Mikasa Ackerman Novels & Stories

I stood frozen for a moment, observing the others, as I immediately felt out of place. “You must be the breeder, Calluma talked about,” a voice said, pulling me off of my train of thoughts. I looked in the direction the voice came from and I saw a tall woman with short black hair walking towards me with a smile on her face. She was dressed in light training gear, her muscles defined but not bulky. “Hi, I'm Mikayla,” she stretched her hand for a hand shake. “I'm the Pack's Gamma.” “Hello,” I muttered, accepting her handshake which turned out to be quite firm. “I'm Amalthea.”

“My dad works for the Tokyo Stock Exchange. My mom’s a hedge fund manager.” Takuto: “…” (What is this? A rich heiress living among us commoners?!) As he struggled to process everything, Misaki stepped closer. Close enough that he caught the faint scent of peach shampoo. “Actually,” she said quietly, “I know who you really are.” Takuto’s heart stopped. “What… do you mean?” “The mysterious advisor of Kimura Corp.” Her eyes sparkled. “The one who saved the company with crayon drawings.” “...!”

"I know, but Damon…" My mother had suddenly appeared at the door, attracted by the brewing noise; her eyes had grown wide as she spotted Damon and Cassandra half-naked. "What is the meaning of this, Damon? Annie, why are you sobbing?" Cassandra seized the opportunity. She pointed at the pizza I mistakenly spilled on the floor. "Look, Mrs. Scarlett! Your ‘precious’ daughter tried to sneak in and attack Damon! She's trying to get obsessed with him! She doesn't want to accept that the Alpha already chose me. Your daughter keeps doing crazy things even when I'm the true Luna. I have been waiting for this poor thing of yours to leave him for me!"

She had to think positive if she married she would no long have to endure the cruelty of her mother. Cassie sat at the dressing table brushing out her long black wavy hair. She looked at herself in the mirror. Her skin was pale a fine porcelain her eye were a piercing color of ember her features were delicate and refined with her high cheek bones and strong jawline. She stood five foot seven inches tall. She was tall for a woman of her time. She had a perfectly sculpted body that turned many heads when she went to town on the rare occasion with her mother. Marcella was a site of beauty standing only five feet two inches tall. Her skin was the same porcelain color her eyes black as night.

The air conditioning in the main building of the Swasemesta Conservatory of Music was always set brutally cold—as if the chill itself existed to make sure no student ever dared do anything spontaneous, let alone strike a wrong note, not even for a fraction of a second. Inside the heavy-acoustic main rehearsal hall, a metronome ticked on with mechanical constancy. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. That sound escorted every movement of Michiko Arunika Suryokusumo's fingers with military discipline.