John X Seraphina Novels & Stories

Seraphina Panic claws at my throat, but I force it down. I have to think of something. I have to create doubts in her mind. She looks gullible and the only weapon I have now is denial. I let out a short, incredulous chuckle. “Do you know how ridiculous you sound? Alpha Seraphina Moondancer is probably having breakfast with her husband in her own pack as we speak.” Her voice drops, sharp and certain. “I saw the letter. You signed your name on it.”

My expression darkened instantly at her belittling words, but I refused to give her the satisfaction of seeing me react. She had just referred to Romano as an old man about to die. Maybe that wasn’t just an insult. Maybe there was truth buried underneath it. And if there was…could that be the real reason she had approached Xavier in the first place? Could Seraphina have another agenda beyond marriage? Like eliminating Romano and taking the Sinclair Group for herself? Even I knew she wouldn’t be reckless enough to gamble with her own life like that…yet I still couldn’t completely dismiss the thought.

The man who had entered this marriage just to keep things 'simple' was now burning every bridge and using every dirty trick in the book just to get a woman to let him pick her up from work. Inside the surgical clinic, the morning chill hadn't lifted yet. Trista pushed open the door to Seraphina's office, a steaming cup of black coffee in her hand. She'd come to crack a joke, but she stopped dead. Seraphina was sitting at her desk, her eyes downcast, calmly sliding a couple of white pills under her tongue. "You sick?" Trista asked, her eyes scanning the desk. Then she froze. Seraphina tried to slide the pill bottle under a folder, but she was a second too slow. Trista snatched it.

I said. Remi looked up from the screen."You want him in the room." "I want him at a table near the back," I said. "Close enough to see everything and far enough that nobody will think he matters. Remi looked at me for a long moment, and he said, "Seraphina, are you sure about this? I walked back to the table, picked up the gala invitation, held it and looked at my own name printed across the front of it. Seraphina Vaughn, not Cole, not his wife, not the woman who ironed his shirts and endured his mother's voice and carried a loss alone in a white hospital room at 3 am.

Her head spun. Standing over her, Juan stared at the mutilated body of the would-be client, a dangerous Alpha that she’d killed with her bare hands. His insides had spilled from his body, throat ripped open, and eyes wide in eternal shock. Juan didn’t look horrified. He looked impressed. He crouched beside her, his eyes gleaming with new curiosity. Then, his hand slid beneath the edge of her dress. Seraphina’s blurred vision focused just in time to see the moment his fingers brushed against her chest and he grabbed her round breasts from the binding of her chest.

She scans the things and put them into the bag, she didn't even look at who that person was only when he said something strange. "So you are her daughter" Sera frowned and looked at the old man, who was grinning at her. "Excuse me?" She asked. "What's your name?" He asked her with that same smile. Sera awkwardly smiled, she doesn't want to sound rude. So she just answered "Seraphina William" That old man pouted, "Seraphina William?... not Robertson? So you took after your mother that's good, she was a lot better for that punk"

My eyes diverted to a necklace that Grammy told me prevents compulsion and blocks vampires from reading your mind. "Dad gave it to me for Christmas. Told me to wear it always. Bye S. And keep my secret a secret." With that said, he left. Interesting. "Seraphina." I turned to see Phoenix. "Phoenix." "Can we talk?" "Not sure about what? You say one thing then confuse me. Is it because you're still in love with Serena?" "After class please meet me at my house we will talk better there." He gave me a kiss on my forehead and then left the school.

Maybe hearing the answer from Camille would finally stop my imagination from getting worse. Inside, the lobby smelled faintly of flowers and polished wood. A man behind the reception desk smiled. “Good evening, ma’am. Can I help you?” “Yes,” I said. “I’m here to see Camille Laurent.” “Of course. May I have your name?” “Seraphina Rowe.” His fingers paused over the keyboard. Then he looked up at me. “Rowe?” “Yes.” Something about his expression changed. “Are you related to Mr. Ethan Rowe?”

“Nice to meet you. I’m Olivia.” Seraphina stepped inside, her eyes quickly scanning the interior of the house. “You have a lovely home,” she said. “I’ve seen you and your family around. Your little girl is adorable.” “Thank you,” Olivia replied, feeling unease. There was something too different about Seraphina’s charm, too considered. They chatted briefly, with Seraphina asking about the neighborhood and offering details about herself. She mentioned she was single and worked in real estate, but her answers felt rehearsed, as if she were deliberately avoiding any real depth.

It wasn’t a prison, but it wasn’t freedom either. A quiet knock startled me. “Come in,” I called, my voice hoarse. The door swung open, and a woman stepped in, her presence so vibrant it was almost jarring. She had long, dark curls and an easy smile that immediately softened the tension coiled in my stomach. “You must be Seraphina,” she said, her voice light and warm. “I’m Lilliana. Rafael’s sister.” I blinked. She looked nothing like him. There was no sharp edge to her, no coldness. Where Rafael was all shadows and quiet menace, she was golden warmth.