Mar Rojo Novels & Stories

The mention of that name jerked me off my seat. "Present sir," I shouted. "Are you Nicola Luna Rossa Deville?" The professor asked adjusting his glasses. I turned to meet Nicola's eyes, his hand lifted. I flinched "No sir," I said and sat down. The hall burst into laughter. 'Luna Rossa' How was Nico bearing the same middle name as me? Mom had told me the name was unique to my birth. Luna Rossa, meaning red moon, that's why I picked a fancy to the frame I saw at my new home.

I smirked, walking two steps away from him and smiling so he would know I wasn’t running away. His lips curved into a gentle smile, and he nodded at me. He stared at me as if thinking about what he would do, and then he surprised me when he extended his hand. “Hi. I’m Red Carlington. Call me Red.” He pressed his lips to suppress a laugh as he introduced himself. “Hi. I’m Mariel Aida Sophia Rodrigo.” I chuckled and bit my lower lip to stop myself from laughing hard. “Just Aya.” I reached for his hand and shook hands with him.

A few minutes later, ivory frowned; she saw a red dot fast approaching in front of the blue dot. ‘Uhm Anita what does a red dot mean’ ivory asked anxiously. ‘A red dot, it means a creature is fast approaching, you guys better hide’ Anita replied. Natasha noticing ivory’s frown asked. ‘Ivory what’s the matter’? ‘A creature’s fast approaching, we better hide’ ivory says out loud. ‘A creature, how do you know that’ Chevy asked with a frown ‘and even if a creature is fast approaching we can kill it’.

She’d taken them down so expertly that I wondered how she got into the situation in the first place, how they’d managed to ambush her. I thought about stories I’d heard about rogues. There were known to wreak havoc among packs. If she was a typical rogue then I could see how that would be. No wonder pack leaders usually hated them. So much so that if an alpha or luna crossed paths with one, their first instinct would be to kill. I thought about what this meant for my mate, and how my mother would take it. Would my mother try to kill my mate? Of course, I couldn’t let anything happen to her.

“And no, it wasn’t Max. He meant to intervene but turns out he didn’t need to. Should I tell you all why? Or do you already know?” “Stop!” My mother strictly said. This is how she sounded when she berated us. Kent’s smile grew further up his cheeks. He looked at me, then came closer to examine me. His dark eyes followed my body, up and down. “Plain. Simple. Nothing extraordinary about her. Nothing like Marianna.” He stopped in front of me, his eyes reading mine. He searched for a few seconds, not sure what he was looking for, but I was being taken by their color. They weren’t fully black. It was almost like they had a hue of red in them. This was the first time I had seen a werewolves—a male

I just felt that what Joanna did for this man was not worth it. In order to take revenge, she ended herself too. Does the Little Prince really love roses? I didn't know. But what I knew was Jeffrey was definitely not the Little Prince, and I was not a rose imprisoned in a glass case. My future had infinite possibilities.

Then a hand went up. “It’s y equals mx plus b.” I turned toward the voice. The guy sitting next to me was Hispanic. Sharp jawline. Curly hair. Blue eyes. Arms like tree trunks. “That’s correct,” Mrs. Payne said. “And your name?” “Marcelo,” he replied. “My name is Marcelo.”

Killing those who were supposed to be some of the best fighters in the pack always bought about a sense of happiness, knowing I was one step closer to being able to seek my revenge. In the ten years I had been living as a rouge the thought of actually meeting my mate was something which had crossed my mind on a couple of occasions, but they were brushed to the side as quickly as they came. At almost twenty-eight I had pretty much accepted that I was never going to find my other half and, even if I did find him now, then I would be sure to reject him. "Well, well, well, if it isn't the infamous rogue," one of the males chuckled when they finally came to a stop where I was readying myself.

City A, 15 years ago, in a dilapidated house, the firelight was slowly spearing to every corner. The fire made a crackling, crackling, ticking sound that echoed in the stillness of the night. Suddenly, the fire flared up violently. It engulfed everything it passed through. In that deadly fire, the image of a rose playing in the sea of ​​​​fire slowly appeared. It shone extremely brightly and then began to fade to ashes. That rose was like his heart. Since that day, his heart had died, left only the animosity.

I finish flickering my eyes to and away from Adair. Adair’s expressions contort with rage. His eyes darken, like molten lava, turning stone cold as if there’s no loving or caring emotion left in him. His teeth are bared and his breathing picks up rapidly as his chest heaves up and down. Rage pulses through his veins as he burns with anger. “What’s his name?” Adair asks his voice hardening ruthlessly. “Marc Garwood.” I say despite not wanting to mention his name.