La Sombra Del Pasado Novels & Stories

UNKNOWN POV In a darkened mansion somewhere was a women sitting on a rocking chair. Hair straight black hair reaching her hips and clothes looking very expensive, she rocked in the chair while holding a photo of Josiah in her hand and rubbing a finger over it. "I promise my love. I will get revenge for you. You wanted that bitch's baby. I promise that you will get that bitch's baby. I miss you sweetheart. I'll make them pay for what they did to you. I'll make them all pay." I sobbed out as I looked at the wall of the dungeon. It was covered in the photos of the people who were going to pay. Who I was going to make suffer for everything that they have done to me and taken away from me.

I demanded, stepping into his space, my fingers curling into tight fists. Damian didn't flinch. He towered over me in the moonlight, his bare chest completely still as he looked down his aristocratic nose at me, his eyes turning to absolute ice. "The past is a graveyard, Sara. Digging it up changes absolutely nothing about where we stand today. You took my company. You framed me for murder. Whatever ghosts I was fighting three years ago are dead and buried."

We stopped a few feet away from them and then the old men spoke those damn words. “Ombra di morte.” (Shadow of death.) The old man said as I took the hood off. I knew what his plan was the moment he wanted me to suddenly assist him with training. never did that at home, why here. The woman looked surprised and the men, well they looked displeased, irritated, aggravated and enraged . Because again they expected the shadow of death to be a man and not a woman. “Liyah.” The old man called out to me.

In the quiet warmth of the afternoon, the terrifying shadows of the basement, the strange black envelopes, and Gabriel’s cold warnings felt like nothing more than a bad dream I had finally managed to wake up from. ​"You're quiet today, Sarah," Mateo murmured, his voice gentle as he turned a yellowed page. He looked over at me, offering a faint, boyish smile that instantly melted the tight knot in my chest. "Usually, you're complaining about the tenth-grade literature assignments." ​I let out a soft laugh, resting my chin on my knees as I stroked the rough edge of my sketchpad. "I'm just enjoying the peace, Mateo. It feels like it’s been forever since we just sat here without worrying about a

She rummaged through boxes filled with forgotten memories, her heart racing with anticipation. Her fingers brushed against a worn leather journal, its edges frayed and its cover adorned with a beautiful emblem—a symbol she recognized from the stories Aunt Cleo had told her about the coven. As she opened it, the musty scent enveloped her, and the words seemed to whisper secrets of a time long past.

“What the hell do you know about Dad? You don’t even know him.” “Believe me, I know more than you do.” “I believe nothing you tell me. You’re just trying to hurt me.” “No, I don’t! I just want revenge.” “At me? Why?” “Not you, but the past. You carry the burden of the past on your shoulders. The shadow of the past will always follow you wherever you go.” “You are sick! Totally sick!” I said, trying to calm myself down. “I am not! You’re too stupid and you understand nothing I’m saying here.”

He pushed off my chair, simultaneously moving both of us as another shadow was sent hurtling between us where we'd just been. 'Sombra, tame.' I told my shadow. 'Gladly.' Its dual toned voice responded. Shadows don't have genders. There's not really much about them to distinguish them either way, having a woman's and man's voice at the same time. Sombra was an ancient shadow with abilities like no others. Stronger than that of the first shadow weaver shadow. Sombra stopped all the shadows around us. They were frozen in time, unusable to anyone, but me at the moment.

waiting. Because shadows... never die.

The storm was brewing on the horizon, and Amelia Knight, though the shadows whispered around her, would rise to meet it. Amelia felt the relentless grip of shadows clawing at her mind, forcing her to relive the painful memories she had long fought to suppress. The echoes of her parents’ whispers filled the air, their voices dripping with a condescending warmth that belied the cruelty behind their actions. As she stood on the ship's deck, Darius loomed like a dark specter, casting doubt that sent chills racing down her spine.

He speaks of coming here—three broken men with nothing left but each other—and deciding to stay. When he finishes, the sun is high. The lagoon has turned sapphire. My coffee is cold. I’m crying—quietly. Not grief. Not horror. Something bigger. “You carried that,” I whisper. “All of it. And then you just… loved us.” Dante reaches over—covers my hand with his. The skin is thin now, spotted, but the grip is still firm. “We carried it so you wouldn’t have to,” he says. “That was the deal we made with the past. We keep the shadows. You get the light.”