How The Tables Have Turned Novels & Stories

I only knew who they were by scent because I didn’t bother to look in their direction. That doesn’t stop me either though as I put my claws at his stomach and slowly dig in, “Maybe you’re the one who should watch the way you talk to a Turned wolf,” my claws slip deeper and deeper but he doesn’t so much as flex his abs. “Especially when you have no information on them,” he still doesn’t move an inch the whole time as I retract my claws and scape upwards a bit. I didn’t go too deep, he’ll heal in seconds from what I’ve learned from Star.

After all, I now had a man who genuinely put his heart into preparing something special for me, just to create something uniquely for us. The only thing I needed to do was say whether I liked it or not. I didn't need to compromise, nor did I have to give it away to someone else. Upon hearing my words, George seemed to freeze on the spot. Like he had lost his soul, his eyes gradually dimmed. "Mary, can we really not start over? Please give me one more chance! I promise to change. Do you remember our time at university? All our shared—" I mercilessly cut him off. "I already said it was too late. Nothing you say will change that, so please leave."

His eyes went to HIS table. “Oh, so that would be the shareholder.” “What?” “That table was our original table.” I looked at HIS blank face which was a big sign that he wasn't pleased. This mother-fucking bastard!!

DAVON The polished surface of the table shines under the office chandelier, but there is nothing warm in the room. Maps and papers lie scattered like pieces of a broken puzzle, each one reminding me of last night’s ambush. My jaw tightens as I lean forward, palms flat on the wood. The air feels thick; the men around me shift under my stare. “Explain to me,” I say, my voice cutting straight through the hush, “how we were made to look like fools?”

I asked. "That's because we take syllables from our Human's name and make it into ours" Just as she finished speaking I felt something flying towards me. "Miss! Dodge!" Clara voice jotted me out of my thoughts as I immediately moved aside. A crash sounded behind me, turning to look I saw that it was the table that was sent flying. Just imagine if that thing hit me, "Are they done fighting?" I looked over and saw that they've transformed back. The only thing is that they look tattered.

"Well, if everyone's game, I'd hate to be the buzzkill. I'm in." They had no idea that the tables had turned. Now, they weren't the ones setting me up anymore. In this hand, I was going to make every single one of them taste the suffering I had endured in my previous life.

"You noticed the furniture." "You changed the tables after I showed you the logistics logs from the southern families," Obi said, his gray eyes looking up to meet mine. "You realized that your captains were forming factions during the briefings because the old table had a head and a foot. Round tables mean no one sits at the top." "You're too smart for your own good, Ashford," I murmured, my hand resting on the back of his chair, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from his collar. "A boy with your mind usually doesn't live long in this town."

How the tables had turned. Lucas shoved open a heavy door and threw me inside. I stumbled but didn’t fall, luckily. Narrowly, I had escaped twisting my ankles, but I remained upright, glaring at him with all the poison I could muster. My dislike for him didn't seem like it was ever going to die.

I'd destroy her. My fingers curled around the edge of my desk. This was it. The moment I turned the tables. The moment I made her see that no matter how far she thought she'd come— She was still playing my game.

The heavy mahogany table, reinforced with Southern steel, groaned and buckled under the mere pressure of my passing. I wasn't walking, I was descending. I could see the pulse jumping in Doreen’s neck, a frantic, rhythmic beat that called to the predator I had spent three centuries trying to cage. I could see the way her eyes finally widened, the realisation hitting her like a physical blow that she wasn't facing a political rival or a legal challenge. She was facing the end of her life. "Astance!"