Novel & Cerita Lena Frost

Suddenly, Chantelle's eyes fluttered open, and she looked up at Delcan. A smile spread across her face, and she reached up to touch his cheek. "Hi," she said softly. Delcan felt his heart skip a beat. He had never seen her look at him like that before. "I didn't mean to wake you," he said, his voice low and gentle. Chantelle sat up and took his hand in hers. "You didn't," she said. "I was just resting my eyes." She looked down at the outfit she was wearing and blushed. "What do you think?"

Lejandro said sweetly. “Yes, honey!” Furtiza called back playfully, staring at herself in the large mirror inside the bathroom. “What is it with this face? Why does Lejandro love her so much? I mean, I’m obviously more beautiful and sexier than this woman. Ugh! I better shower so we can finally consummate this night,” she said to herself with a smile. A few moments later, Furtiza finished up. Her face was fixed, and she felt confident enough to face Lejandro again.

Her green eyes roamed over Lydia as she exclaimed, “Oh my God!” Lydia stifled a laugh; she knew her mom would soon comment on her beauty and how she would sweep every male off their feet that evening. It was clear that Lydia resembled her mother, both standing tall and slender, with curves that could captivate anyone. Lydia had inherited Luna Alice's striking green eyes, long tan limbs, pointed nose, and beautifully shaped lips.

Chloe added proudly. I nodded, swallowing a lump in my throat. “You really are.” “We’ve got to run now—Chloe has ballet.” The woman extended her hand. “I’m Natasha, by the way.” I shook it. “Lena. Lena Venedetta.” “It was lovely meeting you, Lena. Enjoy Hermosa Beach.” “Maybe we’ll see you in New York next year!” Chloe shouted with a grin. I smiled. “Maybe. And thank you—for everything.”

Her face glowed with joy. My anger faltered, melting away as I knelt down to her level. “Oh, baby, that’s beautiful. Look how gentle you are. It trusts you. It's standing on your finger.” Liam crouched beside me, his arm brushing mine. He smiled at our daughter, his voice soft. “You're making the butterfly feel safe. This is why she wants to stand on your finger, and she trusts that you're not going to hurt it.” Anastasia giggled, beaming between us. “Do you think that it's a she or he? I really want it to be a she, but I wouldn't mind it being a he as long as it trusts me.”

Not because I trusted him. Because some old part of my blood recognized authority. Not his over me. Mine over the room. That was worse. I lowered my hand slowly. “Stop calling me things.” Silas’s smile faded. The air tightened. “Names matter.” “I have one.” “Yes.” His gaze moved over my face with unsettling intensity. “Lena Frost. Daughter of Elise. Blood of Seraphina. Last unbroken heir of the divided queen.” The floor pulsed beneath me. Damien looked murderous.

Her name was Petra Wynn. She was thirty-eight years old, a mid-rank Silver Fang pack member with a territory assignment in the western grounds management and a daughter named Safi who was five and who had spent the previous afternoon playing a fountain game with the Lycan Queen's youngest child and had come home talking about Lena with the specific, detailed enthusiasm that children reserved for people who had made a genuine impression on them.

I murmured. “They’ll watch the livestream. Pretend they’re right there in the front row.” She grabbed my hand and tugged me gently down the backstage corridor. Lucasta Fennel stood just offstage, her makeup artist applying a final touch to her already flawless lips. Her platinum-blonde hair sparkled under the studio lights, as if dusted with fine glitter. Her suit screamed rainbow, each stripe neon-bright, clashing beautifully with the crisp white blouse beneath it, which featured a ruffled, Victorian-style collar. Her jacket flared at the shoulders with sharp, spike-like embellishments. She was bold unapologetically so.

A gray-eyed woman whose calculated stride always oriented itself toward the nearest exit. When the knife had touched her neck, her certainty had sat at eighty percent. Now that number had rounded cleanly to one hundred. A small smile appeared at the corner of the woman’s lips. Elena Lafayette. Elena Cross. Two different names for the same predator. This was starting to become a very entertaining game. ✘ ✘ ✘ The sound of bright, easy laughter stopped Dante’s stride at the third step from the bottom of the staircase.

She approached with a glass of champagne in one hand and a smile that never reached her eyes. “Kael,” she said, her voice warm and smooth. “You didn’t tell me you were making history this week.” Kael’s arm flexed at Lys’s back. “Valeria.” She leaned in to kiss his cheek, lingering half a second too long. The cameras ate it up. Then she turned to Lys. Up close, there was no visible flaw: skin like porcelain, lips painted a soft, expensive rose, eyes lined just enough to look effortless. “So this is the fiancée,” Valeria said. “You’re very…unexpected.”