guns unload. The Revenant screams in a language that hurts to hear and shatters into a thousand shards that dissolve before they hit the water. Silence. Frankie tips his hat again. Frankie: “Debt paid for now. But there’s six more of those bastards coming.

Because I'm not here to actually be treated like a goddess, at least not like that. "So... he’s back in the picture," Rogan murmurs when Rem is far away enough not to listen. I cringe and wish I had teletransportation powers instead of fire powers. He points at my neck, "And he did it again, huh? Lucky bastard." Shit, he sounds sad. "He is a dead fucking fish, that’s what he is," River growls, looking at Rem with murder in his mind. Oh, god, "Are you two back together or what?"

His eyes lock with Hunter's, reflecting a mix of anger, disappointment, and determination. Hunter looks at Finrir disappointingly, not fully realizing the gravity of the situation, and argues, "But this one is dead. They won't miss it." Finrir's eyes widen in alarm, teetering on the edge of losing his temper. In a tense moment, Finrir extends his hand, his fingers curved like claws, reaching toward Hunter's hair as if to forcefully drag him out. But Hunter, recognizing the seriousness in Finrir's gaze, understands that obedience is crucial.

At the same time, joy filled my heart. After all, Jolin was my mother. My mother was the best forensic artist. She was able to recreate the appearance of the deceased from their skull and data analysis. I was certain she would definitely recognize me. Soon, my bones were taken back to the police station. My mother arrived and quickly examined my bones. Then, she frowned and said, "The skull is incomplete and shattered. I can't do facial reconstruction like this. Has there been any information from the missing persons?" The police officer, Mark, shook his head as he looked at my bones. "Dr. John claimed that there were severe fractures on the victim's leg bones. It's likely from a heavy impac

He lunged forward, his broken blade meeting Remnant’s arm, which had transformed into a shimmering blade of blue energy. The clash of the two Rowans was a blur of silver and blue. It was a dance I had seen a thousand times, but now it was horrifyingly symmetrical. Every strike Rowan made, Remnant parried with a pre-calculated precision. Remnant knew Rowan’s every instinct, every move, every weakness. "You fight with emotion, Prototype," Remnant mocked as he drove a knee into Rowan’s ribs. "Emotion is a lag in the system. It makes you slow. It makes you predictable."