Gabe Morales Novels & Stories

So when I see him—Moros, the god of doom—I make my move. Moros is a walking horror story. He looks like a sycamore and a steroid junkie had a terrifying love child. His antlers and arms are all twisted tree branches. His face is a skull. His legs are literal tree trunks, roots digging into the ground. He’s like a pissed-off Ent with a gym membership. But roots make you slow. Still, this guy is dangerous. He can warp your mind—show you all the worst endings to your life, make you believe you're somewhere else, with someone else. Sleeping in your bed. Walking into your lover’s arms. Falling off a cliff.

Fuck, yeah, she’s a Leonetti wolf and that counts for something. The light intensifies, and for a moment, everything is bathed in blinding white. A deafening roar sounds out, and when I open my eyes, I see the dark smoke hovering above Morana. I don’t see any physical features, but I can feel the absolute hatred this thing encapsulates. Who would worship something like this? When the light fades, Morana collapses to her knees, breathing heavily. Nova steps forward, her expression one of relief. “It’s done,” she says softly. “The Meraloth is gone.”

Alonzo’s limousine sped away into the night. “Are you okay?” Markos asked, his tone softer now. I nodded, though my hands were still shaking. The thought that something could have happened was appalling. “Thank you. I don’t know what he was planning, but it didn’t feel right.” Markos’s expression hardened. “Alonzo is a sex trafficker, Hazel. You need to be careful.” I furrowed my eyebrows at him. “How do you know?” He didn’t answer me. Instead, he opened the passenger door for me and gestured for me to enter. The tension between us was palpable, the silence was heavy, filled with unspoken words and unresolved feelings.

Her cheeks were flushed, her gaze darting nervously between them as her hands clasped tightly in front of her. Alexander’s sharp eyes narrowed slightly as he studied her. He didn’t recognize the woman, but her demeanor was almost painfully shy. “I… My last name is Morales,” she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve been waiting here for you for a long time.” “Morales?” Alexander repeated, his expression hardening. “Yes,” she said quickly, her words tumbling out in a rush. “I came here specifically about the Morales family’s situation.” Her cheeks deepened into a crimson hue as her gaze flickered nervously up to Alexander’s face. He stood under the warm glow of the lobby lights,

But she felt as though she wouldn't be able to say anything. He was the cause of this genocide, without a doubt. He certainly wasn't there to save them and the fear and terror clouding Milene's vision reassured her beliefs. She suddenly understood that Madoxe was the mand chained up to Milene, who surely came before her. She understood why the villager didn't stop the fire, they couldn't. She suddenly understood the pull she had to come here, to witness this atrocity. This was her mate, this was what he did. This misery came from his command, he dictated all of it. She hated that it didn't terrify her that much.

That's the power the Morris hold in Italy after Dante Matthews of course since he literally runs the whole of Italy with his underworld connections all over the world. "How do you know that she was the best cook in the whole Morris legacy since you weren't always alive to taste every one of your great grandmothers' food." I joked. He smiled and put me down on my feet in front of my door. "I just know she was and I don't need to prove it to anyone." he replied, " Can you walk inside without falling on your ass, Sab?" his cheerful mode turned sour all of a sudden which made me frown. "Jackass," I mumbled in my mouth " Are you a bi-polar or something? What happened to your mood all of a sudden?

They shouldn't have. Because Albert Morrison wasn't hero trying to save people. He was quantum physicist who'd learned to stop caring about collateral damage. And that made him the most dangerous person in the room.

“Morales… I will not spare him. I-” “There is no point in killing him,” Lavi says as he drags her towards the cave. “Morales is a national hero. He is one of the strongest fighters and also a great strategist. People are on his side. He puts up a generous facade in front of them and they worship him. If you kill him, you will turn him into a martyr.” They reach the cave. Lavi gently puts Anna down and makes her lean against a wall. “I cannot escape like this!” Anna hisses. “He-”

"That person’s dead! He died two years ago without leaving a corpse! He's surely dead! Even if he is alive, it's impossible to kill those soldiers at the same time! It must be a coincidence, and their journey was delayed for some reason!" Morris kept repeating these words to himself, and he did not even know how horrifying his demeanor was now. His originally slanted face became more and more distorted as if he was a ghost struggling out from hell. Not only that, but the shadow in his heart still traumatized him from time to time, especially in hellhole prison when the figure that melted into the darkness slapped his head almost to pieces. "B*stard!" Finally, Morris roared into the sky, and

I catch myself and regain my balance in order to avert the disaster in mid-collision. Mrs. Morales is a petite woman with a blue tint to her hair. She's what I like to refer to as "old money." She is the epitome of a professional widow, with incredible stories about each marriage. Her husbands died and left everything to her... all six of them. I'm not one to speculate, but I'm curious if all of their deaths were as natural as she claims.Maybe it's because I watch too many crime shows. Each man she married had a higher net worth than the previous one. She freely spends her money on her dog and whatever new boy toy she picks up for the evening because she has no children.