Isadora Quagmire Novels & Stories

I uttered nervously and scratched my eyebrow. Is this her grandmother? She looks scary, indeed! "I'm looking for Magda," I said. "I brought some food for her," I added and smiled awkwardly. I scratched the back of my head. I was devastated when her eyes narrowed as if she were reading me. "Who's Magda?" she asked confusedly. "There's no Magda here. Go away!" the old lady scolded me and turned her back. I panicked. I hold the gate quickly to avoid closing it. She stopped because of what I did.

That would make sense if she were part of some satanic ceremony. Suddenly she can feel the shape of the dried blood on her forehead and just knows that it, too, is a pentagram. It is no longer a nice sensation and she wants to scream again, sure that her lungs are now capable of bringing the whole building down. But now she is unable to move a muscle, let alone scream. She finds that she can’t even blink, although her eyes are drying up and stinging quite badly. There is a sudden loud electrical crackle. Sparks of electricity come from the points of the pentagram around her. And then Isabelle knows no more.

asked Sabrina, amused. "I just won’t let you treat me! So what if I have died? I will not accept any hand out, any condescending hand out! I don’t want to accept handouts without any dignity! I don’t want it. Do you understand? How would such a high and mighty wife of a rich man like you understand how it felt for us to be living in exile? How could you understand our difficulties? In your eyes, my brother and I are robbers and are lowly people whose death would not be mourned by others, aren’t we? Then, why do you still want to treat the wound on my foot? Are you treating me as a charity case? Do you pity me? I'm sorry! I, Isadora Yeatman, have dignity. I'd rather die than to accept your h

“I’m aware.” “Then why do you act like it’s nothing?” Because showing weakness in front of her would be a mistake. Isadora Redgrave doesn’t tolerate incompetence, and she certainly doesn’t tolerate men who act like children when things go wrong. “I’m working on fixing it,” I say instead. “It’s not the end of the world, we can find a different wolf.” She stalks to the windows, arms crossed tightly. Her reflection glares back at her in the glass, regal and furious. “I should have known she’d come for him. That pathetic little thing. Tara. She must be using some kind of blood magic to control him.”

She was exhausted, but the adrenaline hadn’t faded. She wasn’t just playing a role anymore. She was the role. “Impressive performance today.” She turned to find the second woman from the meeting approaching. Tall, sharp-featured, and dressed in tailored navy, she moved with lethal grace. “I’m Isadora,” the woman said. “Riccardo’s security strategist. And occasional executioner.” Camilla blinked. “Nice to meet you.” “I liked your response to Mateo,” Isadora said with a smile. “Most flinch. You didn’t.”

Isadora gave her a glare and flipped her hair like she couldn’t care less. "Whatever," she said, then turned to me and Eloise. "You two stay back. I’m the top of my class in werewolf history. I’ve got this." "Suit yourself.” I said, honestly relieved that someone else was handling it. We all held our breaths as Isadora stepped closer to the stone slab. She studied the runes, then started pressing them confidently in what she must have thought was the right order. The runes froze for a second. We all tensed, waiting to see if she had solved it.

Except Lorenzo wasn’t watching the tourists. He was watching one girl. On the third screen, a young woman with long black hair stepped out of a café, carrying a small brown bag. She wore a simple dress and large sunglasses. She moved with elegance, with calm confidence — unaware she was being watched. Isadora Sinclair. The stolen heiress. The girl who lived a life that was never hers, yet should have belonged to him.

"Easy." The Queen descended from the platform and approached slowly, as if afraid I might bolt. "My daughter," she whispered, reaching up to cup my face. "My precious girl. You came home." Tears spilled down my cheeks. "I don't... I don't remember everything..." "You will." She pulled me into her arms, careful of my belly. "In time, you will. Welcome home, Isadora." Isadora. My real name. Princess Isadora Nightshade of the Crescent Moon Pack.

Quinn Whoever she was, she walked in the room, and I instantly felt grounded. She looked so beautiful, and I couldn't stop staring at her. That was days ago now. I've avoided people, I only leave this room when one of their guards knocks and tells me I need to see Isadora, who is a witch. She's convinced the magic isn't the issue and I am. That made me laugh. I told everyone else that the magic isn't out of control, I am. My mind, but they refused to listen.

The danger was growing larger, but my cold, victorious ambition did not fade. I picked up my mop and began to walk back toward the elevator. The global Council was coming to hunt me, but they did not know who I really was. I was the maid who had already destroyed the CFO, and I was going to use the next seven days to tear the Vance fortress apart before the hunters could even step through the gate.